Page 87 of Swept Away

That makes her laugh. “Because we haven’t been rescued before, in all those days on the water? Because we’re a tiny, rubbish boat on a very big sea? Because shit happens?”

Beneath the laughter, beneath the swearing, I think Lexi’s serious. There haven’t been many moments in the last eleven days when she’s genuinely lost hope. She’s a fighter, and she’s always looking ahead. It’s kept me going—she’s kept me going.

“Think of Mae,” I say quietly.

“I’m never not.”

Her tone is sharp, and I squeeze her tightly, trying to take the sting out of what I’ve said.

“We don’t give up. Because of Mae.”

“I know. I know.” She lets out a long, growling sigh. “I was soangry with Penny when I pitched up at this houseboat. But our argument seemssomeaningless now. I know when people come back from extreme situations or nearly die from pneumonia or whatever, they say, hold the people you love closer, life is too short, all of that. But you can’t feel it until you’ve lived it, can you? You can’t feel how small those things are until you’ve stood here in something so fucking bad you can’t even comprehend it.”

She grips the railing asThe Merry Dormousecollides clumsily with another wave, dousing our already-soaked feet on the deck.

“The truth is, I want to move out, sometimes. Not all the time, but sometimes. I love living with Mae, but I would also love my own life. I’ve been a bit part in Penny’s for five years now, and it’s been great, I wouldn’t change it. But I got kind of lost along the way. If you’re the sidekick for long enough, you forget how to lead your own life.”

“Look at yourself, Lexi.”

She’s magnificent. Dirt- and oil-stained, with filthy hands and her hair flying in the wind. Black boots, leather jacket, icy shark-blue eyes.

“If this is an action movie,” I tell her, “youare definitely not the sidekick.”

Lexi

It’s windier. Wavier.Worse. With every hour that passes, my adrenaline ratchets up, and so does the weather. It’s raining now, thick, hard, ceaseless rain that eats its way into the houseboat, sliding through that crack. It’s almost dark, but I can still see that there’s white on the water, a fine spray like spittle from an angry mouth.

Things are bad.

“Lexi,” Zeke says after a while, as I shrug on a jumper, the chill from outside creeping into my bones. “You need to eat something.”

I want to brush him off—there’s notime, I have to secure the bathroom cabinet, I have to bail out the shower base again—but then I look at him, and I realize he’s scared.

“Of course,” I say, sagging back, steadying myself against the wood burner. My nausea is manageable at the moment, as I’ve taken some out-of-date seasickness tablets from the rig, but I have not missed the feeling of the world lurching beneath me.

“Here.” He hands me something on a plate.

I look up at him. “No.No.”

“I think the time’s come,” he says.

“The last digestive? Thelast digestive?” My voice rises. “You’re giving me the last digestive right now? Is this supposed to make me feel better?”

His eyes widen slightly as I slam the plate back down on the countertop. It immediately slides off and I have to catch it again.

“No!” I snap. “We do not eat the last digestive! There isalways the last digestive. Do you understand?”

An object shifts inside our kitchen cupboards and we both instinctively duck.

“I…sort of understand?” Zeke says, reaching for my hip. “But I think maybe…we need sugar…and there’s a biscuit going spare…so…”

I bat him off.

“If you eat this biscuit,” I say grimly, “I will kill you myself. Now get back to staying alive.”

“Can I tell you something?” Zeke says, his voice a little hoarse.

He’s taking a breather, standing against the kitchen counter, one foot braced on the floor, the other against the door of the fridge. The boat rocks beneath us and moisture gathers on the ceiling in slow, sinister drips. It’s more than just the crack now—the rain is getting through in so many places I’ve lost count.

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