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‘I’d say I have a healthy respect for nature. I keep my distance from it and, in return, I expect it to leave me alone.’

She laughs. ‘You’re funny. Your fella has a good one in you. How did you meet?’

Oh, but this is awkward. I should tell her that Nathan and I aren’t a couple at all, but it feels like that moment has passed, somehow. I’m trying to come up with a plausible story when, thankfully, her attention is drawn back out to sea, where another boat is closing in on us at high speed. As it draws closer, it becomes obvious that it’s another shark tour boat, as it has an almost identical cage strapped to the back.

‘Shit.’ I haven’t heard Nathan approach, so his voice startles me.

‘What’s up?’ I ask him.

‘Competition.’ He jerks his head in the direction of the other boat, where the crew members are already working to unstrap the cage and lower it into the water. ‘What if all the sharks go to them and not us?’

As if to make his point, a fin breaks the surface of the water and starts lazily circling the other boat. After a moment or two, it’s joined by another.

‘Fuck.’ Nathan looks genuinely distraught as he starts trying to wriggle into his wetsuit. In his haste, he’s soon hopelessly entangled.

‘Here, let me help you with that,’ I tell him, getting to my feet. For a moment, I’m distracted by the muscles rippling across Nathan’s chest as he tries to get his arms into the sleeves, before I give myself a mental slap and tell myself to concentrate on the job in hand, delightful though the view may be. I’m obviously disconcerted by Mrs Barry’s assumptions that we’re a couple. That doesn’t stop an electric shock of excitement from shooting through me when the piece of neoprene I’m tugging on slips out of my grasp and my hand slides across his warm, bare flesh. Tim may have destroyed my ability to trust, but thankfully my libido proved too strong for him to break. I glance at Nathan’s face to see if he registered the skin-to-skin contact as well, but he’s still completely focused on the fins circling the other boat.

‘If you look off to your left,’ our captain informs us, evidently completely untroubled by the arrival of the other boat, ‘you will see a couple of sharks have already joined us. From the fins, I can tell you that they’re copper sharks, not great whites. They’re still pretty spectacular to look at, so we’ll see if they want to come over when we’re ready.’

The other punters obviously feel more like Nathan than the captain though, if the urgency with which they’re also donning their wetsuits is anything to go by. The gap-year girls are clearly well practised in the art, slipping them effortlessly over their bikinis as the male crew members look on appreciatively. Men are the same the world over, it seems. Nathan’s suit is also in place, but poor beer-belly Barry is having a real struggle. After he nearly dislocates his shoulder in a frantic effort to get it round him, one of the crew members takes pity on him and helps to manhandle him in. It’s not pretty, but soon everyone is ready and the cage is in the water.

‘The code is oh-two-oh-eight,’ Nathan tells me as he slips his mobile phone into my hands. ‘Pictures only, please.’

‘I don’t know what you mean!’ I tell him with a smile.

‘You do. This is a huge act of trust on my part. My life is in that phone. No snooping, get it?’

‘Yes, sir. I promise faithfully only to use your phone for the taking of photographs and letting your family know how you died.’

‘Stop it,’ he says as he turns back to join the others, but I can hear the smile in his voice.

‘OK, so remember what I told you,’ the captain tells the group as they assemble at the side of the boat. ‘We only take responsibility for the parts of you that are inside the cage. The disclaimers you’ve signed are very clear on that point. In a moment, I’ll ask my team to help you to climb into the cage. Once you’re in, I want you to find the bar down by your feet. Remember, that’s how you raise and lower yourself. Keep your mask on at all times. These are big, powerful, hungry animals and they have appalling table manners. If they get hold of one of the lures, they will do their best to tear it apart and we don’t want any pieces going in your eyes. If you get into difficulties, remember the signal. Raise your fist above the water and open and close it repeatedly. Our instructors will be looking for that and will get you out as quickly and safely as possible. Any questions?’

I unlock Nathan’s phone and fire off a couple of shots, capturing him with the group before they go in the water. The more I hear about this experience, the happier I am that I’m not taking part, particularly when the crew start throwing the lures into the water, causing at least one of the fins to break off from circling the other boat and head for us. I know they’ll be protected by the cage, but there’s something almost malevolent in the way the fin is lazily making its way through the water. The theme tune from Jaws is playing in my head once more, but it’s no longer funny. I glance across to the other boat; they’ve also lowered their cage and are throwing out lures. We’re soon joined by more fins, but it’s as if the copper sharks know they’re just the warm-up act as, apart from the odd thrash, everything seems very calm and peaceful. I fire off a couple more shots, but the view from up here really isn’t that interesting. I hope Nathan is having a better time in the cage.

Mrs Barry has obviously decided her role in this adventure is over, as she’s stripped down to a surprisingly skimpy bright-yellow bikini and is spreading a towel out on the deck. She’s obviously a sun worshipper; her skin is almost mahogany. I have to admire her confidence, as she’s a substantial woman and her stomach is festooned with stretch marks – things that would make me very anxious – but seem not to bother her at all. Maybe I’ll be that confident one day. Even though I’ve taken my shorts off, I’m still wearing a T-shirt over my bikini top and don’t see that state of affairs changing any time soon. My pale skin would not only put everyone off their lunch, but I’d probably burn to a crisp in ten minutes flat.

My reverie is interrupted by a shout from the other boat and a sudden bustle of activity. For a moment, I wonder if something dreadful has happened and automatically start scanning the water for blood, before I realise the shouts are excited, not alarmed.

‘We’ve got a great white, just there,’ the captain explains, pointing out a different fin that has joined the melee. ‘Looks like a big one too. Maybe three metres.’

I watch, fascinated, as the crews of the two boats now seem to work together to lure the shark towards the cages. To begin with, it doesn’t seem that interested in the lures but, after a few attempts, it starts to try to catch them. The crew members skilfully ensure the lure stays just out of reach for most attempts, but allow the shark to catch it often enough to maintain its interest. Even I’m in awe of the elemental power of it, as it thrashes to detach the lure from the line. I’m actually a little anxious. Suddenly, in the face of this apex predator, our boat feels flimsy and insubstantial, easily crushed in those massive jaws. I’m reminded of the scene in the film where Chief Brody says, ‘You’re going to need a bigger boat.’ I’m so captivated that I nearly forget to take any photos, but thankfully, someone chooses that moment to send Nathan a WhatsApp, and the vibration of the phone draws my attention to it.

My eyes land on the screen just before the preview disappears and, if I was curious before, I’m burning with it as I read the text:

+44 7927 606377

Blocked again? Really? I’ll just keep getting new numbers until you speak to…

I unlock the phone and my finger hovers over the WhatsApp icon, with its tantalising new message notification. I’m desperate to read it. Who is the sender and why is Nathan blocking them? I’m just about to press when common sense kicks in. It’s none of my business, and Nathan deserves his privacy. Plus, if I read it, not only will Nathan know I’ve read his messages because the new message icon will disappear, but the sender will also know the message has been read and assume it’s Nathan. No. I’ll have to play it cool. I’ll let him know a message arrived, which I can do innocuously, but there’s nothing wrong with watching his reaction like a hawk.

21

I’m in full-on Miss Marple mode, trying to work out who would send a message like that to Nathan. The most obvious answer, of course, is an ex, but he’s never mentioned anyone. I’m not naïve enough to assume that he’s never had a girlfriend but, given how much time we’ve spent together and how much I’ve shared, I would expect him to have brought up any recent break-ups. And why block them? Maybe the relationship ended badly, but it seems a slightly immature way of dealing with someone that you were once intimate with. Nathan strikes me as the kind of person who would want to bring proper closure to a relationship, so this is definitely out of character for him. I’m so wrapped up in my thoughts that it takes me a moment to realise that Mrs Barry has abandoned her sunbathing and come over to talk to me.

‘My Barry’s going to be wetting himself in excitement,’ she observes, looking in the direction of the cage, where the great white shark is still circling, trying to grab the bait. ‘Assuming the cage holds up and he doesn’t get eaten, I think we can assume it’s going to be a busy evening for me.’ She winks suggestively to make sure I’m left in no doubt what she means.

I’d like to say I’m no prude, but the image that forms in my head would make me feel queasy even if I wasn’t already dealing with the gentle rocking of the boat. I don’t begrudge them having an active sex life at all; I just don’t need the mental picture of them humping and grunting away.