Page 49 of Below the Deck

Her brother?Eleni frowned. ‘Okay.’ This wasn’t what she’d been expecting. She assumed whatever they were upset about was to do with her and Mark – she’d joined the dots wrongly, and thought Alfie might be ‘the other man’. But then, surely Mark wouldn’t have hugged Lucy so fiercely if she’d just revealed an affair. No; clearly, this was a family thing. ‘And … has something happened to him since you’ve been away? Why are you so upset about him?’

‘Somethingdidhappen, yes. Not since we’ve been here, but … Alfie’s got cerebral palsy, and autism, and learning disabilities,’ said Lucy, looking away from Eleni and staring out to sea. ‘He doesn’t talk – he never will – and he needs a lot of help. A lot of care. It’s been … hard, at times.’ Lucy turned her eyes to Eleni warily, as if waiting for judgement or dismissal. But Eleni wasn’t going to give Lucy either of those things.

‘I’m sorry,’ she said. ‘That must be tough.’ One of Eleni’s younger cousins was autistic and had a lot of complex needs. The whole family adored her, but she knew the strain it had placed on her aunt and uncle, caring for her. She could imagine how hard it was, growing up with a sibling who needed so much support.

Lucy shifted her weight on the cushions. ‘When Alfie’s calm – when he’s happy – he’s the sweetest, kindest, most loving person you’ve ever met. He’s so affectionate; he’s like a big ball of cuddles.’

‘Right …’ Eleni replied.Where is this going?She waited, trying to be patient. She was open to hearing what Lucy neededto say; she wasn’t going to abandon her mid-conversation. But she still had no idea what this was about, and she was losing precious time.

Lucy sniffed. ‘But when he’s not happy – when he’s dysregulated or distressed – he can’t control himself, he does things he’d nevermeanto do. He’d never want to hurt anyone – especially not his family.’ As she spoke, Lucy’s hand moved to rub her upper arm, where the bruise that Eleni had noticed a couple of days earlier was now fading to a greenish yellow.

In an instant, Eleni understood. That bruise – and perhaps many more like it – hadn’t come from clumsy wanderings in the middle of the night; they hadn’t been anything to do with Mark, either. It was Lucy’s brother who’d hurt her: the person she probably loved most in the world, and who undoubtedly loved her just as much back.

A lump formed in the back of Eleni’s throat; she swallowed it down. She didn’t know what it was like for Lucy, exactly – she didn’t understand the finer details of her experiences with Alfie – but the realization that someone Lucy loved so much had been harming her, over and over, probably for years … it was almost too much for Eleni to bear.

She turned back to Lucy, a question still nagging at her. She didn’t want to pry – but there was another name she’d overheard when she came up here, and she still didn’t understand how the pieces joined together. ‘But … what does Alfie – what doesall this– have to do with Rory?’

Lucy’s eyes widened in shock; she opened her mouth, looked as though she was about to reply – when an urgent call reached their ears.

‘Lucy – Eleni – sorry to interrupt.’ It was Johanna, callingto them from the spiral staircase. ‘But you need to come indoors right away. It’s not safe out here – any minute now, we’re going to hit the squall.’

SAM

Sam stood at the bow of the main deck and stared darkly out to sea. Since he’d been hovering here, the sky had morphed from its usual electric blue into a dull, muted grey. He checked the time on his phone – it was only mid-afternoon, but he could barely see a few metres ahead.

At first, with the sea calm and the sky clear, he’d thought the captain was worrying about rough weather for nothing – she’d been pissed off about casting off late, though she’d bowed to Rory’s pressure in the end, as people usually did. Now, as the clouds clustered into one dark mass, he realized she’d been right.

Sam could hear the others getting settled in the salon; he didn’t want to join them. He was still feeling the after-effects of the night before: the dinner that had started like a scene from a glossy magazine with Bond music and martinis – and ended in drama and hostility.

He’d felt such a rush of smug pride at making Rory squirm when he’d asked him to explain – in front of everyone – whySam was here. The panic in Rory’s eyes – the blustering explanation. That part felt good.

But he still stung with bitter disappointment too. At Talia’s expression when Sam had spoken up for her: the flicker of irritation, as if he’d crossed a line. The irony of that made him wince; there was only one man around that table known for crossing lines, and it sure as hell wasn’t Sam. All he’d done was tell the truth – Roryshouldn’thave spoken to her like that; hedidn’tknow why Talia put up with it.

Then, after the big blow-out, when it was just Sam and Eleni left and he’d tried to talk to her about Lucy – and about Rory’s patterns, more generally. The way she’d just brushed him off – as ifSamwas the problem; as if it was all in his head! He’d only been trying to help – to give these women a voice. And they’d shut him out in the cold.Just typical. People never saw what he was really trying to do – not Claire, and not the women on this yacht.

Sam rubbed his arms; the breeze had picked up. For the first time since they’d got here, he was cold. He should go inside, grab a hoodie, get himself warm. But everyone else was in there, on the sofas in the salon. He’d have to walk right past them, and the crew would no doubt make him sit down with them all. Hereallydidn’t feel like doing that. His mood fit much better out here, under the increasingly black skies.

The sea was turning choppy now too. TheLussowas bobbing higher and falling lower with each wave, forcing a watery nausea to rush up Sam’s throat with each dip and swell. Through the thick clouds, he tried to catch sight of the horizon ahead to quell the sudden rush of seasickness – but as he leaned forward, a wave smashed so violently against the bow that itsplashed upwards, drenching his face, making him yell out and step back from the edge of the deck.

As he rubbed the salt water out of his eyes and tried to dry his face with his T-shirt, Sam stepped further away from the bow. He caught the voices of the deck crew from further down the yacht, at the stern. They were calling out to each other as they collected loose items and equipment from the outer decks and stowed them in the garage.

He wandered closer. Kai and Noah were now securing everything left on deck with lanyards and thick ropes. They were toiling away at high speed, a different energy to their usual relaxed vibe. It felt almost surreal, like Sam was in a nautical TV drama – not a luxurious work trip with his colleagues.

In between their work, the two men were chatting casually. Sam thought he might approach them and ask to watch, maybe even join in the banter – maybe it would help lift his gloomy mood.

But then he caught some of their words:

‘Nah, I’ll be pleased to see the back of this lot, mate,’ Noah was saying. ‘Don’t blame the girls for being pissed off. Only another day after today, and we’re done.’

Sam froze.They’re talking about us. He tucked himself out of sight between the yacht’s superstructures and the bulwark lining the edge of the vessel, and listened.

‘Thank God. I just hope no more shit goes down later,’ said Kai. ‘Did Michaela tell you how bad it got over dinner last night?’

‘Oh yeah, she did, mate. What a fucking shitshow.’

‘Yup. I’m telling you, we’ve all seen way too much for one charter. We’re going to need therapy after this, I swear.’

‘Ha,’ Noah snorted. ‘Nah, we’ll never be able to breathe a word about it. Not even to a therapist. Captain will lose her mind if one of her charters ends up in the gossip columns.’