I feign a dramatic clutching of my heart, another hand to my brow. I’m a sassy sailor, clearly.
‘Aye, ye must hope he returns,’ the pirate says. ‘Lest we have heartbreak upon our shores.’
Sam winks at me, and I’m surprised my legs don’t give up. It’s like a wave has rocked me. It has to be the fear of performing this skit in front of others, and not connected to whatever that wink was.
‘That map is mine.’
‘Before ye go’—the pirate grips my hand—‘ye must wear the hat of luck.’
He holds a bright pink and garish hat with fishnet tied around it, which he plonks on my head. Sam covers his mouth, but the laughter is loud. I approach the hissing, growling siren. She reaches clawed hands at me as my hand moves to grab the map.
‘Aye, that were close,’ the pirates cajole.
‘Mass approaching,’ the steering pirate calls.
‘Ye are leading us to our deaths,’ the other pirate wails.
The siren pretends to be distracted by the rocks, her map-holding hand outstretched. I take it from her and she gasps, wailing in turmoil, a dramatic performance worthy of a soap opera.
‘Quick, ye must hand it to our captain.’
Stepping up on deck, the sun kissing my skin, I hand the map to the captain pirate, who grins at me with fake black teeth.
He consults the map and steers left, the boat nowhere near the rocks, but now out of harm’s way.
‘Aye, ye have saved us, and the siren will be banished back to the ocean.’
‘This isn’t over,’ the siren says. ‘The curse is set.’
And she disappears in a mirage of laughter.
So camp, I’m obsessed with her.
The group applaud, led by Sam, his arms above his head, all powerful muscle and tanned skin. Even the European woman smiles, but only briefly. Her hands don’t rise from her sides.
The boat comes to a stop, an anchor thrown over the edge.
‘Lads and lasses,’ the captain calls. ‘A quest in the ocean. Ye must swim, relax, before our voyage continues. Welcome to Moni.’
With the boat bobbing on the ocean, tranquillity washes over us. Just us and the crystal-clear ocean, the marine life below.
The girl stretches and undresses, revealing an exceptionally toned body. She catches Sam’s eye, winks, and dives into the water.
I turn my gaze towards Sam to gauge his reaction.
‘She thinks you’re?—’
‘It’s because I was looking at her bikini,’ Sam mutters, before shaking his head. ‘Not like that. Checking who the designer might be.’
‘And who is the designer?’
‘Givenchy.’
‘Of course.’
Sam raises his T-shirt over his head. How did he get his body to look like that? So different from my own: a dad bod, covered in hair.
‘Swim?’
