Kitabı oku: «No Escape: The most addictive, gripping thriller with a shocking twist»

2
THEN

Lana found the sketchbook tucked at the back of the stall between bags of cashew nuts and a stack of sun hats. She eased it from the shelf and wiped the film of dust from its cover. The pages were thinner than she’d have liked, but at least they were a bright, crisp white. She took it to the counter where a Filipino boy with crooked front teeth grinned as he searched for the price.

‘Artist?’ he asked.

She was about to answer, No, when on a whim, she smiled and said, ‘Yes. Artist.’ Why the hell not? She was travelling; no one – except Kitty – knew her over here. She could be whoever she wanted to be.

She left the shade of the stall with the sketchbook under her arm. The streets were busy, the heat of the day stored in the roads which seemed to radiate warmth and dust. Her thick amber hair was piled up in a loose knot, and she used the back of her arm to wipe away the sheen of sweat on her forehead. The heat in the Philippines was like a wall, unmovable and solid, both day and night.

She wove through the crowds, skirting a man who stood in the centre of the pavement wafting a straw fan over the embers of a grill. A smoky charred aroma rose into the air.

Beyond him, a diesel generator whirred outside a stall and she felt the heat kicked out from its exhaust against her bare legs. She dodged two crates of glass bottles stacked on the pavement, then navigated a map of cracks and gouges in the concrete. She was a little disappointed with the stalls, having imagined trailing through them and discovering quirky print dresses or interesting handmade jewellery – but most of the stalls sold the same range of bland T-shirts and sarongs.

On the opposite side of the street a young Filipino boy padded along carrying a cockerel, a dog trotting behind him with a coconut husk in its mouth. Beyond the boy she saw Kitty standing in the queue for the bakery, her dark hair snaking over one shoulder. From behind she could almost pass as a local with her petite figure and her skin tanned a rich mahogany. She was talking to an elderly man with a stooped posture who was laughing at something she was saying. Kitty had a wonderful knack of making friends wherever they went, drawing strangers into conversation with her inexhaustible supply of stories and questions.

Lana slowed to cross the road and meet Kitty, a tide of people moving and bustling around her. The sweet, yeasty smell of bread drifted towards her on a warm wind as she waited for a gap in the procession of brightly painted tricycles. There were no cars in Norappi, only tricycles weaving, racing and beeping their way along the streets. They made her think of the Bangkok tuk-tuks she’d seen pictures of, with their decorated metal sidecars attached to the driver’s motorbike.

Across the street there was a sudden blur of movement and noise. The boy carrying the cockerel gave a high-pitched yelp of surprise as the bird burst free from his grip and made a dash for it across the road. A tricycle coming towards it swerved sharply in a squeal of brakes, and the passenger – a young Western man with large headphones clamped over his ears – was shot out of his seat, slamming to the other side of the vehicle, making it veer further off course.

The tricycle careered onto the pavement, crashing into a street grill, and dragging it along the roadside towards Lana, metal raging on concrete in a hideous cacophony of noise. Stunned by the eruption of chaos, she didn’t manage to move back swiftly enough and the grill caught her foot, pulling it out from under her.

Suddenly the ground was spinning towards her – her bag and sketchbook flying away. She felt the smack of concrete against her palms, the side of her knee, her ankle bone. Her nostrils filled with grit and dust. Beneath her the concrete thrummed with heat.

There was more shouting, and she lifted her head to see the young boy making a grab for the cockerel. He caught a fistful of tail feathers and yanked it, squawking, towards him, clasping it roughly within both arms. The tricycle was now parked haphazardly on the side of the road, and its driver clipped the boy over the head, scolding him demonstratively.

Lana blinked, bringing her gaze back to the ground. She needed to get up, but couldn’t seem to make herself move. She was aware of her belongings tossed aside, the fresh pages of her sketchbook splayed in the dirt.

As she lay there, a young man in a bright T-shirt crouched to the ground and gathered up her things. He came towards her, fanning the dust from the pages, asking, ‘You okay?’

‘Yes,’ she said, finally heaving herself upright. Her head swam and she touched her forehead with her fingertips.

‘Here,’ he said, taking her by the elbow, and carefully helping her to her feet.

As she stood, he kept hold of her, turning his back to the flow of the crowd to give Lana space while she regained her balance. Her ankle throbbed painfully and she looked down and saw a small patch of blood beginning to bloom just above the bone.

‘I was in the tricycle. The driver was trying to miss the cockerel, but …’ He paused, looking at her again. A faint beat of music slid from the headphones around his neck. ‘You sure you’re okay?’

‘I’m fine—’

‘Lana! Jesus!’ Kitty was pushing her way through the flow of people, sunglasses askew on her head, a bag bouncing against her hip. Reaching Lana, she threw her arms around her neck. ‘I heard the noise. Saw you! Are you hurt? How bad is it?’ Kitty pulled away, her hands holding onto Lana’s upper arms as she scanned her. ‘Your ankle. It’s bleeding.’

‘I’ll be fine,’ Lana said, wanting to get off the street and sit for a moment. She brushed half-heartedly at the dust on her dress.

‘I think these are yours,’ the stranger said, holding out Lana’s belongings.

Lana thanked him.

‘Take it easy, eh?’

As she turned to move away, her vision seemed to swerve. Everything felt louder and closer: horns honking, quick bursts of Tagalog, the banging of a hammer against metal. She was aware of the hot trickle of blood winding its way down her foot and the sensation made her want to gag. People wove around her, scents of washing powder, food, sweat, rising from their skin. Just walk. Move slowly. Get out of this street.

But as she walked, her legs felt unsteady and her balance seemed to falter. She reached out a hand to find something solid she could rest against, but there was only air.

‘Oh shit!’ she heard Kitty cry, her voice seeming far away.

Then the man was at Lana’s other side, gripping her by the upper arm – steadying her. ‘Here,’ he said calmly. ‘We’ve got you.’

*

They steered her along the street, cutting through a narrow gap between two stalls that led down a shaded alleyway. Chickens roamed and bleached washing was drying stiff in the heat. An elderly woman sat with an empty plate in front of her, watching them through milky brown eyes.

He took a left, crossing a rickety bridge that stretched over a waterway, towards what appeared to be a dead end of rocks. ‘It’s just up here.’

A group of travellers appeared from a gap between the rocks, talking in loud voices, laughing, bashing each other over the shoulders. Lana followed the direction they had come from, hobbling slowly along a cool, stone passageway.

Eventually she found herself standing at the top of a stairway made of hundreds of white pebbles set neatly into concrete. From here a view of a bar opened out below. It was built on stilts over the water, its sides open to the softening blue sky, and almost everything she could see was made of bamboo or driftwood. Backpackers in T-shirts and board shorts, sundresses and colourful tops, lounged in low chairs or on floor cushions, playing cards, smoking, talking. Two girls sat at the very edge of the bar drinking beers with their tanned legs dangling towards the water. The pulse of music throbbed through the space, intermingled with voices and laughter.

The man found them a spot by the water, where a cool breeze drifted in. Lana set her sketchbook on the table, then lowered herself down into one of the wide wooden chairs that sat only inches from the floor. She stretched her legs in front of her, pleased to take the weight off her ankle.

‘I’ll get some ice,’ Kitty said, ‘and drinks. Lana, you need something medicinal.’ Turning to the man, she asked, ‘Beer?’

He held a hand up, saying, ‘You guys go ahead. I’ll sort myself out. I’m meeting some mates here soon.’

‘Just a quick one – to say thanks,’ Kitty insisted.

He hesitated for a moment and then shrugged, saying, ‘Sure, why not?’

He introduced himself as Denny, and when Kitty went to the bar he told Lana he was from New Zealand. He had an even, golden tan, which set off the pale blue of his eyes, and his hair – a bed of tight sandy curls – seemed to grow upwards. She imagined that if she reached out a hand it would feel springy to the touch.

He unhooked the headphones from around his neck and set them on the table beside her sketchbook. ‘You draw?’

‘A little,’ she replied.

‘What type of thing?’

‘Oh, anything really. Whatever captures me.’

‘And what captures you?’ he said, looking at her with interest.

She thought for a moment. In the month she and Kitty had been travelling in the Philippines, she’d already filled two sketchbooks with illustrations. She pictured her most recent sketches – a group of boys sitting on a crumbling wall, legs swinging; a goat tethered in the shade chewing the cud; a doorway shrouded by a sun-bleached yellow sheet; a lone shoe discarded at the roadside. ‘I like to sketch ordinary things that pinpoint a moment.’

He nodded thoughtfully. ‘Something that has a story.’

‘Yes, that’s exactly it.’

Kitty returned with three beers sweating on a bamboo tray, slices of lime sticking out of each bottle neck. She passed them around, then handed Lana a bundle of napkins and a glass of ice. ‘Best they could do in the first-aid department.’

Lana wrapped the ice cubes in a napkin and placed them against her ankle, wincing at the cold.

Kitty used a finger to push the lime into the belly of her beer bottle, then they all clinked bottles.

Behind them there was a crash of wood, followed by the sound of laughter, and Lana turned to see a giant Jenga tower had collapsed. Its builders were collecting the blocks, rebuking each other in Italian. Kitty turned back to the table and said, ‘Great bar. Didn’t even know it was here.’

‘Real nice couple run it,’ Denny said. ‘They’ve definitely picked the right location.’ He glanced out across the water to where the sun was getting lower, painting the water rose-gold. As he turned back, his gaze moved to the entrance. ‘Ah,’ he said. ‘Here they are.’

Two men in their late twenties strolled across the bar, a younger blonde woman with bare feet walking between them. Denny waved them over and made the introductions.

Aaron, another Kiwi, who was square-jawed and thick-necked, stood with his hands gripped over the back of a chair. ‘I picked up the part,’ he told Denny, ‘but I had to go to the mechanic’s cousin’s brother’s shop.’

Denny rolled his eyes. ‘What did they charge you?’

‘Six thousand pesos.’

‘Pretty good.’

Aaron nodded.

‘No Joseph?’

Aaron raised an eyebrow, communicating something that Lana didn’t understand. ‘Right, I’ll get the beers in.’

Heinrich, a German with even white teeth and a sensible haircut, pulled up a chair for the blonde girl, Shell, and set his next to it.

‘What happened?’ Shell asked, looking at the ice pressed to Lana’s ankle.

‘I got in the path of a runaway cockerel,’ Lana said, lifting the napkin to reveal the swelling skin.

‘Bloody kamikaze cockerels,’ Kitty added.

Shell leant forward and pressed the backs of her fingers very gently against Lana’s skin, a flock of slim silver bangles jangling on her wrist. She drew her fingers lightly around the edges of the swelling. ‘Looks like a sprain. Keep topping up the ice tonight.’

Lana liked Shell immediately, sensing warmth in the wideness of her smile. She tried to decide whether Shell and Heinrich were a couple, but couldn’t tell if their easy manner with one another was familiarity or intimacy.

Aaron returned with the drinks and conversation began to flow. Kitty was entertaining the table with a story of a love tryst she’d witnessed earlier between a slight Filipino woman and an ageing American. Lana was content to sit back and listen, trying to place the accents and dynamics of the friends who explained that they’d travelled through South-East Asia together.

A heady blend of beers and rum on a warm evening meant conversation flowed easily from one topic to another. Lana forgot the pain in her ankle and grinned at the colourful details she learnt about the others: Denny would only fall asleep in a Spider-Man outfit until he was nine years old; Heinrich was so competitive that he used to beg his brother to score him on how long he peed for; Shell’s parents owned a cattle-feed store in Ontario and she used to go sledging on the wide plastic sacks the feed was delivered in; Aaron had once got lost in a rainforest on Réunion island and taken a badly aimed crap on an ants’ nest.

Several more rounds of drinks were bought and drunk. Candles were lit and streams of white fairy lights began to twinkle around the bar as night arrived. When it was Kitty’s round she ordered more beers, with a tray of chasers, and the noise around the table rose even louder.

‘So what made you decide to travel? Why the Philippines?’ Shell asked Lana, the group’s attention turning to her.

Lana glanced down at her drink, her mouth turning dry as she thought about what led to her decision to leave England. She remembered her father’s expression when he’d found her kneeling on the threadbare carpet of his bedroom with a Manila envelope in her hands: his features seemed to slide downwards, as if weighted by guilt.

Later the same night, she’d waited on Kitty’s doorstep, rain dripping down the collar of her coat, her shoulders hunched against the biting wind. At her centre was a hollow, raw feeling, as if her insides had been carved out. Kitty had opened the door, taken one look at Lana and tugged her indoors, saying, ‘Jesus! What the fuck’s happened?’

At the time, Kitty had been renting a poky studio-flat in Ealing above a florist, and she’d led Lana into the cluttered main room where a double bed heaved with cushions and crochet throws. Kitty’s clothes hung on two rails at the side of the room and her shoes were thrown in a trunk at the end of the bed. Her dressing table was covered with make-up, body lotions and bottles of perfume, and the whole place had the feel of a costume department.

Kitty plucked a fleecy dressing gown from the back of the door and wrapped it around Lana, who was trembling all over. She squeezed Lana’s red hands. ‘You’re freezing. What’s happened? Are you okay?’

‘Can I stay?’ Lana asked, her voice edged with tears.

‘Of course! What’s going on? Sorry it’s so cold in here. Pissing landlord hasn’t fixed the heating,’ Kitty said, moving a hand to the plug-in radiator where two thongs and a tea towel were drying. ‘I’ll do us a hot-water bottle. And tea.’

A few minutes later they were sitting in bed with the covers pulled up, a hot-water bottle tucked between their feet. Lana cupped a mug of steaming tea to her chest, feeling her heart pounding against it. A tension headache pulsed at her temples as she began to talk. She told Kitty everything – about discovering the envelope hidden in her father’s room, about the truth it contained, about how her father had no words to deny what he’d done.

Kitty listened with her eyes fixed on Lana’s, her lips pressed together. Neither of them drank their tea.

By the time Lana finished talking, her face was streaked with tears. ‘I’ll never forgive him.’

‘No!’ Kitty had said suddenly, sitting forward. ‘Don’t say that. He made a mistake. A terrible mistake. But you mustn’t hate him. You mustn’t!’ She spoke with such vehemence that her hands shook, a dribble of cold tea spilling onto the duvet.

Lana pushed the memory away now. She couldn’t think about that day. Not out here. When she looked up, she realized everyone was watching her, still waiting for an answer.

‘Spin of a globe,’ Kitty said, coming to Lana’s rescue. ‘That’s how we chose the Philippines, wasn’t it?’

Lana nodded.

‘I spun it – and Lana closed her eyes and pointed.’

Heinrich laughed. ‘Really? That’s brilliant.’

It was true – at least in part. It might not have been why they’d left, but it was how they’d chosen to come here. Lana had been sitting cross-legged on Kitty’s bed with the globe in front of her. She’d closed her eyes and felt the lightest breath of air move against her fingertips as the globe spun. Then, as it slowed, she pressed her forefinger against its cool surface.

When she opened her eyes, her fingertip was placed in the centre of a mass of islands near the equator. She lifted her hand and read the name aloud: ‘The Philippines.’

*

‘More drinks?’ the waitress asked, a tray propped against her hip.

The bar was crammed now, voices clamouring to be heard above the thudding music.

Aaron glanced at the watch on his thick wrist, then pushed back his chair and stood. ‘I think we’re done here, thank you.’

When the waitress left, Aaron turned to Lana and Kitty and said, ‘We’ve got some rum back at ours that needs drinking. Gonna join us?’

*

Lana and Kitty wove behind the others with their arms linked, Lana trying to put little weight on her injured ankle. She’d tugged her hairband free, and her hair fell loose over one shoulder in thick waves of amber.

Ahead of them the group came to a stop by the shoreline. Lana could feel the effect of the beers she’d drunk – had it been five, or perhaps six? In the darkness she watched as Aaron untied a rope from a wooden post. The other end was attached to a small metal dinghy with an outboard engine, which he walked out into the shallows.

‘What are you doing?’ Kitty asked, a light slur to her question.

‘Preparing your taxi.’

Shell, Heinrich and Denny kicked off their flip-flops and waded into the harbour. They climbed into the dinghy, which rocked from side to side, sending small waves rippling to shore.

‘Where are we going?’ Kitty asked, a grin spreading across her face.

‘Back to our place,’ Aaron told her.

‘Your place is … a boat?’

In the moonlight, Lana caught Aaron’s smile.

‘Come on,’ Denny called from the dinghy. ‘You’ll like it, we promise.’

Lana shrugged, then slipped off her sandals. The seabed was slimy beneath her soles and she tried not to think about what could be lurking in the dark, silent water.

It was a squeeze on board and Lana sat on a damp plank of wood, squashed between Shell and Kitty with her satchel and sketchbook on her lap.

Aaron yanked at the start cord and the motor spluttered to life.

The smell of diesel and fish rose from the harbour as they motored forward, clouds of cooler air brushing their skin. With the weight of them all, the dinghy sank close to the waterline, and Lana thought that if she reached a hand over the side she’d be able to trail her fingers across the surface.

The night was still and quiet as they passed fishing bangkas, which looked like colourful dugout canoes, drifting on their anchors. The others talked amongst themselves in an easy rhythm, but Lana and Kitty said nothing. They stared ahead as, through layers of darkness, the shadow of a yacht began to emerge, moonlight illuminating the curve of a dark-blue hull.

Lana widened her gaze to absorb it more fully. The yacht was elegant and long, with two masts standing guard. In the moonlight the name of the yacht, painted in a curling white script, came into focus. The Blue.

Lana turned those two words over on her tongue and, as she did so, a surge of something she couldn’t quite define – excitement, anticipation, fear – pushed through her heart.

*

They were sitting towards the back of the yacht – the cockpit, someone called it, which had made Kitty giggle – drinking tall glasses of rum and Coke. Lana held a joint between her fingers that she couldn’t remember being passed, and music played from a speaker somewhere on deck. The yacht rocked gently, like a lullaby from the sea, and Lana felt her body relaxing into its rhythm.

Shell had given them a tour below deck, showing them the main living area, which she called the saloon, and the narrow galley kitchen that was neatly kept except for a stack of empty beer bottles on the side. There were three cramped cabins at the front of the yacht, which contained bunks, and then two slightly larger cabins at the rear with double beds where Aaron and Denny slept.

Lana liked the simplicity of their living quarters, where everything smelt of warm wood and varnish. She’d never set foot on a yacht before and kept pausing, noticing details she wanted to sketch: the row of salt-curled paperbacks squashed together on a shelf in the saloon, bookended by a sturdy copy of The Encyclopaedia of Cruising; the two small hammocks attached to the galley ceiling filled with fruit; a pile of charts spread out on a table with a beautiful conch shell set on top as a paperweight.

Kitty finished her drink, then set down the glass, saying, ‘I still can’t believe you all live on a boat. Whose is it?’

‘I’m the skipper,’ Aaron said, who was sitting with his feet wide apart, a drink held easily in his large hands. That made sense; Lana had noticed the way he’d run his palm carefully over the wheel when they came aboard, his gaze moving across the deck – as if checking that everything was as it should be.

‘So you just sail around from place to place, deciding where you want to stop?’ Kitty asked.

He nodded. ‘Pretty much.’

From what Lana could tell there were five crew: Aaron, Denny, Heinrich, Shell and then a fifth member, Joseph, who’d been smoking alone at the bow when they’d arrived. Denny had asked if he wanted to join them, but Joseph had waved a hand in the air as he sloped by, saying in a lilting French accent that sleep was calling.

As the night wore on, more rum was poured – and then more still. Lana let the conversations wash around her, hearing bursts of Kitty’s laughter, which had taken on a loose, almost liquid sound. As the yacht turned lazily on its anchor, she watched the lights from the town flickering in the distance across the inky water. She had no idea that this was only the beginning.

3
THEN

Lana woke to the sensation that she was swaying. A deep throbbing resonated through her skull and she lifted a hand, rubbing the heel of it against her forehead. Though her eyes were closed, she could sense sunlight and became distantly aware of an engine running and the sound of water nearby.

Gradually her eyelids peeled open – and she saw not walls or a ceiling, but sky. She blinked, squinting against searing daylight. A breeze brushed against her face and she tried to push herself upright, but everything seemed to move, tilt, swing. She struggled – but it was as if the bed, the very ground, was sinking away from her. Then she realized: she and Kitty were in a hammock. She turned her head, sending a new shock of pain around her skull, and saw sea, sky, the deck of a yacht.

‘Kit …’ she croaked.

Kitty came out of sleep as if she’d been plugged into the mains. She sat bolt upright, her hair wild, eyes wide. ‘Yes? What?’

Lana blinked again, searching out the harbour, the fishing bangkas, the town – but land was just a blur of muted shadows behind them. ‘We’re moving.’

‘Holy fucking shit! What happened last night?’ Kitty exclaimed, half-laughing.

‘Tanduay Rhum happened,’ Shell said, gliding across the deck barefoot, holding out two mugs of coffee.

Lana reached for one. ‘My God, you lifesaver.’

‘Have you kidnapped us?’ Kitty asked, taking her coffee.

Shell smiled. ‘Aaron wanted to sail to a spot up the coast on high tide, so he set out early. You’ll be back at the harbour by lunchtime.’

Kitty ran a knuckle beneath each eye and pulled on her sunglasses, which had miraculously survived a night on the hammock.

‘Were you okay up here?’ Shell asked. ‘I use the hammock when it’s too hot below deck, but it can get a little damp.’

‘I don’t think we’d have noticed where we slept,’ Lana said, looking out to sea as they were motoring forward. Then she manoeuvred her legs out of the hammock, wincing at the hot ache in her ankle as she stood.

‘How is it?’ Kitty asked.

Lana experimented with putting weight on it. ‘Not too bad.’

‘Good morning.’

Lana and Kitty both turned to see the Frenchman, Joseph, approaching. He had a thin, angular face and wore a rumpled shirt over a pair of shorts, his dark hair foppish and uncut.

‘Sorry I didn’t stay and meet you properly last night,’ Joseph said on reaching them. ‘You had a good time, yes?’

‘I think so – from what we can remember of it,’ Kitty replied.

‘We’re still trying to get our heads round the fact that you all live here, on this boat,’ Lana added.

‘Yes, me also.’ Joseph smiled. ‘We’re all lucky to have found it.’

She nodded in agreement. ‘How long have you been on board?’

‘Me – only five weeks. But very good five weeks. The others have been here much longer—’

Joseph was interrupted by a shout from Aaron. ‘Shell! Joseph!’

They all turned. Aaron was standing at the helm wearing a sun-faded cap and polarized glasses. There was something authoritative about his stance, the widely planted feet, the single hand resting on the wheel, the lift of his chin. ‘Let’s get the sails up.’

Joseph turned back to Lana and Kitty. ‘Time to see us at work.’

*

Sound filled Lana’s ears: the wild flapping of the sail as it was hoisted, the creak and strain of the sheets then the rush of wind as it filled the sail, making it snap out full and proud. The yacht heeled to the side and Lana gripped tightly to the wire lifeline that ran around the perimeter of the deck.

A moment later the engine was cut and the noise of the motor slipped away so that all that remained was wind and waves. She craned her neck, mesmerized by the muscular curve of the sail as it stretched into a cloudless blue sky.

Lana had never been on a boat – let alone a yacht like this – and she was awed by the sheer magnificence of being propelled through the sea by the power of wind. There was something so elemental, so stunningly powerful, about it. The wind toyed with the hem of her dress and mussed through her hair – and she breathed in deeply, filling her lungs with the warm salt air.

She looked down the length of the yacht, taking in the weathered teak deck where swathes of rope were neatly coiled, and a paddleboard and two surfboards were lashed to the railings with bungee cords. She thought, This is another life – another world.

Denny appeared from below deck wearing a faded grey trucker’s cap, his tight curls pinging out at the sides. His gaze found Lana and he smiled. ‘Joining us?’

‘Looks that way.’

Kitty and Lana watched as the crew moved expertly around the yacht – an effortless dance in which everyone knew their role. Barefoot and tanned, they seemed like an exotic race of travellers blown in from a faraway shore.

They’d been sailing for an hour when Denny pointed towards the front of the boat and said to Lana and Kitty, ‘You two should stand at the bow. We’ll be going close in.’

They picked their way carefully forwards, the breeze gently buffeting them both. Kitty slipped an arm around Lana’s waist, leaning her head against her shoulder. They watched the coast reveal itself until they were sailing towards a towering rocky pinnacle where trees and bushes grew at odd angles from cracks in the limestone.

‘Isn’t this insane?’ Kitty said. ‘Can you believe we woke up on a fucking yacht?’

‘I know,’ Lana grinned. ‘Beats waking up on a bus.’ Last summer they’d gone to a gig in London, and afterwards Kitty had talked their way onto the tour bus. They’d woken eight hours later at Wolverhampton Services with atrocious hangovers and only £23 between them to get home.

Beneath the sun, the sea glistened. Lana leant over, peering down at the shallowing water, which lightened to an aquamarine – coral wavering in and out of view as they glided forwards. ‘God, I’m so pleased we’re not in England.’

Kitty glanced at her sideways. ‘You feeling okay about everything?’

By everything, Lana knew that Kitty was referring to her father. ‘I am right now.’

The nose of the yacht drew so close to the rocks that Kitty suddenly stretched her hands into the air as if she could touch them. The yacht hugged the cliff line, and then it edged around a craggy point.

There, opening up before them, was an emerald-green lagoon framed by dramatic pinnacles rising out of the water. A serene white-sand beach curved between the pinnacles, backed by an impenetrable forest.

Kitty turned to Lana, grinning. ‘I think we’ve just stumbled across paradise.’

*

They anchored in the lagoon, then all crammed into the dinghy to go on shore.

When they stepped onto the beach, Lana dug her fingers through the sand, which was made of thousands of beautiful, tiny shells and fragments of white coral.

Shell lay a blanket in the shade beneath a palm tree, and Lana and Kitty joined her. They were still in yesterday’s clothes and were thankful to have been wearing their bikinis beneath them. Kitty tugged off her shorts and edged into the sun, lying back using her arms as a pillow, her stomach stretching taut. Lana remained sitting, propping her elbows on her knees as she listened to Shell, who was telling them the story of The Blue as she plaited fine strands of leather into a bracelet.

‘The first I heard of it was from a group of travellers in Vietnam. There’d been rumours about this floating commune of sailors, wanderers and adventurers. They said that they’d seen the yacht travelling around, and the crew were stopping at remote bays, anchoring off empty shores, sleeping under the stars, surfing crowdless breaks, fishing for their meals. To me it sounded like heaven,’ she said, her facing blooming into a smile.

‘So I travelled from Vietnam, heading west for Thailand in search of The Blue. I’m not sure I truly believed that it existed – but miraculously, I found her. She was anchored in a quiet bay in the west of Ko Samui. The moment I saw her I knew I had to find a way to get on board.’

Shell put down the leather she’d been plaiting and told them, ‘I swam out to the yacht and introduced myself to this guy sitting in the cockpit mending a sail – who happened to be Aaron. He was making a hash of the sail, so I showed him how to make a stronger pattern of stitches. My dad’s a sailor,’ she added, ‘so I’ve done my fair share of sail repairs. I spent the afternoon helping, and once the sail was fixed, I asked Aaron if I could join The Blue.

‘There weren’t any free berths at the time, but I said I was happy with the hammock. I spent the first three weeks sleeping beneath the stars, waking up covered in dew and mosquito bites – but I loved every moment. Then a Danish guy left and I took over his berth. That was fourteen months ago now.

‘Denny’s been here the longest: he joined Aaron in Australia. After him a couple of lovely Swiss girls joined. They left about three months ago.’ Shell confided, ‘I’m heartbroken. I was rather in love with one of them, Lea. Totally one-sided of course – she had a boyfriend back in Switzerland – but still, she was wonderful. There’ve been a few other crew – some stay for weeks, others for months. Heinrich’s been with us for almost six months now. He’s a good guy. Great to have around the boat. I swear he can fix anything – engine parts, cupboard doors, bilge pumps – you name it. Joseph is our newest crew member. He tends to keep himself to himself, but from what I can see, he loves being out here.’ Shell opened her hands and said, ‘So that’s all of us.’

Lana glanced across at Kitty. They held each other’s eye, a current of excitement firing between them as they both understood: they had to find a way of becoming part of this.

*

Lana fell asleep in the shade. She was awoken some time later by a dig in the ribs from Kitty, who whispered, ‘Where is everyone?’

Lana sat up, rubbing her eyes and squinting against the bright sun. Shell was gone from beside them and, as Lana took in the empty bay – the hard white of the coral sand, the clear blue water fringing the beach – she realized she couldn’t see any of the crew. The shoreline was empty. She and Kitty were on a deserted stretch of coastline, only accessible by boat.

Just as the first sparks of fear were beginning to ignite, Kitty suddenly pointed towards the left-hand side of the cove. ‘The dinghy. It’s still there.’

‘Jesus,’ Lana said, placing a hand to her chest. ‘You almost gave me a heart attack – I thought they’d left us.’

On the far side of the dinghy the crew were gathered in a circle, talking. Lana watched as each took turns to speak, their expressions serious. Denny sat with his arms folded over his lean chest, nodding. When Joseph was talking, Aaron turned to glance in Lana and Kitty’s direction. Lana wasn’t sure if he was looking at them or not, so she lifted her hand in an awkward half-wave. He didn’t acknowledge her, simply turned back to the others.

Shell had described the crew as wanderers and adventurers but, as Lana watched them, she wondered whether it was a thirst for adventure that had brought them out here – or whether they all had a reason for leaving their old lives behind.

‘It was the right thing, wasn’t it?’ Lana said suddenly, facing Kitty. ‘Leaving.’

The night that Lana had turned up at Kitty’s flat in a state of shock about her father, she’d made a decision that she was going to leave England. Kitty had held Lana’s shoulders, looked at her squarely and told her, ‘Then I’m coming, too.’

They’d talked further the following morning, Kitty ladling pancake mixture into a pan of hot oil as she confided, ‘I’ve been thinking for a while of giving up on the acting. It’s getting me down,’ she explained, tilting the pan so the batter spread evenly to the edges. ‘The auditions. The rejections. The bitching. Last week I turned up at an audition for a vacuum-cleaner advert – a fucking advert – and the guy said, “Come back when you’re not hungover.”’ Kitty had snorted. ‘I hadn’t even had a bloody drink! Can you believe that?’

‘What, that you hadn’t had a drink?’

Kitty had flicked out a hand and bashed Lana’s arm. ‘I’m just not sure I can face it any more.’

‘But you’re amazing at what you do.’

‘Am I?’ Kitty had said, loosening the edges of the pancake with a wooden spatula. ‘Maybe I thought I was at school, but in London every attention-seeking twenty-something seems like they’re trying to make it – and believe me, there are a lot of us. It’s hard, Lana. The constant rejections are crushing me. And … well, the thing is, I don’t even know what else I’d do. I’m not good at anything.’ Kitty flipped the pancake and it landed neatly back in the pan.

‘You’re a good pancake tosser.’

‘Curriculum vitae of Kitty Berry – experienced tosser.’

Over that long weekend in Kitty’s dingy studio-flat, while the rain fell in thick sweeps against the window panes, they’d spun the globe and concocted their plan to leave.

Lana had been surprised at how easy it was to dismantle her life. It’d taken a month to work her notice, move out of her shared flat, and sell her car. She and Kitty planned to start in the Philippines, and then travel on from there. They pooled their savings, then drew up a budget to see how long it would last them both, deciding to apply for work visas when the money ran out. They booked travel insurance, bought suncream, flip-flops and mosquito repellent, and had vaccinations for diphtheria and hepatitis A. The frenzy of activity was so consuming that Lana felt as if she hadn’t paused for breath until suddenly they were clanking down the metal plane stairway into the dense Filipino heat.

Now Kitty turned towards Lana, sunlight making her eyes glitter. ‘Leaving?’ Kitty repeated. Then her face bloomed into a smile as she said, ‘Best decision we’ve ever made.’

*

Lana waded into the shallows, feeling the cool grasp of the sea around her legs. Kitty hadn’t wanted to swim, so Lana pushed away from the shoreline alone, marvelling at the incredible feeling of weightlessness. When she was a little deeper, she ducked below the surface letting her body trail close to the seabed until her breath ran out.

She surfaced, then swam hard for a few minutes, feeling the muscles in her shoulders and legs tighten. When she reached a cluster of low-lying rocks, she pulled herself onto them, wrung the salt water from her long hair and leant back against the sun-warmed limestone.

Sometime later she saw a tanned back skimming along the surface, a snorkel pipe in the air. Denny lifted his head and, noticing her, he pulled the mask from his face, treading water.

‘See much?’ she asked.

‘Some amazing brain coral. Plenty of angelfish around, too.’ He clambered up the rock and plonked himself beside her, his shorts sending rivulets of water streaming towards her legs.

Looking down the line of her shins towards her feet, he asked, ‘How’s the ankle?’

‘Pretty good, thanks.’

His gaze shifted to her other ankle and he asked, ‘How long you had the ink?’

Lana looked at the black tattoo of a single wing of long black feathers. ‘Since I was seventeen. Kitty and I were supposed to get matching wings – but she fainted when she saw the tattooist’s needle.’

He laughed. ‘But you had yours done anyway.’

As they’d walked out of the parlour, Kitty had been bouncing around on the spot, saying, ‘I can’t believe you did it! Lana, you have a fucking tattoo! How cool is that? Your dad is going to go ballistic!’ But her dad said nothing. She wasn’t even sure he’d seen it. She went barefoot around the house, putting her feet up on the coffee table, but he either didn’t notice or simply chose not to pass comment.

Denny leant forward and placed his damp fingers on the tattoo. She felt heat spread from the point at which his skin connected with hers, and she stared at the spot as if she’d find it aglow.

‘It’s different,’ he said, looking at her sideways, and she couldn’t work out if he meant different-good or different-bad. She could feel warmth beginning to creep into her cheeks, and scrabbled to think of something to say. ‘Do you and Aaron know each other from back home? You’re both from New Zealand, aren’t you?’

‘New Zealand’s a big place,’ Denny said with an easy smile. ‘I joined The Blue in Australia.’

She nodded. ‘How do you all do this? This lifestyle that you have – sailing around the world with friends, living from one day to the next. It seems so …’ She paused, looking for the word. ‘… intangible.’

‘Intangible?’ Denny smiled, the sun catching in the golden hairs of his eyebrows. ‘I like that.’

‘But how do any of you afford it?’ she asked, then wondered if the question sounded rude.

‘We try and keep costs down, live simply. We all put in a hundred and fifty dollars a week to cover food, water, fuel and marina fees when there are any. If there’s anything left over it goes into the repairs fund. Some people had savings, plus we pick up work where we can. Like Shell – she makes jewellery and sells it in the tourist spots, and when we’re in port she teaches a few yoga classes, too. I know Joseph had some money put aside from before. I’m not too sure what Heinrich’s set up is; he said he’s going to be running dry soon. And then me – I work while I’m out here.’

‘Doing what?’ Lana asked.

‘I’m a translator. Of novels. French into English.’

‘I’ve never met a translator. What an interesting job,’ she said, looking at him afresh. ‘Is there an art to it? I can’t imagine how you go about replicating an author’s meaning in a different language.’

‘That’s what I love – trying to find the author’s voice and then convey it. Humour’s the hardest. It’s all wordplay and timing, which doesn’t always translate so easily.’

‘Where did you learn French?’

‘Went on a family trip to Réunion island as a teenager. It’s French-speaking. Loved it so much that I decided to study French for my degree as I got to spend a year of it on Réunion. After I graduated I worked in-house for a technical firm translating documents, but it didn’t suit me. Too much looking out a window longing to be someplace else, y’know? So I moved to fiction, went freelance.’

Lana nodded, understanding that longing to be somewhere else. She thought of the endless grey days at the insurance firm where she worked following her art degree – any hint of creative ambition stifled by the need to pay rent. She’d lived for her lunch breaks just so she could walk through the park and see daylight.

A loud whistle sounded from the shore. She turned and saw Aaron gesturing to the dinghy.

Denny glanced at her with something like regret in his expression. ‘Looks like it’s time to head back.’

*

It was mid-afternoon when The Blue returned to harbour. There was no mention of the girls joining the crew, and neither Lana nor Kitty felt comfortable asking. Aaron ran them ashore in the dinghy, and they sat together watching silently as the yacht shrank in their wake.

The noise and heat of town seemed to thicken the closer they drew to land, like a gathering thunderstorm. Lana’s earlier ebullience deflated as she thought of the sweltering heat of their guest room and the stringy kebabs they’d probably pick up for dinner in town after fighting their way through the crowds, street dogs and litter.

Aaron tied up the dinghy and held it steady as the girls climbed out. The ground seemed unstable after a night and day at sea and Lana felt as if she were swaying.

She hooked her bag across her shoulders, glancing at The Blue for a final time. The day had taken on a surreal quality – as if Lana and Kitty had swum into a dream from which they were only now waking.

Lana pushed her hands into the wide pockets of her dress and faced Aaron. ‘Thank you. It’s been an incredible day.’

‘Yes!’ Kitty chimed at her shoulder. ‘Amazing. Literally the best day of our entire trip. That beach was just … unreal. We’ll never—’

‘Be back here in two hours with your stuff,’ Aaron interrupted. ‘We set sail at eighteen hundred hours.’

Lana blinked, staring at Aaron. He was leaning back against the nose of the dinghy, arms folded across his chest, his face expressionless. ‘Sorry?’

Beside her, Kitty’s mouth was beginning to split into a smile. ‘Are you saying … we can join the crew?’

‘We took a vote on it and you’re in. Joseph is going to bunk in with Heinrich, so there’s a free cabin if you want it.’

‘Holy shit!’ Kitty exclaimed, clamping her hands over her mouth.

‘Are you serious? We can join the crew?’ Lana asked.

He nodded. ‘But I haven’t told you the conditions yet.’

‘Anything,’ Kitty said.

‘There are four rules. You break them, you’re out.’

They nodded vigorously.

‘One. Everyone pulls their weight – that includes cooking, cleaning, laundry, sailing, night watches – anything that needs doing. Don’t wait to be asked. Get stuck in. I know you don’t have any sailing experience, but I expect you to learn. Fast. Two. All important decisions are made by group vote – where we travel, what we buy, who comes aboard. Once made, the vote stands. Three. No relationships between the crew. We don’t need the complication.’

Kitty arched an eyebrow. ‘You run a celibate boat?’

‘I never said anything about celibacy. I just said no relationships.’

Kitty grinned.

‘And four,’ Aaron continued. ‘I’m not a nanny so don’t expect me to act like one. Everyone’s responsible for their own safety – we’ve got life jackets, harnesses, a life raft, flares and an EPIRB on board. Ask one of the crew to show you how they all work, and wear your life jacket or safety harness whenever you see fit.’

He ran a hand over the back of his head, the stubble of his shaven head scraping against his palm. ‘So what d’you reckon? Still coming?’

Lana turned and looked over her shoulder towards the yacht, a bright, effervescent sensation filling her. She found Kitty’s fingers and squeezed them tightly between her own. ‘We’re coming.’