Seven Days: The Complete Story (3 page)

I scan the
side of the yacht for a gate or something. “How?”

“I gather
you’re a boating novice.”

“You gather
correctly.”

“Jump. You’ll
be fine. Here.” He holds out his hand.

I toss my
holdall onto the deck and take the proffered hand. I step in the
direction of the deck, aiming to look dainty and alluring and as I
do the boat lurches and moves a metre or so away from the dock. I
am thrown — or maybe yanked — against Nicholas’ hard chest. Again.
This is becoming something of a habit.

His arms are
instantly around me, holding me tight. It’s not the worst place to
be. I gaze up into his eyes and try not to laugh at the cliché-ness
of the situation.

“Phew,” he
says, “You nearly went in the drink then.” His grip tightens as he
steadies me. My heart beats a little faster.

Okay, I’m
lying. It’s pounding like I’m front row at a Daft Punk concert and
the vibrations from the bass speakers have invaded my entire
body.

“You did that
on purpose.”

“I may be good
at saving damsels in distress, but I don’t fancy myself as
controller of the weather. It was the tide shifting.”

“
Hmm
.”

He releases me
and walks along the other end of the deck and as he goes I hear him
snickering to himself. He,
so
, did that on purpose. He’s
probably seduced a hundred women with that very technique, damn
him. I’m going to have to watch myself or I might become number one
hundred and one. I pick up my bag and follow along behind.

At the stern
of the yacht there is a small well with seating and a steering
wheel. Honey-coloured timber trim delineates the space and a door
leads below, to what I gather is a cabin area. I know it probably
has some technical yachting name but that’s what I’m calling it.
For now.

“Welcome to
the
Constance
.”

“It’s a
pleasure to be aboard. She really is a beautiful thing.”

“I inherited
her from my grandfather. I used to sail with him a lot. It caused
something of a family feud when I got her
and
the shack. My
father hasn’t spoken to me since and my uncles wanted to take me to
court because the inheritance was worth a chunk of money. But they
never had any interest. They wouldn’t know the difference between a
mainsail and a spinnaker.”

I regard him
blankly.

“Guess you
don’t either?”

I shake my
head.

“I’ll have to
teach you.” Nicholas takes my bag and stows it under the seat at my
feet. “Did you sleep okay after our big night? You vented a
lot.”

“I had a lot
to get off my chest but yes. I slept better than I have in weeks.
Didn’t wake once.”

When I finally
got to sleep.

The first two
hours of bedtime were filled with images of Nicholas. Like a
schoolgirl, I stared at the ceiling, replaying every minute of our
time together in my head. Conversations were dissected and analysed
until I was positive the vibe I was getting was the one I
was
getting. It’s a dangerous preoccupation, I know, to
become so attached to a person so quickly, but I feel drawn to
Nicholas. Inexplicably so.

“So you dreamt
of me then?” he jokes.

“I think the
quality of my sleep had more to do with the fresh night air and the
copious amounts of alcohol,” I quip. “And no, I didn’t dream of
you.”

Not for the
entire night.

“Way to crush
a guy’s ego.”

I toss him a
disbelieving look. “I think that’d be unlikely. You seem fairly
sure of yourself, Nicholas.” I pull my bag out from its hiding
place and take out a bottle of sunscreen. I squirt some on my arms
and face. I put on my hat. I’m ready for this adventure. I’m hyped
by the whole idea of it. “So what’s the plan?”

“I have to be
back by lunchtime, so it’s just a quick trip. And introduction to
sailing, if you like.”

“Cool. Will we
go fast?”

Geez, I sound
like a five year old. In my defence I have seen yachts scooting
across the river on my way home from class. It looked like fun but
I never dreamed I’d be on the water myself.

Nicholas
chuckles at my enthusiasm. “Sorry. There’s not enough breeze to
raise the sails so we’ll be motoring. I hope that’s okay. At least
it’ll be calm. Wouldn’t want you getting sea sick on your maiden
voyage and ruining the experience.”

It doesn’t
take me much to imagine that embarrassment. Once I threw up out the
window of a taxi because I had no other choice. I tried to convince
the driver it was food poisoning but I don’t think he believed me.
Not when I was spewing creamy cocktails down the side of his
car.

Nicholas hands
me a life jacket and shrugs into one of his own. It’s a hideous
shade of safety yellow and rather bulky but he doesn’t look any
less gorgeous. I’m crushing on this man and I’m scared that I am.
I’m usually so sensible. He makes me want to be anything but. His
eyes only have to land in my general direction and I feel like
jelly. Very excited, fizzy jelly. If there’s such a thing.

“Problem?”
He’s facing me again, a quizzical look on his face, noting I
haven’t put my vest on yet. I must seem like a halfwit, standing
here looking at the life jacket like it has five armholes and not
knowing where to start. He doesn’t seem to care though. He’s being
very diplomatic about my ineptness.

He steps
closer. “Allow me. The average life jacket is not designed for ease
of wearing.” He helps me into each arm and I breathe a relieved
sigh that he’s being so nice, when this would be the perfect
opportunity to tease.

Nicholas
slides the zipper slowly toward my neck; his smoky blue eyes are
trained on mine. It’s like he’s having sex with me with his eyes.
Having reached the top, his fingers linger for a moment at my
throat. He must be able to feel the way my pulse has increased. He
must. I swallow and try to ignore the throbbing that’s started
somewhere in my underwear and the burning sensation of his fingers
on the tender skin of my neck.

“There,” he
says. “Gorgeous.”

My thoughts
exactly.

“If looking
like a human life raft can be considered gorgeous.” I titter,
suddenly wishing I hadn’t.

And the moment
is gone.

“Right, let’s
get this show on the road.” Turning away, Nicholas switches on the
motor and directs me to untie the ropes nearest the jetty that he
calls the spring lines. The ropes are awkward and heavy. I’m proud
of myself for handling them as he tells me, especially after making
such a fool of myself over the jacket. As we motor into the bay, he
instructs me to take the helm. “Just keep her pointed in the same
direction while I go and secure the lines. It’s as simple as
driving a car. I’ll be back in a sec.”

Easy for him
to say. I’m pretty sure he didn’t fail his driving test three
times. I take the wheel.

Having made
sure the ropes are where they should be and everything is
ship-shape, Nicholas leaps into the cockpit behind me. I shuffle
aside for him to take control of the wheel but he declines. “You’re
doing great. A little to starboard.” He grins and leans across,
adjusting the wheel slightly to the left. His body presses gently
against mine. Fissures of electricity race up my spine.

Why is he
teasing me like this? It feels
sooo
good, too good. I glance
out the corner of my eye to see if he’s as affected as I am but
he’s simply humming and gazing at the horizon like he has girls on
his yacht every day and this is standard practise. If this is the
case, I will not give him the satisfaction of seeing how on fire he
makes me feel. I will keep my grin firmly under wraps. He can
suffer too.

“Are you all
right? You’re trembling,” he says.

“You make me
tremble.”

Where did that
come from? Now my mouth is losing control.

“In a good way
I hope.”

God, I want to
kiss him, I really do.

As we motor
quietly along, Nicholas’ hands come to rest on mine. His chest is
leaning into me. His cheek is nestled against the side of my head
and I feel his rhythmical breaths close to my ear. He smells of
soap and fabric softener or the way fresh towels do after they’ve
come off the clothesline. It’s homely yet there’s nothing homely
about him. He’s way too manly for that.

The yacht
glides across the bay and around the tip of land towards a small
island in the distance. I relax against Nicholas’ body, enjoying
the feeling of closeness. Then, and I’m not positive — I may be
hallucinating again — but I think I feel his lips on the side of my
jaw, just below my ear. It’s only a peck and one I’m not even sure
occurred for when I turn my head to him, he’s staring at the
horizon, zoned out. I know I said I wanted the adrenalin rush of
new experiences but this is something else. I’m not sure I’m up for
this… this seduction. At least I think it’s a seduction.

Is it a
seduction?

“So, tell me
about your mother,” Nicholas whispers against my hair. He doesn’t
move or look at me. He simply talks. “I know, after my Mum passed
away, I found it helpful to talk. Despite what they say about guys
not being great talkers.”

I told him
stuff last night, but this one sentence is like the catalyst for
unleashing every emotion and thought of the past year. As we watch
the clouds moving across the sky, I tell him how it happened, how I
feel about it. I share my feelings of loneliness and guilt that —
even though I know I shouldn’t have any guilt — I was out having
fun while my mother was dying. I even tell him of my thoughts of
suicide; my brush with the pill bottle and how I wish people would
stop treating me with kid gloves.

“I’m not a
kid,” I say, moving to brush a stray hair away from my face.

“Far from it.”
Nicholas moves closer. His lips are against my ear. His breath is
hot on my neck. I quiver again as his fingers rest on mine and he
tucks the hair behind my ear. “That’s the worst part, isn’t it?” he
adds.

“What?”

“Everyone
thinking you’ll fall apart, so you do because that’s what’s easier.
You can wallow in your own shit because people expect you to do
that. They almost want you to sink as low as possible so they can
say how they were the one to talk you out of a funk. I didn’t shave
for a month after Mum went. I sat in my own filth and punched walls
and drank tequila. I wasn’t a good person to be around. At least
that’s what they tell me.”

I wonder
briefly who ‘they’ might be and whether they’re male or female.
It’s absurd that such a thing makes me feel a twinge of jealousy.
It’s a conversation. He’s not telling me about his long lost love
or anything.

“When did your
Mum die?”

“Three years
ago. A rare strain of breast cancer. Things were just starting to
come together with the company and I was working insane hours. I
thought she’d be okay, especially when she seemed to have beaten
it. I mean, who dies of breast cancer these days when it’s caught
early? But then, she found a lump in her neck and within two months
she was gone. I wasn’t there for her enough. I felt like a shit son
for a long time after that. The guilt was enormous.”

“What pulled
you out of it?”

“Funnily
enough it was this kid I saw sitting in the street one day. I’d
seen him a few times on the train with his dad. He looked sad and
he was dirty and skinny, really unkempt and unloved. His dad was
ignoring him, talking on the phone to someone. Then later in the
day, I saw them both outside my building. The kid was begging for
money and the dad was just sitting there, letting him do it. Every
time someone walked past without putting money in the hat the dad
hit the kid around the head to make him cry. That was when I
realised that everyone has one life and, sure, my Mum was gone, but
I had to live the life I was given. There’s heaps of people who
have it worse than me.”

“And now?”

“I’m cool.
About a year after Mum died, I found a letter she’d written me. She
told me how proud she was of everything I’d achieved and how I
wasn’t to feel bad or guilty. Even if I hadn’t been in the hospital
every second, she knew I loved her and thought about her. She knew
I was trying to build a future for myself that had to endure after
she’d gone. She didn’t blame me or feel sad. In fact, she said I’d
been there when she needed me most. Which was the exact opposite of
the way I’d seen the situation. That helped a lot, knowing her view
of the events and mine weren’t in sync and she didn’t feel alone or
abandoned.”

“I wish I’d
had some sort of closure. It makes me sad every day that I didn’t
get to see Mum at the end.”

“That’ll pass.
You won’t forget but you’ll learn to live with it and remember your
mother with fondness.”

“I hope so,” I
say, wondering at how Nicholas knew the exact moment when I’d be
relaxed enough to talk without weeping? How can he know that? It’s
like the hole in me that I always thought was missing has been
filled.

*****

After a while,
we stop near a beach and drop anchor. The shore bends in a curve a
few hundred metres in either direction enveloping the little boat.
The beach is quite empty. The breeze has picked up now and though
it’s still relatively calm, I feel like I’m bobbing in a beautiful
aquamarine fishbowl complete with tiny sea creatures. It’s
glorious.

“Want some
breakfast?” Nicholas asks. He disappears below and comes back with
a large picnic basket. Inside is a thermos filled with coffee,
muffins still warm from the oven and croissants, jam and juice.

“Please tell
me you didn’t get up at three this morning to make this?” I say,
feeling a tad remorseful that I’ve contributed nothing to the
feast.

“Would I get
brownie points if I did?”

“Definitely. I
can’t cook more than beans on toast and two minute noodles.”