Page 25 of Below the Deck

There was a long pause, and then: ‘Are you all right, Lulu? Just tell me what you’re thinking.’ Mark’s voice was all concern. It irritated her.

She looked away from him and picked up her phone again. She was still angry; she still felt he wasn’t telling her everything.And besides, it had become a habit now, dismissing him, pushing him away – protecting herself from his incessant concern, or trying to. ‘I’m fine. Let’s not talk about it any more.’

Mark said nothing for a moment, and a sick pang of guilt rose in her throat.

I’m sorry, she told him silently.I don’t want it to be like this either.

‘This is all pretty rich of you, you know,’ Mark mumbled. Lucy put down her phone; her guilt evaporated in an instant, replaced with a cold wariness.I bet I know where this is going.

‘What’s rich of me?’

‘Getting all suspicious about what I’m doing. I seem to remember it was only yesterday I caught you sneaking around in your boss’s cabin.’ Mark’s eyes narrowed. ‘I’d say that’s a fuck of a lot shadier than me getting rat-arsed and saying some stupid shit.’

‘I told you. I was looking for some paperwork. You can ask Rory about it if you want. He’ll know what I was doing.’ It was a bold suggestion; one that she knew Mark was unlikely to take her up on, especially after embarrassing himself last night.

‘Maybe I will,’ he replied.

‘You do that.’

‘Fine.’

‘Fine!’ Lucy half-shouted the last word, no longer able to keep her irritation under wraps.Good God, we’ve reverted to monosyllabic adolescents.She should apologize, for her tone if not the things she’d said. But she couldn’t seem to force the words out of her mouth. She wasn’t ready to close the gaping chasm between them yet; she couldn’t, even if she wanted to.

‘I just can’t believe you’re mistrusting me,’ Mark said huffily. ‘We’ve been together since sixth form. And I’ve been by your side through everything these last few years. Doesn’t that count for anything?’

Lucy sighed. The irony of his irritation wasn’t lost on her: for months, she’d been busy keeping secrets from him, telling him half-truths, and now here she was, indignant at him for one evening’s odd behaviour. She wondered if this was how it had felt for him; if he’d been living with a constant nagging feeling that something wasn’t right between them. It was a miserable experience. No wonder he’d been so keen to come on this trip with her, to try to make things feel okay again.

And after all, this washerperson: the man who’d made her feel as a teenager, for the first time in her entire life, that she wasn’t a total freak, a weirdo. He seemed to innately understand her in a way no one else – except perhaps her mum and Alfie – did. The man who not onlyindulgedher info-dumping about random historical figures and obscure eighties punk bands, but seemed to actuallyenjoyit. The man who understood that, even though she came across as blunt and her small talk was abysmal, she never meant to be rude or stand-offish. He was the only one who understood that she showed her care and empathy by trying to do something to help, rather than offering hugs or empty platitudes.

‘Of course it counts,’ she said finally. ‘But being together since sixth form – even supporting me through a crisis – it doesn’t mean you can act completely fuckingunhinged, on holiday with my boss, and expect me to just … nod along and put up with it.’

Mark whipped the duvet off his legs and got out of bed.He stood towering above her and looked down into Lucy’s face, his eyes flashing.

Lucy stared back, an acidic taste on her tongue. ‘What?’ she snarled.

‘Lucy, if anyone’s acting unhinged in this relationship, it’s sure as hell not me!’

Lucy gaped. ‘And what on earth is that supposed to mean?’ She couldn’t hold back, even though she knew she should leave it now. This argument was getting worse by the second, and Mark’s attention was turning uncomfortably close to her behaviour too.

‘Oh, come on. You’ve been acting weird for months! You’ve been—’

Lucy had heard enough; this had to stop. ‘I’m going for breakfast – come too, or stay here – do whatever you want,’ she snapped, cutting him off.

She whirled out of bed, grabbed some clothes and stormed into the bathroom to change. She didn’t especially want to leave her cabin and join the others – it was hard to put up with the continued tension and frostiness, especially from some of the other women – but at least with everyone else she’d have some protection from Mark’s accusations: the invasive questions, delivered with his laser-eyed focus.

And at least, if she left her cabin, the opportunity might arise for her to sneak back into Rory’s.

She gave Mark one last, withering look as she stomped out of the en-suite and towards the cabin door. He watched her go, an expression of hurt confusion crumpling his features. Then she closed the door behind her, tears of frustration threatening to spill.

If only I’d gone into work that day.If she’d been in the office, he wouldn’t have seen the invitation, with its picture of theLusso di Mare, pop up in her inbox when they’d both, unusually, been working from home.

If only she’d come up with a better excuse for why she was admiring an image of a superyacht.

If only he hadn’t read the subject line, announcing the opportunity to bring a plus one, before she’d minimized her Outlook window.

If only he hadn’t come here.

After all, she hadn’t even wanted him on this yacht in the first place.