The people at the front of the boat start screaming.
At first I think word has just reached them about the fifty different kinds of ice-cream. But when I turn round, I see they’re excited about something else.
Another boat is coming towards us.
I jump up, dizzy with excitement myself.
For a wild moment I think it’s Mum and Dad’s boat. That we’ve caught up with them and they’ve seen us and come over.
But it’s too big to be Mum and Dad’s boat. And as it gets closer, I can see there are no people sitting on the deck. Just a few men in tracksuits and trainers, standing watching us.
Another wild thought hits me. They look like a soccer team. An international soccer team, perhaps, travelling to a World Cup qualifying match by boat.
Then I see the men are all holding automatic weapons.
People on our boat are whispering to each other fearfully. They’re repeating one scary word that makes my insides go colder than fifty different types of ice-cream.
‘Pirates.’
‘Oh no,’ mutters Rashida.
I realise it must be true. Sailors don’t wear tracksuits and very expensive trainers. Soccer teams don’t carry automatic weapons, not even in cup finals.
I pull Bibi to her feet and hold her close. We watch, frozen with fear, as the pirate boat stops next to ours. Several pirates jump onto our deck. The others stand on their deck, pointing their guns at us.
I wait for the smugglers to fight the pirates.
They don’t.
Instead, they greet the pirates with big grins. They shake hands. Then they jump onto the pirate boat. The sailor in yellow goes with them. Under his arm is the bucket of valuables.
‘They’re abandoning us,’ whispers Rashida.
I stare in horror. She’s right. The smugglers must have arranged this. They’ve taken our money and now they’re dumping us.
‘Stinking jackal fleas,’ mutters Bibi.
‘I knew it,’ says Omar gloomily. ‘I knew this would happen.’
Some of the pirates are still on our boat. And now something even worse is happening. The pirates are grabbing at the huddled people on the deck. Pulling their coats and blankets off them.
I don’t get it. The smugglers have already taken all the valuables.
The pirates are dragging a young woman to her feet. They’re carrying her, kicking and screaming onto their boat.
Suddenly I understand.
The pirates aren’t looking for money or jewellery, they’re looking for girls who are out of doors without their parents. These pirates are as bad as our government.
‘Oh no,’ mutters Rashida.
I take the knotted t-shirt off my head, pull Bibi’s headscarf off and put the t-shirt hat on her head instead, stuffing her hair under it. Bibi understands what I’m doing and knots her skirt between her legs to look like baggy shorts.
‘Quick,’ I say to Omar. ‘Give Rashida your hat.’
‘I haven’t got a hat,’ squeaks Omar. Then he remembers the shorts on his head. He gives them to Rashida.
‘Put them on,’ I say to Rashida. ‘Tuck your hair up.’
While she does, I wrap the blanket round her and rub my hand over her face until her makeup is so smudged it looks like dirt and grass stains.
I signal for us all to sit down. I grab my soccer ball and start bouncing it from knee to knee. I knee it to Rashida. She knees it to Bibi. Bibi knees it back to me. I return it, and soon we’ve got a rhythm going.
I pray that Omar doesn’t try and join in. Normally we’d let him, but today his lack of skill could be fatal.
He doesn’t.
Not too fast, I beg Rashida silently as the ball goes round the circle. You haven’t had that much practice.
A shadow falls over us.
A pirate stops right in front of us, studying the ball as it goes back and forward. I pray he doesn’t know how brilliant females can be at soccer. I pray he assumes anyone with knee skills like Bibi and Rashida must be male.
He’s not tearing their hats off and dragging them onto the pirate boat, so it must be working.
Suddenly the pirate grins, takes a step back and swings his foot at the ball.
Even as I see it coming I know I should let him kick it. But my leg responds faster than my brain. I trap the ball and slide it to one side. The pirate’s kick misses by a mile and he falls over backwards onto the deck, his automatic rifle clattering down next to him.
The other pirates laugh.
The people around us give a quiet moan.
We wait, frozen, for the pirate to shoot us all.
He doesn’t.
Instead he gets up, takes a step back, and kicks me in the hip.
Very hard.
Pain explodes up and down my body. I writhe on the deck, my knees hunched to my chest, my eyes full of tears. For a long time I can’t even straighten my legs. All I can do is squint anxiously at Bibi.
Don’t attack the pirate, I beg her silently. Please don’t.
She doesn’t. She wants to, but Omar is hanging on to her as tight as he can and she can’t shake him off.
Finally, after Rashida has rubbed my hip for ages, I manage to sit up.
The pain brings more tears to my eyes, but I can still see what’s happened.
The pirates have gone.
Their boat is a dot on the horizon.
The smugglers have abandoned us. We’re alone in the middle of the ocean, a boatful of starving wailing people and three scared sailors.
This is it, I think. It can’t get worse than this.