Tom Kershaw knelt on the deck of the Aphrodite, the Greek sun toasting his back. “Skipper a forty-year old sailboat,” he said, levering open a deck hatch, diesel fumes rising to greet him. “It’ll be plain sailing, no worries.” He peered into the shadows, his St Brendan’s pendant swinging with the motion of the Aegean. Tom gave it a rub for luck before tucking it beneath his T-shirt, although it would take more than the patron saint of sailors to right all the wrongs with his yacht lately.
Tom hung over the void that housed her engine, a drop of sweat tickling his nose. He sat up and wiped it, then glared at a list on his clipboard. Half of the repairs he’d noted at the end of the last charter season hadn’t been actioned. “You need a full service, sweetheart,” he said, talking to her out of habit. “You should have had one last year. There’s no excuse,” he muttered. There wasn’t, not for a prestigious company to play fast and loose with safety. Lord knew that Compass Charters charged their clients top dollar. There must be enough left in the coffers to keep the fleet seaworthy. And if there was, they should give him more to pay for seasoned deckhands as well. Ones who might stick around instead of leaving him in the lurch, shorthanded.
Tom took a deep breath and slid into the darkness, one hand catching in a snarl of electrical cable. “That’s still a fire waiting to happen,” he said, aware he’d flagged this fault more than once already.
What had all his emails got him?
A summons to a meeting to discuss his future.
“I’ll go to that meeting and tell them they should spoil you rotten.” He ran his palm over timbers he knew like the back of his hand after ten years as her captain. “You’re the flagship of their flotilla, not some old tug ready for retirement.” His murmur was muffled by the slap of waves against her hull, which also hid the sound of footsteps crossing the deck above him.
Tom reached up for his toolbox, but grasped something bony. One of his deckhands’ ankles he realised, looking up at the silhouette of someone tall, their hair a wind-blown corona. Dazzled by the bright sunlight, Tom asked, “Nick?” surprised to see a deckhand who’d jumped ship midseason.
He stood upright, bringing his head and shoulders above deck level. “Where the hell have you been? I worried—” Then the deckhand knelt, and Tom’s heart, which had bobbed like a fishing float, sank, for no good reason.
“Ah, Yiannis. I mistook you for—” He cut himself off. Yiannis didn’t need to know that Tom still thought about someone who’d left with no warning. So what if Nick’s bullshit often had Tom smiling on the inside? He’d been a liability, a lazy one, who Tom shouldn’t have lost a wink of sleep over.
Tom refocused on why Yiannis had come to find him. “You need me for something?” Tom hoped not. His repair list was as long as both of his arms and this kid’s bare legs added together. He clambered back onto the deck, catching sight of an expression which, unlike Nick’s before he left, telegraphed his intention. “Ah. You’ve decided not to sail again next season,” Tom stated.
Yiannis shrugged, silent. He hung his head as if letting Tom down was the last thing he wanted, which again was a damn sight more than Nick had managed. Tom’s glower was only caused in part by the brightness of the sunlight. He shielded his eyes regardless, wishing he’d done the same for his stupid, soft heart which still twinged with worry. “Let’s get out of the sun,” he said, gruffer than he intended.
He led the way below deck, his nav table taking up most of the room, his logbook atop it, open on a flow chart of all the repairs still outstanding. He closed it to give the kid his full attention. “What’s up?” He gestured to the stool opposite. “Take a seat and tell me.”
Yiannis sat, biting his lip instead of speaking.
“Whatever it is, I’m not going to be angry with you, I promise.” Tom took a guess that he hadn’t had the best of voyages either. Most clients were good people, but their last ones had more money than manners. As he watched, Yiannis paled, and a hot-looking stripe across one cheek stood out by comparison. “Hey, let me take a look at your face.” Protective hackles rising, he asked, “Did