“This isn’t as bad as I expected,” I said to Jamie, as we sat on Esper in the slipway, waiting to be hauled out.
He didn’t bother to reply. We were coming to a rolling boil in the midday heat, and any attempt at conversation or movement was painful. Millie lay on the floor in the saloon with ears twitching. She began to pant and stared up at me through the hatch. “What hell-hole have you brought me to now?” she seemed to be saying.
The Maldives isn’t always paradise, sometimes it can be hell. Read Liz’s account of life in a boatyard at boiling point.