III

This coast had changed beyond recognition in the eleven years of Rebecca’s absence. New villages had appeared, old ones had grown large, and the tangled mangrove of her childhood had all but vanished, leaving it like one long beach. She glanced at Daniel at exactly the same moment he looked at her. It kept happening that way, and it unsettled her. She was here on serious business, not some frivolous jaunt. She folded her arms and looked north. They reached and passed Ifaty, though it didn’t feel as though they were racing. Daniel evidently just had the knack. When he stood up to do boat things, he walked in easy harmony with the roll, whereas she spilled all over the place. ‘Something to eat?’ she suggested.

‘That’d be great.’

She unpacked two of the silver-foil packages Daniel had had their hotel prepare for them the night before. Cold boiled white rice, octopus and vegetables. She tried a mouthful. Bland, even with the tang of sea-salt on her lips. She went below in search of a bottle of her father’s home-made chilli sauce, opening cupboards at random, including a chest filled with medical supplies for patients too sick to make it to the clinic, and for anaesthetising and treating animals in the wild. She found a bottle of sauce at last, took it back up and added three drops to her rice, cautious as a scientist with a pipette, before mixing it in thoroughly with her fork. She held the bottle out to Daniel. ‘Want some?’ she asked.

‘Sure,’ he said.

‘Be careful,’ she warned. ‘It’s very hot.’

He gave her a patronising look and splashed it all over his rice, as if to prove his manhood. She considered saying something, decided against. He took a forkful, nodded approvingly, followed it quickly with a second and then, a little more slowly, with a third. A first sheen of sweat appeared on his brow. He lifted his fourth forkful to his mouth, then hesitated. ‘Wow,’ he said, putting his fork back down. ‘You weren’t kidding.’

‘I did tell you.’

‘Yeth,’ he admitted ruefully. ‘What’th in thith thtuff?’

She had to fight back laughter. ‘It’s my father’s homebrew,’ she told him. ‘The shops never make it hot enough for him.’

‘Uh huh.’ Daniel lifted his fork again, then put it down untouched, stared at it bleakly. ‘Ith there any water?’

She looked in the bag. ‘Orange juice?’ she asked.

‘Thankth. That would be gweat.’

‘No pwoblem.’

‘It’th not funny,’ he protested. ‘I’ve weally thcorched my tongue.’ He scowled good-naturedly as laughter finally got the better of her, and threw pinches of rice at her.

She passed him her leftovers when she was done, leaned back against the side. The clouds had all vanished; the sun had grown hot. Her legs felt sticky and uncomfortable in her long trousers. She went below to change into shorts. Back on deck, she squirted lotion into her hands, put her foot up on the bench the better to rub it into her leg. She could sense Daniel watching, and his attention felt good. She set her foot back down, put the other one up, taking her time over it, stretching the moment out.

The boat pitched suddenly. She yelped and tumbled into Daniel’s lap. He caught her easily, his arm around her waist. She looked into his eyes but there was nothing there to indicate he’d done it on purpose. ‘So sorry,’ he said, as he helped her back to her feet.