Page 66 of The Admiral's Daughter

“Emotional distress,” she continues, utterly cutting me off. “Years and years of emotional abuse. I’ll take him to the cleaners, River. Mark my words.”

“Jesus Christ, Mum!” I bark. “Why can’t you both just fucking leave each other alone? You’re divorced, Mother! There is absolutely no reason either of you should be in contact.”

“We share a child,” mum begins.

Scoffing down the phone, I shake my head in disbelief. “No, don’t make this about me. Neither of you gave a rat’s arse about me when you were, and continue to, tear into each other. Fucking hell, it’s exhausting. You’re both exhausting. Pack your shit, sell the house and move back south, Mum. Go and be happy, for the love of God!”

“River, where—”

“If you ask where this is coming from, I’m going to scream,” I announce with conviction. The sudden anger and frustration towards both my parents hits me as hard as the unexpected feelings I have towards Cleo did a few days ago.

“Honey, you don’t understand,” she tries, but I’m not having any of it.

“No, you’re right, I don’t understand. Both of you are purposefully hurting each other and yourselves, for no apparent reason. Is itreallysurprising why I don’t call? Within the first thirty seconds you’re banging on about Dad. Is it any wonder I’m fucking dysfunctional?” I growl.

“Dysfunctional?”

Jesus, she’s totally clueless.

“Yes, and if you’d paid a quarter of the attention to me as you do trying to destroy dad and vice versa, you wouldboth know…fuck, why am I even bothering? Listen, I’m not calling again until I know we can have a conversation which doesn’t centre around you two being selfish fucks!”

Jabbing the red button, I breathe heavily through the red mist, which is suffocating my brain. Why did I think this time would be any better?

Do you really want to end up like that with Cleo?

“No,” I say out loud into the empty room. “I’m not them.”

By design. I’ve never let anyone get close enough to do the damage they’ve done to each other and our family. I’ll admit, the thought of even attempting something more with Cleo is terrifying. It’s the long run that worries me. Dating and taking things day by day is the easy part. It’s when my mind wanders to the future that I feel the clawing ache of anxiety overtake me. I hear Mum and Dad’s cutting words and vicious takedowns in my mind. It’s what I’ve experienced every day of my life since they began to hate each other instead of loving each other.

Bloody hell, how am I supposed to explain that to Cleo without her running in the other direction?

22

Cleo

I’m already in toodeep with River and we’ve only been officially dating for a few days.

I’m ridiculous.

I’ve reasoned that my feelings are strong because of our proximity. We’re practically living with each other. I can’t go more than a few hours without either seeing her, working alongside someone who knows her, or thinking about her.

But what if proximity isn’t the only reason my feelings are deepening at an alarming rate? What if River differs from all the other women I’ve shared my time and energy with…even if she is a sailor and therefore not good for me?

My worry is that I’ll never know the answer to my question until we’re apart. There’s no way to get clarity of mind when I can’t escape her. I’m not trying to bedramatic…but cautious. My promise to have two feet firmly planted in our dating experiment instead of one foot already out the door is important. I get that, but so is being realistic. Our situation on board is not going to be our future forever. I’ll go home and River will continue to be a sailor. How can our relationship translate to the real world?

Plenty of sailors have partners and families. I’m just wondering if it’s possible for us, too. Can I see myself as a sailor’s wife? I know I’m getting ahead of myself, however I’ve always been sure of what I want in a partnership. I want the long-lasting kind of love we see in movies and books.

I can’t help but look to the future. Obviously, I won’t say anything to River. She’s strictly on a day-by-day basis at the minute, which is absolutely how I should be thinking, and I’m trying…I really am. My brain is just hardwired to dig into things until every possibility has been analysed and laid bare.

Frustrated with myself, I call Honor. I don’t love that I have to run to her every time my brain decides to go off on a tangent.

“Freaking out?” she says as soon as the line connects.

I groan down the line, and she laughs. I’m becoming far too predictable.

“Cleo, relax. Tell Honor what the problem is.”

“It’s weird to refer to yourself in the third person, sweetie.”