No Escape: The most addictive, gripping thriller with a shocking twist. Lucy Clarke

somewhere new rather than mooring up in a marina with the yachting crowd.

      Two nights ago they’d anchored on the lee side of a tiny island that had just sixty inhabitants. Almost as soon as they’d dropped anchor, a dozen village kids swam out to the yacht. Aaron invited them on board and they’d stood dripping wet at the stern, smiling shyly and giggling. Denny had fetched a bag of sweets and within a few minutes the kids were exploring the yacht. They were mesmerized by the computer, the array of books in the saloon, and the music that played from Shell’s iPod.

      Lana was beginning to gain an understanding of how the yacht moved. It was less reactive than a car, with adjustments taking longer, so when she turned the wheel one way it took a few seconds for the boat to follow. It was a strange sensation to steer from the back of a vessel and she kept pushing herself up onto tiptoes, peering over the bow to check the way was clear.

      Aaron came up on deck holding an apple in his wide palm. He stood beside her, slipping a knife from the sheath that was fixed to the console. It was housed there for emergencies, like cutting a trapped line, or to protect themselves should they ever be boarded. Aaron wiped the blade against his shorts, then carefully sliced the first curve of the apple, lifting it to his mouth on the blade edge.

      ‘How you going?’ Aaron asked, as he crunched through the crisp flesh of the fruit.

      ‘Good, I think. We’ve been averaging about six to seven knots.’

      He nodded, then didn’t say anything for some time. He watched the water, a peaceful expression settling into his features and softening the deep grooves that lined his forehead.

      She wondered how old Aaron must be. The rest of the crew were in their twenties – Shell being the baby of the group at twenty-two – but Aaron seemed more life-worn: in his early thirties perhaps. It was still a young age to own a yacht the size of The Blue. Even though the yacht wasn’t one of the modern, expensive new models they occasionally passed, it was sizeable at 50 feet. Aaron had told her it was an ex-charter yacht that he’d bought in New Zealand. It had the feel of a well-loved family home where each corner had a story to tell. She liked the rustic charm of the heavily varnished wood below deck that had turned an orangey colour over the years, and the quirks of how certain latches and doors had to be opened at a precise angle to make them work. He’d set up solar panels on deck, and a wind turbine too, and was eager that their travels left as little wake as possible.

      ‘Shell was telling me that your first voyage on The Blue was from New Zealand to Australia?’

      He nodded slowly.

      ‘Some journey. Brave to do it single-handedly.’

      ‘Or foolish.’ He cut another slice of apple, crunching it between his teeth as he looked at the line of islands ahead, which were beginning to reveal craggy rock faces.

      ‘What made you decide to do it?’

      ‘Wanted a new experience, I guess.’

      Lana thought about his answer: Aaron had bought a yacht, spent six months refitting it, then sailed off single-handedly. There must have been a compelling reason to make him take on such a challenge. Or, she thought, a compelling reason to make him want to leave New Zealand. ‘What did you do before this? Before setting sail?’

      Aaron looked steadily ahead. He spoke slowly and clearly as he said, ‘I did a lot of things before this, Lana. But what I do now is sail.’ He cut a final slice of apple, then returned the knife to its sheaf before wandering away to the bow. He stood alone, one hand on the lifeline, his gaze on the water.

      The wind continued to blow.

      *

      It was dusk by the time they’d finally finished anchoring in a spot Aaron was comfortable with. Once everything was done, he called the crew into the saloon, where they all squeezed around the main table.

      Aaron remained standing, saying, ‘We need a quick group vote. We’re spending the night here – possibly tomorrow night, too. After that I wanted to find out where people would like to go next. We’ve got a couple of options.’ Flattening out a chart in the centre of the table, Aaron explained how they could tour the islands north-east of here where there were some great surf breaks, but that the sailing might be rough – or they could head south-east into more protected waters, where the snorkelling and diving were meant to be spectacular.

      When he’d finished explaining the options, he asked for everyone’s vote, giving his own first. ‘I’m in favour of going north. It’d be good to see if there’s any swell running.’

      Shell, who was sitting beside him, voted next. ‘Sorry, but I’m going to say south. I’d rather be snorkelling than wave-hunting.’

      Heinrich voted in agreement with Shell, while Denny and Joseph voted with Aaron. Then it was just Lana and Kitty remaining.

      ‘North or south?’ Aaron asked them.

      Lana felt oddly privileged to be included in the voting, as if it made them valued members of the crew. It was a fair and democratic system, and she respected Aaron for implementing it when, as skipper, he’d have been within his rights to make all the decisions himself.

      ‘Both routes sound amazing, but I’d love to do some more snorkelling, so I’m going to vote south,’ Lana said.

      Kitty agreed – and so the decision was made.

      ‘You ever get the impression,’ Denny said to Aaron as everyone started getting to their feet, ‘that we’re not going to make the pro surf tour after all?’

      ‘Tough break,’ Aaron said, slapping a hand on Denny’s shoulder.

      *

      After the group vote, Lana and Kitty made dinner for the crew, stir-frying shellfish that Denny had gathered earlier in the day.

      They served the food in plastic bowls and carried them up on deck, where a light breeze stirred the moonlit bay. Lana sat with her back against the lifeline, studying the curved shadow of the island ahead. The island, Topeu, shown on the charts as being less than 0.5 kilometres wide, was reputed to have fantastic rock formations and cliffs, which Lana was looking forward to exploring in the morning.

      After dinner, Shell and Heinrich cleared the bowls, rinsing them in a large bucket of sea water and then taking them below deck to finish them off with fresh water. Aaron was fastidious about saving water; showers were a luxury that usually lasted three minutes, and washing up was done in an inch of water. They had a tank on board that was filled up whenever possible, but in the remote areas they sailed through, it wasn’t always easy to find somewhere to do so. Catching rainwater was helpful, but they had a desalinator installed as a backup, though the pump was noisy and drained a lot of energy and the small amounts of water it produced tasted flat.

      Heinrich returned to the deck with a bottle of rum and a tray of glasses and, like most nights, the crew talked and drank and laughed as the yacht dozed at its anchor. Lana sat a little way apart from the others, her gaze cast at the sky, which was a deep velvet black, shot through with starlight. The warm breeze, scented with salt and earth, moved her hair against her shoulders, and she could hear crickets calling from somewhere on land.

      There was a roar of laughter, and Lana looked around. Kitty was at the centre of the group recounting a story from the last play she’d been in. ‘That,’ she said, pausing theatrically, ‘was when I realized – he wasn’t wearing anything. Stark. Bollock. Naked!’

      Shell clapped her hands together. Heinrich snorted.

      Denny leant across the table and picked up the rum. He topped up the glasses of those nearest him, then stood and walked over to Lana with the bottle. ‘More?’

      ‘Thank you,’ she said, holding out her glass.

      Once he’d refilled it, he sat down beside her, pressing his back against the guardrail.

      Lana turned to him. ‘Does it ever wear off? The beauty of doing this?’

      He took