Marty smiled. It was. It absolutely was. Grandad looked at his watch and guessed that they must be about halfway. Grandad had calculated that they could cover 25 miles an hour. So, the 127 between Southampton and Le Havre could technically be covered in around four hours. Every now and again, the silence would be broken by a boat sailing nearby or a ferry in the distance. Marty looked into the water and watched as jellyfish bobbed up and down, spotting the sea with their blobbiness, and Gracie almost jumped out of her seat as she saw a pod of dolphins surface nearby.

“Ha ha!” shouted Grandad.

Grandad was in charge of the engine, and of topping it up with gasoline from the canisters in the bottom of the boat. Marty was in charge of the sail, and he would sit, the old compass Grandad had given him balancing on his knees, and look up at the sail every now and again. He could feel the wind in it. Feel it catch the sail and hurry them along, or go against them depending on its direction. It was unbelievable how strong it was. Filling the sail as if it were liquid but being entirely invisible.

What Marty was most in awe of, though, was how small he felt. Usually, in Mum’s house, he’d feel big. Huge. Like he was too big for the place. The squashiness and the narrowness and the stuffed, packed fullness made him feel like a giant, but out here he, they … they were tiny. And there was something terrifically marvelous about that. They were specks. Flecks on the surface of the water. Nothing but insignificant spots. Nothing for miles and miles around. And you could feel the power of the sea underneath you. The waves moving. Cupping the enormous pumpkin like it was nothing. And there was something freeing about it. It made Marty feel light as a feather. The same feeling as when he would watch Gracie dance. Gracie was watching him.

“You know what?” she said. “I think this is the happiest I’ve ever seen you.” Marty smiled. He didn’t actually know what to say.

By the middle of the afternoon, Gracie had cracked open one of the thermoses, but the waves out here seemed choppier. He watched as she tried to pour the tea into the mugs and not burn herself at the same time.

The waves were tipped with white. Ribbons of water cutting the surface of the sea. The pumpkin bobbed about a bit more. Grandad got up and tried to maneuver the sail over the biggest waves. Some spray was showering them with salty water every now and again.

“We’re okay!” shouted Grandad.