Always and Only You

Chapter Thirty

CHAPTER THIRTY

Present Day

I arrive at the wooden dock approximately ten minutes before the boat is due to leave. It’s bigger than I expect. I’d pictured a speedboat, similar to the tenders we had on the yacht that could hold maybe ten people, but this is a sleek fifty-footer with two decks.

It’s my turn to go on the excursion today, and I’m really looking forward to snorkelling. It’s about time I got to do something with a little exercise attached. In the last two days, Gil has been zip lining and on a hike to the top of the smaller of the two Piton mountains. I ended up doing a tour round a chocolate plantation yesterday, complete with tastings and spiced rum hot chocolate. It seemed like the perfect way to soothe my misery, but I felt queasy afterwards.

And then last night I went on the sunset and champagne cruise. I thought it would be relaxing, but it turned out to be quite depressing. The rest of the boat was filled with canoodling couples and I stood out like a sore thumb. Even though it was already dusk, I jammed my sunglasses on, then spent the entire trip crying behind them. It was something I’d earmarked to do with Simon when we went on our honeymoon. In that moment, I missed him so much it felt as if someone had carved a hole in my chest.

And I scared myself. When I tried to picture him, his face wouldn’t come fully into focus, as if he was the dream, not the real person. And then I got back to the cottage where Gil was hogging the living room, watching some obscure movie and chowing down on room service, and I just got incredibly irritated with him for sitting there, invading what should be my honeymoon with his angular, unblurred features, and his giant feet up on the coffee table.

A handful of people are already bagging seats on the top deck of the boat, and another fifteen or so are waiting to go across the gangplank onto the swim platform at the back.

Once I’m on board, I breathe out. Just being on the water again soothes my frazzled nerves. I want to take in as much of the scenery as possible, so I head up top. Thankfully, the upper deck has a hard white canopy, which means I won’t be getting sunburnt. I’m just squeezing past a few people, heading for the perfect spot, when I stop and do a double take.

Gil?

He spots me glaring at him and stares back at me, mirroring my confusion.

‘What are you doing here?’ we both stay at the same time, and then in unison we answer, ‘Because it’s my turn.’ There are a couple of heartbeats of silence while we stare at each other. ‘Erin …’ Gil begins, as I say, ‘Stop doing that!’

I feel as if I’m at a disadvantage standing up, so I plonk myself down in the seat opposite. I don’t want him to think that I’m going to leave.

‘I thought you were going on the shopping trip to Castries,’ he says to me, his voice monotone.

I shake my head and sigh. It really is like being married. He hasn’t been paying attention to anything I’ve told him in the last twenty-four hours, which is kind of impressive, seeing as we’ve only exchanged a handful of sentences. It’s not like the details could have got drowned out in the sheer volume of conversation.

‘No … I said I didn’t want to go on the shopping trip. I said I wanted to do the snorkelling.’

Gil folds his arms and hooks one foot on top of his other knee. ‘So did I.’

I make a show of getting myself more comfortable on the hard plastic seat. ‘I’m not going anywhere.’

His gaze is almost nonchalant, but I can hear the grit in his tone. ‘Fine.’

Here we are then. Stalemate. Yet again.

I mean, I get it. He thinks I’m being a total bitch, and I suppose he has a right to. I dumped him on his honeymoon. But he doesn’t understand. I want to get up and shake him by the shoulders, tell him it’s not real – he’s not real – so can he please just get over himself and let me have this?

Gil uncrosses his leg. He’s wearing board shorts and a linen shirt, unbuttoned. I’m trying very hard not to look at the toned muscle between where the two edges don’t meet. Instead, I tilt my head and stare at him until he looks back at me.

‘What?’

‘There is a snorkelling trip at this time every day,’ I tell him. ‘You could come tomorrow if you wanted to.’

He shakes his head. ‘Be my guest. This time tomorrow, I’m hoping to be up there …’ His head jerks towards the vast blue sky above us. ‘Sitting comfortably in an aeroplane seat and on my way back to the grey and drizzle of London. You go tomorrow, if you want to.’

I start to state my case, I’m interrupted by the rumble of the engine and jolt as the boat pulls away from the jetty. It seems our argument has been settled for us.

And now the boat is so full, that I have no option but to sit opposite Gil for the whole of the forty-minute journey to the first snorkelling spot. I can feel my blood pressure rising with every nautical mile.

In the end, I decide I’d rather stand, so I head to the stern and stare out at the wake created by the boat’s propellers. The water settles within a hundred metres and the memory of the boat that tore through it becomes forgotten and untraceable.

The thought makes me shiver, even though the Caribbean sun is warm on my skin. What if that’s me? What if I’ve spent too long in this … ‘in-between’ place now? What if, even if I try to go back to my waking life, it’s not possible because the link has been severed? Will I just fade away, forgotten, like the churning waves?

My mood isn’t helped when I look away towards the front of the boat and see a girl in a string bikini strolling over to Gil. She sits down in my empty seat and begins to chat with him. He doesn’t perk up or lean forward, but he does talk back to her.

Urgh. I look away in disgust.