*
‘Come on, Becks! It’s not that hard!’ Petra yelled across the water.
It was easy for Petra to say it wasn’t hard. Petra had already got into the tiny hull of the boat like she was simply slipping into a bath. For Becky, the boat rocking back and forth untethered, her gripping on, it felt like mounting a moving camel. Not that she had mounted a camel before, but she had seen lots of camel footage on You’ve Been Framed.
Maybe, if she was pathetic enough for long enough, Petra, Troy and Atlantis would get bored, sail off and she could tear off the lifejacket and settle on a sun lounger. Or grab a frappe from the taverna. It looked like a nice taverna here. All of the sea view and none of the waves trying to mash her into the pebbles…
‘Becks! Get in the boat! Come on!’ Petra yelled.
Petra seemed to be actually steering her vessel already, somehow turning the mast so the sail reacted to the wind direction. She looked completely in control.
‘It is the white colour of her boat!’ This shout came from Atlantis. He was the closest to Becky but didn’t seem in any way keen to help. ‘I tell you, white is unlucky.’
Becky took a breath. The sooner she got in the boat, the sooner she could angle it away from Atlantis and head off somewhere he couldn’t be heard. Although she wasn’t sure even Albania was going to be far enough…
As soon as the next wave had passed, Becky jumped, landing flat out on the boat like a marooned cuttlefish. Sprawling, the sea still claiming half her legs, she wiggled and writhed, hauling herself up onto the constantly rising and falling almost-ship. This was completely undignified. She could already feel her swimming costume had ridden up into parts of her even a gynaecologist would have a hard time finding.
‘That’s it, Becks!’ she heard Petra shout. ‘Now get your leg over!’
Becky closed her eyes, knowing the entire shoreline would have heard her friend’s words of encouragement. Where was the hole that was meant to house her? She crawled, backwards, commando-style, immediately thinking about Megan and her assault-course triumph to win the army catering contract, up the length of the boat until she found the niche she was supposed to be sitting in. There was no chance of turning around to face the correct way, she just had to somehow wind her legs underneath her and slot her body where it was supposed to be. When they had explained how the vessel operated, they hadn’t said it was going to take quite so much effort to get onboard. With one final effort, the waves cresting over the front of the boat, Becky pushed herself back and she somehow found the spot, dropping into the oblong opening with a thump. Her half-exposed bum took a hit and she actually wanted to cry. What was she doing here? She wasn’t a seasoned adventurer like Petra. She should simply be sunbathing or learning a few words of Greek while admiring the scenery. Not pretending she was Ben Fogle.
Now, what was it she had to do with the ropes and the rods? Water was slopping into the area she was perched on and the constant rolling motion was not letting up at all. It was like being on an airport walkway that was malfunctioning – taking you nearer to the gate then changing its mind – and repeat, at max speed.
The sail was making a noise now. A thumping then a thwacking like it was angry. It probably wasn’t used to being manhandled by a complete novice. Becky took control of the thin rope and then… she was off! With a scream, she was thrown back against the rear of the carved-out section, lifejacket cutting into her ribs, zipping across the ocean like the yacht had been given an engine. Sea salt and spray flashed into Becky’s eyes and coated her lips and she hurriedly wiped at her face in order to maintain some sort of visual on where she was going. It was all too fast now, and rocky and… should they really be out in the water in these flimsy things when the sea seemed to be on the verge of ferocious?
‘Becks! Slow down!’ It was Petra’s voice, only a whisper on the wind. Did Petra really think she wanted to be sailing at this rate of knots? She didn’t want to be sailing at all! She had only really come along because she didn’t think Petra should be on her own with two random men. Playing the mum/big sister and acting older than twenty-five again…
Becky pulled the rod and leaned back a bit, attempting to change her direction. There might not be a lot of sea traffic in this cove at the moment, but there were orange buoys to avoid and there were three other dinghies like hers… and she seemed to be somehow on a direct line to Atlantis.
‘Oh God. Oh God.’
What would happen if she couldn’t slow it down? What would a crash do? Kill them both? Smash the boats to pieces? How much would it cost to replace a boat like this? Hopefully nowhere near as much as it would cost to replace an Aston Martin…
‘Becks! Go another way! Becks!’
It was all very well Petra screaming at her, but some practical advice as to how to achieve ‘another way’ might be nice. No amount of pushing or pulling or shifting her body out of the oblong and leaning to the right or the left seemed to be having any effect whatsoever. She couldn’t crash. Could she? Surely Atlantis would move seeing as he had all the experience.
The sail seemed to be trying to escape from the boat completely now, billowing and rippling, straining tight then arching to capture all the wind. What if it actually came off? What then? Would she stop dead? It should kill her speed, shouldn’t it? Could you detach a sail? No one had given her any instruction about that!
Water lashed at her face as the boat banged over another wave, still heading directly for the other dinghies who seemed to be finding it really hard to change their course and move away from her. Petra had her hands clamped to the side of her mouth, standing up inside her rectangular section. Becky couldn’t hear a word she was saying. Was that the word ‘right’ or ‘tight’? She was already holding on tight. So tight her knuckles were hurting.
Then, above the rushing of the wind and the slapping of the water spraying up onto the body of the yacht, came another sound. The sound of a much larger boat than the one Becky was aboard. Definitely one with an engine. She didn’t need more boats on the water, she needed less of them. None, in fact, would be great.
But the sound of the engine was getting louder and the roar sounded like it was coming closer and Petra was closer too, as was Atlantis. It looked like Troy had been able to sail away, his craft now heading for the other side of the cove. Becky didn’t know where to look, neither it seemed, did Atlantis and any second now she would almost be able to see the whites of his eyes…
As a speedboat arrived at her side, its powerful spray delivering more wet salt to both the dinghy and her face, it was all Becky could do to hold on at all. The rope was wet between her hands and she still had no idea what the pole could achieve. It actually looked like something that could slip inside the canvas of a tent, not something that had the potential to steer a yacht.
Becky screamed and let go of the rope completely as something landed on top of the boat. The vessel began to sway and lean and veer up on one side. She ducked down slightly, closing her eyes, terrified it was an octopus. Petra had informed her octopuses could jump out of the water just last night and forced her to watch a terrifying video where the eight tentacled fiend took a crab hostage and sucked out its insides. Crashing was inevitable now. She was going to be thrown into the sea and meet a watery end, probably on top of Atlantis…