then
Lana stepped out of the bank and moved along the street, passing vendors selling cooked meats and grilled corn on the cob. The Blue was currently moored in Toron, a busy town on the eastern edge of the Philippines that was to be their last port. They’d already been here for ten days, and everyone was growing impatient as they waited for a weather window to make the passage to Palau. It would be a fifteen-hundred-nautical-mile ocean crossing, which would take around a week in good conditions—longer if the wind turned fickle.
Lana had come into town to withdraw the next week’s payment for Kitty and her. They took it in turns to pay each week and, having checked their balance, Lana was disheartened to see they’d be able to afford only another couple of months with the crew—unless they came up with some way of making money. Kitty had already threatened to take out a loan if need be, saying, “A little detail like money isn’t going to be parting me from The Blue.”
Town felt crowded and noisy after the yacht, and the smell of sewage and strong spices assaulted her senses. Even though it was still early, the heat was already building, and she could feel the back of her dress beginning to cling to her skin.
She passed an ice-cream seller and decided to cheer herself up with a cone of homemade mango ice cream. She stepped from the busy main street into the entrance of an alley, where she ate in the shade, leaning her back against the wall.
As she was standing there, Lana saw Aaron exiting an Internet café; his laptop was under one arm, and he was pulling down his cap with his other hand. He turned, saying something to the person following behind: Denny. Lana found herself smiling as she watched Denny, taking in the way his shorts were just a little too big for him and hung boyishly from his hips.
She was about to step forwards and say hello, but something made her hesitate. Aaron was striding on, his right hand balled into a fist at his side, and Denny—who was hurrying to keep up—seemed to be trying to say something, his hands opening in front of him.
It looked as if they were arguing. Denny was partially obscured by a man carrying a crate of empty glass bottles, but she could see the heightened color in Aaron’s face as they neared. She caught his voice rising above the street noise. “I knew it! I fucking knew it! I said all along—”
“Listen, Aaron, we don’t know for sure . . .” The rest of Denny’s sentence was lost to a tricycle whizzing by, tinny pop music blaring.
Suddenly Aaron stopped and turned sharply to face Denny, the flow of people having to move around them. Lana pressed herself back against the wall. She could feel the drip of melted ice cream on the back of her hand but didn’t move to lick it off. She remained still, staring at the profiles of both men: Aaron’s neck was a furious red, the veins prominent. Denny’s brows were furrowed together as he listened.
“I can’t be here any longer,” Aaron said, his teeth clamped tight around his words.
“What do you want to do?” Denny asked.
“Leave. I can’t still be fucking around in port, just waiting for it. I’ve got to be on the water by the fifteenth, you know that.”
Denny reached out and placed a hand on Aaron’s shoulder. He held it there, applying a firm pressure. “I know,” he said slowly. “I know.”
Aaron nodded once, turned from Denny, and marched on.
Lana heard Denny sigh as he thrust his hands deep into the pockets of his shorts, shaking his head. He stood for a moment, watching until Aaron disappeared. Then he turned in the other direction and was swallowed once again by the crowd.
• • •
When Lana returned to the yacht an hour or so later, the place was buzzing with activity. Denny was pulling the cushions from the saloon seats and checking the equipment stored beneath; Aaron was sitting at the nav station looking through the charts; Heinrich was kneeling on the floor with parts of the spare water pump in pieces in front of him; Shell and Kitty were pulling out some of the dry goods from the cupboards and decanting them into smaller containers in the galley.
“What’s going on?” Lana asked Kitty.
“We’re leaving for Palau. This evening.”
“What? I thought the forecast wasn’t looking good?”
“It’s improved,” Aaron said. “Looks like the nor’easterlies are easing. Blowing ten to fifteen knots now. Plus, there’s a low-pressure system arriving in two to three days that looks likely to hang around a while. If we don’t go now, we could end up being in port another two weeks—maybe more. It’s getting too near typhoon season to risk setting out much later.”
Lana thought about the conversation between Denny and Aaron that she’d overheard, guessing it had something to do with this sudden decision. I can’t still be fucking around, just waiting for it. I’ve got to be on the water by the fifteenth, you know that.
“Be prepared for a busy afternoon,” Aaron said to the crew. “We need to fill up the water tank, refuel, provision, and clear out of Immigration. Shell and Heinrich, you’re in charge of buying dry goods, and Lana and Kitty, you’ll do the fresh produce.” He handed out lists written in a neat masculine script. “Denny, I need you to get across town and pick up some spare water containers and batteries. We’ll all meet back here at sixteen hundred hours ready to go to Immigration.” He looked at the crew. “Everyone clear?”
Without waiting for an answer, Aaron returned to his charts, a deep frown of concentration lining his face.
When Denny left the saloon, Lana followed him up onto deck. She watched him for a few moments as he concentrated on unclipping the large canopy over the boom, ready to stow it for passage. His movements were sharp and hurried, and she could see the tension in his jaw as he struggled with one of the clips.
“Hey,” she said, behind him.
He turned, startled. On seeing her, he smiled, his expression softening a little.
“Want a hand?”
“Sure.”
Together they unclipped the rest of the canopy. The midday sun was fierce, and Lana could feel the heat tingling over her shoulders as they finished removing the canopy, shaking it out over the side of the yacht. As they folded it away, Lana said, “I saw you and Aaron in town earlier—coming out of that Internet place.”
“Did you?”
“It looked like something was up.”
Denny kept his attention fixed on the canopy. “All’s good.”
Lana glanced towards the hatch to check no one was coming. “How did the forecast look to you? Are you happy it’s the right time to leave?”
“Aaron knows what he’s doing,” Denny said, taking the canopy from her, a slight rebuke in his tone.
“Denny,” she said, stepping forwards and placing a hand on his forearm so that he looked up, facing her. She lowered her voice as she asked, “Is everything okay? Really? In town Aaron looked . . . I don’t know . . . troubled. And now, all of a sudden, we’re leaving.”
“It’s not sudden, Lana. We’ve been waiting to leave for almost two weeks. Now the forecast has come good, so we’re going.”
A brightly painted bangka motored by, trailing a cloud of dark fumes. Its wake knocked against The Blue, gently rocking them from side to side.
“Shouldn’t there have been a group vote on it?”
“On whether to set sail? That’s always the skipper’s call. The rest of us haven’t studied the charts or forecasts to be able to make that decision.”
It was a fair point. Denny was the next most experienced crew member on board, and she knew he had an instinctive, intuitive approach to the sea. She’d noticed the way Aaron would seek out Denny’s opinion, listening closely to what he said. “If you think it’s the right decision, then I’m happy with it, too,” she said, leaning forwards and placing a kiss on his neck.
Denny’s gaze moved from her to the hatch.
Lana turned and saw Kitty standing there. “Ready to get these provisions?” she said coolly.
• • •
They took the dinghy to shore in silence. Once they got into town, Lana struggled to keep up as Kitty ducked around the back of a tricycle, then followed a narrow rubble path between two buildings, where the stifling air smelled of chicken muck and spices.
Once the fruit market was in sight, Kitty said, “I’ll meet you there. I just need to pick up a couple of things.” She peeled away before Lana had a chance to ask any questions.
The fruit and vegetable stalls stood shoulder to shoulder beneath a dusty white awning. She moved into the shaded, sweet-scented air, browsing the beautifully displayed produce. Huge bunches of deep yellow bananas hung from the tops of the stalls; crates of watermelons hunkered together; squat pears were neatly placed in white nets.
She filled several bags with fresh vegetables and deliciously ripe fruit, as per Aaron’s list. It was only when she was leaving that Kitty rejoined her.
“Sorry, had a few shopping requests from the others,” Kitty said, glancing down at the bag in her hand, which was clinking with bottles.
Lana said nothing.
Since their row at the beach fire, it felt as though a barrier had gone up between them. Sensing Kitty’s disapproval about Denny, Lana had been wary of mentioning his name. Yesterday she and Denny had gone to pick up a spare part for one of the bilge pumps and had a couple of hours to themselves. They’d enjoyed lunch at a dusty roadside place where they sat with their hands linked across the table, talking and laughing. When she returned to the yacht, she’d been desperate to tell Kitty about her day—but there was such frostiness in Kitty’s tone as she’d asked, “Had a good time, did you?,” that Lana decided it would be best to keep quiet.
They walked in silence to the wet market, the fetid smell of the place drifting downwind towards them before they’d even reached it. Set at the edge of the harbor, the building was open-sided, with a tin roof. Long stone benches ran the length of it and were covered with melting ice. An eye-boggling array of fish and meat was on display, and flies swarmed in the air.
Lana’s flip-flops squelched through the blood-inked water as they peered at the fresh glassy eyes of the fish. Ahead of her a slight Filipino man weighed out fish in two buckets that were attached to a pole balanced over his shoulder. All around, people shouted and haggled, prodding and sniffing the fish, then filling plastic bags they held at their sides.
They wouldn’t buy fish, as the crew preferred to catch their own—so instead they moved on to the meat section, advertised by the bloodied head of a pig hanging on a hook. Dark congealed livers were laid out beside whole, pink chickens that were still bearing a few feathers.
Lana asked for four chickens, pointing at the ones she wanted.
A man wearing a blood-smeared apron slung them on the scales. “Cut?”
She nodded, and they watched as each chicken was slapped onto a plastic chopping board and then set upon with a meat cleaver, separating the wings, breasts, legs. A fragment of bone flicked into the air and landed on the floor between Kitty and her.
As they waited, Kitty asked, “So what’s happening between the two of you?”
“Denny and me?” she said, surprised by the question. “I’m not sure . . . I guess things are good.” She turned to look at Kitty, but her gaze was fixed on the meat. “I like him, Kit,” Lana said gently.
“Are you going to speak to Aaron about it?”
“I suppose we’ll have to eventually if we want to be open about things.”
“Is that what Denny wants?” Kitty asked, turning to face her.
“What do you mean?”
Kitty said nothing.
Lana didn’t like the implication in the question. “Yes,” she answered tightly. “It’s what Denny wants, too.”
The man finished slicing the chickens. When Lana handed over the money, he took it in his bloodied hands and rummaged in his pocket for the change, returning it to Lana with a glob of blood on it.
• • •
Back at the yacht they began unpacking, placing the fruit in the small nylon hammocks that hung bulging from the galley ceiling and storing the meat in the freezer. Kitty slipped off, taking one of the bags to her cabin.
Shell was putting away the dried goods—pasta, rice, lentils, tins of beans and vegetables—into the lockers under the saloon seating. They had to store more food than needed for the anticipated passage, in case there were problems. Plan for the worst and hope for the best was Aaron’s motto.
“Did you hear?” Shell said. “Joseph’s not coming on the passage.”
“What?” Lana said, pausing.
“He’s in his cabin packing. He’s leaving today.”
“Why?” Lana asked, shocked. “When was this decided? Was there a vote?”
“No. It was Joseph’s decision, apparently. Aaron said he’s run out of money.”
Lana left the shopping and walked down the passageway to Joseph’s cabin. She found him pushing a neat bundle of clothes into his canvas backpack. “What’s going on? I’ve heard you’re leaving.”
“You hear right.”
“Why?” she asked.
He shrugged. “My money is run out.”
She shook her head. “But . . . I thought you said you had enough money to reach New Zealand?” They’d been talking about it only a week or two ago.
He shrugged. “Maybe I do my numbers incorrectly.”
It was almost impossible to overspend on the yacht, as they kept to a strict budget for food and fuel, and the only additional things they had to pay for were personal items or alcohol.
Lana pulled the door shut behind her. “Really, Joseph, why are you leaving?”
He looked at her squarely. There was something completely unreadable in his eyes. “I already tell you.”
“Does Denny know?”
He nodded.
“What are you going to do now?”
Lana looked at him closely. She realized he’d become even thinner, his face gaunt and unshaven. “Is everything okay? I have some money. Maybe I can help.”
He smiled. “You are very good person. But no, I will not take your money.”
“But I thought you loved being on The Blue.”
“I love the horizon. An empty sea.”
“I’ll be sad to see you go.” She enjoyed their chats while they sat at the bow under the stars—Joseph smoking and telling her stories about little-known French poets or about the subtle difference between platform diving and cliff diving. Lana liked the dips and curves of their conversations, his thoughtful pauses, the sudden spurt of talk on a subject she knew little of.
“Clearing out in five minutes!” Aaron bellowed from the saloon.
“It is not sad for everyone,” Joseph said with a raised eyebrow.
“Is it Aaron? Did something happen?”
Joseph didn’t answer. “I should finish packing.”
“But . . . when are you leaving?”
“I go in the dinghy to shore with you all.”
It all felt wrong. Too sudden. She’d have liked to have cooked a final supper so the crew could give Joseph a proper send-off. It was too rushed. She imagined his leaving the yacht, having to check into a guesthouse with his canvas backpack slung over his shoulders, a group of trendy young travelers looking at him, then at each other with sly smiles.
“Let me write down your e-mail address so we can keep in touch.”
“I don’t use e-mail.”
“But . . . how will we know you’re okay?” she asked, thinking of how Joseph had been sleeping rough before joining The Blue.
Joseph looked at her, then smiled. “I am always okay.”
The crew said good-bye to Joseph in a rush at the town jetty, Aaron and Heinrich already walking ahead in the direction of the Immigration office.
Shell and Kitty kissed Joseph good-bye, giving him strict instructions to carry on diving. Denny pulled him into a big hug, and Joseph said something in French that made Denny’s whole face break into a smile.
When Lana hugged Joseph, he felt desperately thin beneath his T-shirt. She didn’t want to let him go, feeling as if they were somehow letting him down. “We’ll miss you.”
Joseph said nothing, just laughed his strange sad laugh. He shrugged on his backpack, which looked so heavy and full on his frame that his shoulders rounded beneath its weight. Lana watched him go, unsettled that his departure had been so sudden and unmarked. He looked somehow vulnerable as he trudged away into the heat and crowds.
She remained standing there until Denny came to her side, squeezing her fingers between his, and asking, “You okay?”
She nodded slowly. Then after a moment they walked on and rejoined the others.
The atmosphere at Immigration was muted. Aaron had already cleared the boat out of the country with Customs and the Port Authority, so now all they had to do was fill in a form each and have their passports stamped. What could have taken not much more than twenty minutes was dragged out to more than an hour as the staff casually followed their usual procedures while chatting with each other. Aaron kept checking his watch, eager to get back to the yacht to catch the outgoing tide.
Eventually they were back on board, winching the dinghy up from the water and stowing it away for the passage at sea. Final checks of supplies and equipment were made, and loose items were stowed away or strapped down. When Aaron was satisfied that everything was in order, they started the engine and hauled anchor.
Lana sat at the stern, watching over her shoulder as the busy harbor town faded into the distance. She wondered whether Joseph would be sitting in a bar, smoking, as he watched The Blue sail off into the dusk.
She gazed at the wake created by the yacht, a spill of white rolling across the sea’s surface, trying to follow the lines of white water, watching until they leveled and knitted back together again.
The metallic taste of blood shivered across her tongue. She looked down and realized she was biting the edge of her thumbnail and had ripped away the tough skin at its edge. She snatched her hands from her mouth and pressed them against her knees.
A sharpening sense of anxiety was building in her chest, triggered by Aaron’s abrupt decision to set sail and the strange and sudden way Joseph had left the yacht. It was almost as if something was being kept from her—but she couldn’t say what.
When Lana looked up again, she saw that the town had begun to shrink into the distance. Soon it would be no more than a shadow behind them as they headed for the open ocean.