I don’t see a butterfly wrasse, but the dive doesn’t feel like a loss. I’m proud of myself for how many fish species I recognised and how much I remembered about the different types of coral. Maybe everyone will believe I’m a marine biologist after all. Maybe Millie was right, this will be more fun than India. I grab onto the mooring line and deflate my jacket in preparation for the slow ascent. The last thing I want to do is leave the water.

Chapter 9

Eight dives to go

We pop up above the surface. Everyone is grinning from ear to ear.

‘Wow,’ we all say to each other and to ourselves. ‘That was incredible.’

We inflate our BCDs and bob on the surface. The water laps at our chests. I lick the salt off my lips. The humidity soothes my mouth, which is dry from breathing in straight oxygen. Everyone is quiet. There is a collective feeling of astonishment and joy. It feels like the moment during a concert where the entire crowd starts singing the lyrics to the same song. I relish knowing that I am just as affected by what we just saw as the strangers next to me.

Miguel and Vanessa scurry up the ladder first, pulling themselves out of the water easily, and lowering down a bucket for the rest of us. One by one, the group takes off their fins, shucks them into a bucket hanging off the side of the boat, and hoists themselves up the ladder with effort. Hugh and I are last.

‘You go.’ I gesture at the metal rungs bobbing in the ocean waves.

‘Ladies first,’ he replies. Even though he’s technically being polite, it feels pointed. I glare at him, but he doesn’t budge, his eyes sparkling an electric blue, water dripping off his eyelashes. Tired of waiting, and desperate for a drink of water, I haul myself, cloaked in heavy scuba gear, up the ladder while he watches.

We towel off and huddle in the shade of the captain’s room, balancing our lunches on our laps. We’re all seated once again on the worn vinyl, in our usual seats. Hugh and I are as far away from each other as we can be while still sitting on the same bench. Vanessa is eating with us, sitting next to Andrew. Miguel and Aaron are busy elsewhere.

The group quiets as we start to eat. The crew whipped up a series of grain-forward salads, a remarkable feat considering how small the ship’s kitchen is, and worlds better than the PB&J I was expecting. A bowl of fresh pineapple sits on Aaron’s chair.

‘That was incredible,’ Andrew says to Vanessa between mouthfuls.

‘This year is the best it’s been in years,’ Vanessa tells us. ‘The reef is just starting to recover from a bad bleaching event a few years ago, and the coral cover is coming back.’