Always and Only You

Chapter Thirty-Two

CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO

Present Day

Gil twists to look behind him, then paddles frantically to check the opposite direction. ‘What …? Where …?’ He turns back to face me, eyes wide. I’ve never seen Gil scared before, not even on that horrible night, and my heart pounds even harder.

He treads water in a circle. ‘It can’t have just …’

But I think it has. It’s just that neither of us wants to say it. The boat is gone. It’s nowhere to be seen.

Gil swears creatively and at length, describing just what kind of idiots the boat captain, the tour organizers and anyone on St Lucia involved in the planning and execution of this snorkelling adventure are. And then he turns to look at me.

‘You just couldn’t help yourself, could you?’

My arms stop moving while my legs kick underneath me. ‘What?’

He fixes me with one of his intense and uncomfortable stares. ‘Super-independent Erin … Can’t possibly stay with the group and snorkel. You have to go off on your own …’

‘You are not turning this around on me! I could still see the boat. I kept checking regularly, and even if you’re right, they should have done a head count before they left. Standard procedure. It’s not my fault the boat left without us.’

Gil says nothing, but the fire leaves his eyes. I suspect he knows I’m right.

But then I have another thought … I pause as a larger wave rolls past us and close my mouth so it doesn’t end up full of salt water before carrying on. ‘Someone has to realize we’re missing, don’t they? Even if it’s your friend in the white bikini!’

‘I told you … She’s not—’

‘Okay. Whatever. The girl in the white bikini. Better?’

Gil gives a grudging nod and then we both turn and look in the direction the boat came from to deposit us at this location, even though neither of us is sure that’s the way it departed.

‘So we just need to stay here,’ I say, a tiny bubble of hope inflating inside my chest. ‘We need to stay by the reef so they’ll know where to find us.’

Gil glances towards the shore, which is visible but quite some distance away. ‘I’d guess it’s about a mile back to the beach. And we have no way of knowing if the tide is working with us or against us, or if there are currents that will tire us out before we get there.’

Oh. So while I’ve been trying to think positive thoughts to stop myself from panicking, Gil has calmly been calculating how likely our deaths are. How on brand of him. I feel a surge of whatever feisty flight or fight reaction he’s been having, which is quickly followed by a barrage of thoughts, all containing pieces of information I now wish I didn’t know from my yachting days – like the biggest part of us someone on a boat will be able to see is our heads, which are roughly the size of a cabbage, and surprisingly difficult to pinpoint amid the undulation of even relatively calm seas.

We tread water an arm’s length away from each other in silence for what seems like an hour, but what my waterproof fitness tracker actually confirms is ten minutes. And then we do it for another ten. And then another. The tiny balloon of hope in my chest begins to leak air.

‘They’ll have to do another head count when they leave the next snorkelling spot,’ I shout at Gil over the waves. ‘They could catch their mistake then!’

‘Maybe,’ Gil yells back, and I can tell he’s thinking what I’m thinking – the likelihood of them making the same mistake twice is high.

My balloon of hope deflates completely and it makes my limbs feel heavy. I’m tired … and while I’m not a bad swimmer, I know we’re going to need the endurance of Channel swimmers to give ourselves a chance. I’ve seen movies where this happens to people and those films never, ever have a happy ending.

The message to panic finally works its way from my brain to my extremities and I suddenly lose all coordination. Instead of bobbing in the water beside Gil, my head disappears under the waves. The shock of the water on my face causes me to scrabble my way back to the surface, and I arrive coughing and spluttering, spitting out seawater. I grab for Gil and pull myself to him, not caring if I’m pulling him under in an attempt to anchor myself onto something warm and solid. And floating.

He manages to avoid a complete dunking, but he swallows almost as much salt water as I have. ‘Erin!’ he says in a loud, firm voice, after spitting it out.

It’s no good. I hear my name, but the word makes no sense to me. It doesn’t stop me clawing at him like he’s a life raft, or one of those inflatable crocodiles that seem to be for sale at every beach shop the world over.

‘Erin!’ He’s shouting now and using his superior strength to prise my hands from him and clasps my wrists together in his hands. ‘Get yourself under control or we’re both going to drown!’

The word ‘drown’ slices through my panic like a knife, cutting me off from it momentarily. I process what he’s said and realize he’s right. I’ve got to pull myself together.

He lets go of me, and even though all I want to do is cling on to him, I manage to keep my hands to myself. I stare at him, teeth chattering, even though the surrounding water is pleasant enough to qualify as a lukewarm bath. ‘What … what are we going to do?’

Gil nudges himself towards me, and this time his hands slide around my waist. ‘Do you want me to be honest?’

I’m not sure I do, but I know I need him to be, so I nod.

He looks at me for a few seconds. ‘I don’t know what to do, Erin. I don’t know how to get out of this by ourselves, but I know one thing …’

He must see my eyes dart all over the place as I take in the distant mountains, the uncompromising horizon, the billions upon millions of gallons of water we’re floating in. My pulse, which has only just slowed down, begins to skip again.

Gil moves his hands to my face, cupping my jaw to make me look at him. My hands come to rest on his shoulders, gripping him for support but calmly this time. Our legs kick in unison.

‘I will do anything and everything to make sure you get through this.’

You. He said ‘you’. Not ‘we’. And I suddenly realize what he means and just how far he will go to make good on that promise, because a promise it was.

Once upon a time, I’d have remembered his history, I’d have remembered what happened five years ago, and I’d have scoffed at his words, flung them back at him with sarcasm probably, but I don’t do that now. Because I believe him. With every fibre of my being, I believe Gil would die here on this reef to make sure I survive.