Page 28 of Five Gold Rings

I can’t quite focus. ‘I’m not good on boats.’

‘Are you scared of water?’ she asks me.

‘No, I get seasick,’ I explain, my throat stiff, almost preparing itself for the inevitable.

‘But we’re on a river… Do we need to leave?’ Eve says, panicked. But as we look out of the windows, some gentlemen unchain the boat from its mooring and the lady dressed as Mrs Claus waves us away. Do these things have toilets? They must do. Otherwise, what are you supposed to do? Pee into the river? Maybe I’ll just lock myself in one of those for the next hour and hide myself away. From Eve, at least.

‘We’re literally going in a straight line – up and down. Oh shit, why didn’t you say?’ she tells me.

‘I shook my head…’

‘That tells me nothing!’

‘It’s the universal language for no,’ I tell her, feeling slightly desperate.

‘Can I do anything to help? Have a glass of champagne? Maybe it’ll take your mind off things? Maybe have a breadstick? They have ginger ale,’ she says, walking up and down the buffet table looking for solutions. ‘Or look into my eyes. Focus on something, right?’

I look into her eyes. I love her eyes, I always have, but at this present point in time, my main worry is that I will vom on her brand-new supermarket dress and that will ruin things forever. She drags me out onto the deck of the boat where I see the choppy muddied waters beneath us.

‘Look for the horizon,’ she tells me, pointing out.

‘We’re on a river. There’s no bloody horizon. All I can see are buildings,’ I tell her, exasperated, half laughing.

‘Well, what do you normally do when you’re on a boat?’

‘I don’t go on boats! I stay on land. It’s a healthy way of life. I don’t need boats. I’m not a fisherman…’

She tries to stifle her amusement. ‘I’m sorry? You do look a little…’

‘Green? Look, just leave me. Go and watch the proposal. Probably best I’m out here so I don’t spoil that and you can’t see me make a royal fool of myself.’

‘Don’t be an idiot. I won’t leave you. Do I need to Google anything?’ she asks as the boat sets off, spluttering clouds of smoke into the river. We hear Gloria on the other side of the boat cheer loudly and Eve holds on to me tightly. Normally, this expression of not wanting to leave me and rubbing my shoulders to keep me warm would be a moment, it would be the moment given we’re on open water, in black tie. God, Santa on the sax is even playing Dean Martin. But alas, it’s not.

Eve gets her phone out. ‘Please, no pictures,’ I tell her.

‘I’m Googling. It says here to distract yourself by singing,’ she laughs.

‘You’re not funny,’ I tell her, putting my hands to my thighs to steady myself.

‘Excuse me, are you like James Bond? Are you here for photos?’ I turn to see a couple of happy shiny Euro tourists with matching trapper hats and Spanish twangs.

I shake my head, quietly.

‘Yes, he is,’ Eve tells them politely.

I shift her a look. From what I can tell, Bond is generally better on boats when he’s chasing people and killing bad guys. They nestle into me. What the hell am I doing? I pull a gun hand, trying to look debonair and not sick. This better make your social media, proper post, not story.

‘Lovely. Everyone say Skyfall!’ Eve says, giggling. She thinks this is funny. I need to get my own back here. The tourists say their thanks and then get distracted by St Paul’s Cathedral.

‘I hate you,’ I mumble to Eve, leaning over the railings. I don’t really. I’m almost enjoying the banter if I didn’t think I was going to fill the Thames with spew.

‘Are you all alright out here, sailors?’ Frank asks from the door to the deck.

‘Oh, Joe here hasn’t got very good sea legs, that’s all,’ Eve explains on my behalf.

‘Does he need a lifejacket?’ Frank asks. Because that wouldn’t be humiliating either.

‘He just needs some fresh air. So, what’s the plan?’ Eve asks him.

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