The drive to Liverpool was a relatively peaceful one – probably because I pretended to fall asleep and then kept my eyes shut for most of the journey. I was very much awake though, fretting over Will not texting me back – and when we arrived at the ferry port, a little bit of that excitement came back. Yes, my world had fallen to pieces, but my first time on a ferry was still sparking a little something in me. We parked the Love Bug below deck and (after Danny spent the longest time making sure it would be OK down there by asking the steward a million questions) we headed up the stairs towards the passengers’ lounge.
As we stepped out onto the open deck, I looked out to sea and couldn’t get over how beautiful it was. It’s a beautiful summer’s day and the water looked so flat and calm. The world just seemed so open and full of possibilities. It wasn’t like my world was everything that was in front of my face – I could see for miles, although it was impossible for me to tell how many. We could literally sail off into the sunset.
Danny popped inside to have a drink and relax but I wanted to stay outside. Partly to avoid spending time with him, but also because I wanted to take in the view as we left the shore. As we pulled away, I watched Liverpool getting smaller and smaller, and it felt great…until it didn’t. You know that momentary feeling when you get off a fairground ride and your legs feel like jelly? You feel sick, dizzy and off your tits on adrenalin, but only for an instant. Well my brief longing for a life at sea – just aimlessly sailing towards to sunset – was exactly that, brief, because my body repels being on a boat like it does being in a proper relationship. Ever since we left the shore, I’ve felt like I have just stepped off a waltzer – after drinking twelve milkshakes and going on it three times forwards, then another three backwards – and it’s been an hour now.
‘You all right here, Elizabeth Swann? You’re not looking too hot,’ Danny says, strolling up to me on the deck.
‘Thanks,’ I reply, through gritted teeth. ‘I’m just tired.’
‘After that epic display of carcolepsy you displayed on the way here?’
I stare at him blankly.
‘You one of those who sleeps through car journeys? Was a proper dull trek without company.’
I shrug my shoulders.
‘You want to come inside for a bit? I’ll get you a drink or something.’
The truth is, I don’t think I could go inside if I wanted to. That just-off-a-waltzer feeling has my head spinning and the contents of my stomach feeling like they might be about to put in an appearance. I’m clutching the railing for dear life, and the thought of trying to put one foot in front of the other makes my head spin even faster.
‘Seasickness?’ he asks, and I nod gently. It doesn’t feel good to move my head, but it feels worse to open my mouth. ‘Thought you were looking a little green around the gills. Well, I could sing “Sailing” in the style of Rod Stewart and sway from side to side in front of you, or I could tell you what the mariner I met while I was travelling in – ’
‘Danny, I’m not in the mood for one of your stories right now. Can you just leave me alone, please?’
‘Sure,’ he says quietly, walking off.
For a second, I feel bad. Just because I’m feeling ill and upset over Will, there’s no need for me to take it out on Danny, even if he does annoy me most of the time.
I lean over the side of the ferry and watch the choppy water lapping up against the side. I side-glance and see another girl leaning over the side. She’s looking about as rough as I feel, and we exchange a sisterly glance of shared suffering. As I cautiously pull the corners of my mouth into a comforting smile, the girl leans over the railings and starts throwing up. Seasickness, it turns out, is like a cold in a primary school playground: contagious. Watching this girl being sick combined with the undulating movement of the boat is enough to push me over the edge, and we are sick in sync.
I slowly make my way to a nearby bench and sit down, exhaling as deeply as I can without being sick again. I hear a rustling noise, before I notice a little packet of ginger biscuits sliding towards me along the bench. I look up to see Danny, waving a white serviette at me.
‘Been sick?’ he asks.
‘Yes,’ I reply, quietly.
‘Eat those, they’ll help,’ he tells me. ‘And don’t dangle over the side like that lass is doing – that’s why she’s throwing up. Focus on the horizon. It’s the only thing that isn’t moving.’
I do as he instructs, looking at the horizon as I nibble on one of the biscuits.
‘I went on this fishing trip,’ Danny tells me, sitting down next to me, leaning back with his hands behind his head. In his tight-fitting, muscle-hugging, JLS-esque neck T-shirt, the bulging of his biceps temporarily catches my eye, but this is something I hopefully do subtly. ‘We had this little stove below deck. It was my turn to make dinner, so I was heating up this tinned chilli – my culinary skills far surpass what I was capable on the boat, just so you know.’ He laughs. ‘It was a particularly rough evening at sea – cold too – so I was down there cooking, shut in this little room, the boat bouncing around on the water like a beach ball, and then the smell of the food… It filled the room, filled my lungs. I hadn’t suffered a second of seasickness until I caught a whiff of that food and I felt like I was going to die. I made my way to the deck to get some air, did exactly as the skipper told me, and it soon passed. I’ll never forget that feeling through. Horrible.’
As I nibble my biscuits and alternate focusing on the horizon with focusing on Danny’s arms/story, I realise that I don’t feel quite so shocking any more. I don’t feel great, but I don’t feel like I want to throw myself overboard either.
‘Thank you,’ I tell him sincerely.
‘You’re welcome,’ he replies. ‘Anyway, we need to sort you out before you get back in the Love Bug. I can’t have you throwing up in my woman.’
‘Charming,’ I reply.
Danny rummages around in his pocket and pulls out a folded-up piece of paper.
‘Let’s see what the boss’s anal list dictates we do when we get off the boat,’ he says. ‘He a planner, our Mr Starr, isn’t he?’
I nod. I suppose you have to be when you’re living a secret double life. The devil is in the details, and it’s the little discrepancies in your story that catch you out. Like, I don’t know, how you can suddenly have a prematurely born baby with another woman when you’ve supposedly been in a committed relationship with someone for a year. You know, little things like that.
‘First up, we check into the hotel,’ he tells me. ‘It’s not too far from the depot, so we can clean you up a little then head straight over.’
Danny laughs at the state of me.
‘Thanks,’ I reply sarcastically.
‘Are we not cutting it a bit fine?’ Danny asks. ‘It’ll be close to closing time when we get there.’
‘It won’t take long,’ I tell him. The truth is that we had no intention of calling in to the depot tonight. Will was going poke his head around the door in the morning, before we hit the road early to head to Newcastle. That way we could get settled and have some fun. That’s the problem with pretending you’re on a business trip – you have to pretend you’re doing business.
‘So, what exactly do you have to do when we visit these places, and why exactly did you think something so boring would convince me to stay with the firm full-time?’ he asks.
Very difficult questions to answer without the truth, aren’t they?
‘Just look in, touch base, show everyone that the big boss thinks of them – that kind of thing.’
‘So we can say hi and then go off and have fun?’ he asks. ‘Is that why you invited me? So we can use it as an excuse to slack off from work and have a laugh?’
‘No,’ I reply, a little too quickly.
‘Didn’t think that sounded like you,’ he admits, like I’m the most boring person he’s ever met. ‘But you want to convince me to stick around?’
‘No,’ I reply, again, far too quickly. ‘I didn’t want to get stuck with one of the annoying women from marketing. I used to work in there, and all they talk about is what they bought from IKEA at the weekend and The Undateables and how to braise things. They are not my people.’
‘And nerdy IT guys are?’ He laughs.
‘No, but you’re preferable.’
‘Preferable to chatting about lamps and meat – wow, Candy, you’re killing me with kindness.’
I shrug my shoulders.
‘Because you’re a regular Prince Charming,’ I reply.
‘You’re not going to be much fun this week, are you?’
I don’t give him an answer; I just stare at the horizon.
‘You never know,’ he says, ‘you might actually enjoy yourself if you let that hair down.’
I know that to Danny I probably seem more uptight than ever, but he has no idea what I’m going through. There’s no way I can tell him though. I’ll just have to suffer in silence.