A few minutes before eleven, Ellie stepped onto Sea Angel, a sleek—if older—yacht. She glanced at her watch. He should be here, striding down the pier with his broad grin, or already on board with a limited-edition blue gin on ice. Just to take the edge off.
Sea Angel, “Dad, are you here?”
She knew her breath was wasted, but still ran downstairs. It was the same as always. Water, beer, and wine in the fridge. A few frozen meals for emergencies. Beds in the two cabins made and clean towels in the tiny bathroom. Everything ready for a quick sail or overnight trip.
The yacht rocked gently beneath her feet as she made her way up, longing for the sun on her face. London in winter might be beautiful, but Melbourne summer was her favourite time of the year. Dad’s as well. She sank onto one of
