On the beach, in the darkness, two men handed out life jackets. They gave one of the men in our group instructions on how to turn the engine on. Then they disappeared. Others pulled the dingy out into the water, and we climbed in, waiting for the motor to start. It took several pulls on the cord before the outboard engine croaked to life, and we were propelled away from the sound and sure-footed sands of the beach. 

        We were cramped and stiff in the boat. Waiting was long, so I counted how many were with us: thirty-three, including Mum and me. Most of them were young men, but there were some children and even a pregnant woman. There was another kid my age, at least he looked like a teenager, maybe only twelve, though. He was on his own. People weren’t really talking to each other, just holding on to the safety ropes. 

        Even when the boat began to sink, they still hung on to the ropes, but then they were also shouting at each other, screaming, splashing, clutching their neighbour. Mum pulled me away, swimming. 

        “Maya, we have to float. The coastguards will find us.” 

        She pushed herself onto her back, and we floated side by side, like stars holding hands, and listened to the others go silent one by one. Some tried swimming at first, those who could, but they couldn’t swim for long. Some held on to empty bottles or clothing that floated, but soon the fabrics began to sink. And those clinging on sank too, before resurfacing–airless. Once or twice, a body tapped into us, very gently. Long tendrils wound themselves around the fingers of my hand. 

        “Don’t look,” Mum said, but the sound was worse. 

        Then I wasn’t so sure–the silence was worse. I wished Mum would say something else. She was saving her energy: we had to concentrate on breathing and floating, perhaps for hours. 

        The blackness was so clear that hundreds of stars, maybe even thousands, studded the sky; I decided not to count them. I couldn’t find a shooting star, but the permanence of the universe calmed me. I tried to pierce its depths, thinking of myself as a still, beating heart held between the heavens and the deepness of the water below. Suddenly, there was one: a shooting star. I tugged on Mum’s hand and made a wish. 

        I also tried tugging again on my dud life jacket, but I knew this wouldn’t help. I was so cold–I tried wriggling my toes in my shoes. Why was I still wearing them? 

        There was a faint glow in the sky. It wasn’t where I thought the sun would be, but then I didn’t know where we’d been heading for the last few hours. I didn’t even know if we’d been following the tide or the wind. I was tiring, even as the waves grew bigger. The salty water slopped into my mouth, making me splutter, and I spat it out. I couldn’t feel anything anymore–so cold, I couldn’t even feel Mum’s fingers interlocked with mine. Mum wasn’t speaking.

        A faint vibration in the distance, in the air, picked me up. The noise came closer and the waves jostled. I pulled my arm out of the water and held it against my forehead, against the sun. A helicopter. Breaking my star shape, I threw an arm up and waved for help. The pilot veered away; hadn’t he seen me? Coughing, choking, I tried to lie back again, but it was difficult holding onto Mum’s hand. I didn’t want to wake her. 

        I was floating and thinking: not waving but drowning. I wanted to fall asleep, like Mum, but one of us had to stay awake to look out for the other. I began to dream until shudders jerked me awake, and I opened my eyes wide, thinking, not drowning, but waving. To be found. I gulped in air.

        An engine edged closer, and I could barely raise my arm out of the water, it was so heavy. Then arms reached down and pulled me up. I had to let go of my mother’s hand. Someone bent over the sides and pulled my mother out. A towel was wrapped around my shoulders. A sheet was pulled over my mother’s body. 

        “That’s it,” one of the coastguards cried. “Thirty-two drowned. One survivor.”