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my knees. Rick, Carl and Tom settle down opposite us. I’m wearing white shorts and a cream-coloured vest over Bridget’s polka-dot swimming costume. I really must buy my own.
    I take a deep breath and exhale slowly as we make our way out through the canal, past boats moored up at jetties outside residences mostly obscured by thick vegetation. I stare out of the back of the boat at the minimal wake we’re leaving. Rick is right: the fresh air is helping. I glance across at him to find him watching me, before turning back to stare at the diminishing shoreline.
    As soon as we reach the reef, the boat becomes a hive of activity with the scuba-divers attaching weird hoses to their air tanks, adjusting weights on their belts and making various checks on their equipment. It all looks very complicated to me. We’d already be in the water, but we forgot to apply sunscreen. I turn so Marty can slap some on my back, then I return the favour and, while applying cream to her shoulders, I notice a man in shorts and a T-shirt on the other side of the boat. An olive-skinned, black-haired … No way, it’s him! The guy from the other night!
    ‘What are you doing?’ Marty asks me with annoyance. I come to with surprise, realising that my hands have stopped moving. I apply the rest of her sunscreen, trying not to stare too much.
    He’s talking to the other guy: the cute one, the one I thought Marty might like. That guy is dressed in a black wetsuit and is obviously about to go diving. I wonder why Mr Beautiful isn’t diving. He turns and ducks down into the cabin. Hmm. It looks like he works here. He reappears and makes his way down the gangway towards us. I can’t take my eyes off him, and as he passes he brushes my arm with his, making my hairs stand on end. He’s tall – about six foot three or four, compared to my five foot eight, and he has broad shoulders and a slim waist.
    ‘Get a move on,’ Marty urges me, and I turn in a daze to see that she has already stripped off and is struggling to pull on one of her fins. I quickly lift my vest over my head and wriggle out of my shorts.
    ‘You snorkellers ready?’ He speaks! He has an American accent.
    ‘Yep,’ Marty replies, giving me a nudge.
    I pull on my fins, intensely aware that I look like a complete idiot as I take a giant step in my enormous footwear towards the back of the boat. Please don’t let me fall over …
    ‘Have a good one,’ Rick calls after us.
    ‘You, too,’ I call back, wobbling slightly as I step down to the platform. Then Mr Beautiful’s hand is on my arm, steadying me. I freeze for a moment and look down at it with shock, before coming back to life. My cheeks blush a deep red, but thankfully he’s looking behind me at my friends.
    ‘It’s better to walk backwards,’ he tells them.
    The water is a brilliant blue and there are dark shapes moving beneath the surface. I feel a flurry of nerves.
    ‘Okay, in you go,’ he says to me.
    ‘What are they?’ I ask him with worry.
    ‘Fish.’ He says the word as though I’m an idiot.
    ‘As long as they’re not sharks …’
    ‘Reef sharks won’t bite you.’
    ‘You mean, there are sharks?’ I ask with apprehension.
    ‘Of course. But it’s the barracuda you should be worried about.’ He turns to Marty behind me and I’m effectively dismissed.
    ‘Why would I be worried about the barracuda?’ I’m sorry, but, with my apprehension mounting, I’m not ready to get into the water yet, mister. I don’t care how gorgeous you are.
    ‘They bite if provoked,’ he snaps over his shoulder.
    ‘Get a move on!’ Marty hisses, and I glance behind her to see that some of the divers are ready and have started to form a queue behind us.
    ‘Big step.’ The man flashes me a look with his dark-almost-black eyes. ‘And don’t stand on the reef, because you’ll break the coral,’ he warns, assuming that I’m an amateur.
    ‘I know,’ I snap back, because I have been snorkelling before, even if it