•
“Solvig,” a voice whispers. “Wake up.”
My eyelids flicker. “What time is it? I haven’t missed my shift, have I?”
Tai is standing beside my bunk. “It’s five. Can I have a quick word?”
I yawn. “Sure. What’s up?”
“Not here,” Tai says. “Don’t want to wake the others.”
I rub my eyes and climb down from my bunk. I’m wearing a tracksuit, but I still feel strangely exposed.
We head into the living chamber and sit at the table. Tai puts his palms down on the stainless steel. “My mum died,” he says, “three weeks ago. I went to her funeral a couple of days before we came into saturation.”
“Oh God, Tai. I’m so sorry. You could’ve asked for leave—”
“It’s better for me to be here, to keep me occupied.”
I consider telling him that my mum is dead too, but I’m not sure how it would help.
“I wanted to let you know. Since you were asking about her on the last dive.” He presses the tabletop so hard that his fingernails grow pale. “How’s the baby stuff going?”
“Oh, fine,” I say. “Just fine.”
Tai nods slowly. “I was on a woodcraft course when she took her final breaths. I should have stayed at home with her. I knew how bad she was.”
I pick at a loose thread on my tracksuit bottoms. “You mustn’t blame yourself, Tai.” I think about how often I’ve told myself that if I’d been a better-behaved baby, less hard work, perhaps my mum wouldn’t have needed to drink so much. I spent years torturing myself with the notion that I could have saved her.
“Life’s too short,” says Tai. “I feel like an idiot for going on about all that legacy stuff. All you have is now. You know?”
I look at the airlock behind Tai. Breakfast will be coming in shortly. The chefs are probably frying up my bacon rashers at this very moment.
“You’re right to focus on the present,” I say. “But you can keep the future on a back burner.” I decide against launching into a description of the four burners theory.
“Maybe,” replies Tai. “Maybe, maybe.”
“Actually,” I say. “Scrap that.”
“Eh?”
“Fuck the future. All you have is now. You’re right.”
“I need to sleep,” he says. “That’s what I need.”
26
“Where are you taking me?” asks Anouk, fiddling with the air-conditioning dial.
We’re in the middle of a heatwave. I roll down the window as we wait at a red light. “That doesn’t work any more,” I say. “Sorry. Old banger. As for where we’re going . . . you’ll see.”
Anouk switches on the radio. It’s a local radio station, Pirate FM, and it’s playing “Never Gonna Give You Up” by Rick Astley. Anouk hasn’t asked how my dive went, even though I’ve been back for over a fortnight.
I made a decision while I was in saturation: I’m going to quit my job. I’ll replace it with something that enables me to stay close to home—and close to James—all the time. That way, we can focus on our relationship and on having a baby. We can concentrate on being in love without distractions. And then, if—if—I want to do something in the future, something that puts great distance between us, like going to Mars, we’ll be strong enough to weather it, because I’ll have put in the hours here first.
I think Tai was right about focusing on the present. Without diving, I can be free to live the other parts of my life more fully. It’s simply a case of finding a new way to be whole. And not pining for what’s missing. I’m switching off some of my burners at last.
“James told me,” Anouk says abruptly, as the traffic light turns green. “He told me that you’re trying for a baby.”
I keep looking ahead. Cornish hedgerows become unruly in the summer. “James told you we’re trying?”
“He mentioned it when we went surfing.”
“I’m surprised he told you.”
“He has to talk to someone while you’re away for a month at a time.”
Since when did Anouk become bitter about my life choices? It’s not like she’s always taken the easy path or done what’s been expected of her. And it’s not like she’s keeping me informed on what’s going on in her life. I know from Facebook that Nike turned six last week, but she’s barely mentioned him. She didn’t invite me to the party either.
“I’ve been wanting to tell you, Anouk. It’s just that we see each other so rarely. It’s hard to get something like that into conversation.”
There is a silence between us, filled only by Rick Astley.
“I’m on my period,” I offer, when the song finishes.
The DJ starts talking about a syringe that’s been found on Fistral Beach. We listen without speaking, and we remain like this all the way through Tresillian, Probus, and St. Mewan. When we reach St. Austell, I clear my throat. “I’m taking us to the Eden Project.”
“You should’ve told me,” Anouk says. “I’ve got a locals’ pass. Could’ve brought it with me.”
“Never mind. I’ll buy you a ticket.”
“I went at the start of the holidays.”
“Well, hopefully it was good, because you’re here again.”
I park the car, and we head towards the site. I’m sweating horribly in this long-sleeved shirt. “So, do you know the story behind this place, then?”
“It used to be a clay pit,” Anouk tells me. “Some guys came up with the idea to turn it into a garden while they were in the pub. They designed it on a napkin.”
“Like the Seattle Space Needle,” I say. “And the Rutan Voyager.”
“The what?”
“The first plane to fly around the world without refuelling.”
“Ah.”
I buy our tickets.
There’s a poster next to the desk advertising a zip wire that runs over the length of the park. It’s the longest and fastest in Europe. Anouk catches me looking at it. “Is that what we’re doing?”
“I thought we’d just go and look at plants,” I say. “But I’m definitely up for the zip wire if you are?”
“Probably best we head for the plants,”
