2Jack’s face is twisted in agony, living his nightmare – shipwrecked at the bottom of the sea – waiting for it to happen, an inner mantra of torture running on and on: ‘Why didn’t I get off at Great Barrier? I knew I shouldn’t have come.’ Every minute is intolerable.
Dad disappears behind a bristling white beard and hovers around the outskirts, either in the cockpit or his bunk. We are all locked up inside ourselves. When he comes out to take over my watch, I go down to make him tea with crackers and cheese.
‘Thanks, Alice.’
His soft blue eyes are almost transparent, his gentle face washed clear by the sea. I hardly know my father and now he’s old. We sit in the cockpit across from each other. He’s cross-legged, one foot swinging slightly and the other solidly planted. His long sculptur
