There were five important things I didn't know about yachts before I spend the most physically hellish days of my life crossing the Tasman.

The first fact I found out is that being on a sailing boat meant always being wet. Always. Even if the waves didn't actually break over the deck (which they did at frequent intervals, drenching anyone in the vicinity with icy water), there was the constant spray that whipped off the swell, coating us in a salty patina.

The salt worked its way into the cracks of my skin, particularly my chapped lips and the micro-cuts on my hands from where the ropes had sanded away at the softer flesh, and in those places the brine stung like razor cuts dipped in lemon juice. There was no way to remove the salt; our water supplies were tightly rationed so zero chance of a shower, not even a cold one. Once a day we could afford to dampen the corner of a towel and wipe it over the worst of the grit, but that only seemed to move the problem around. I was surrounded by water and I dreamed of baths, overflowing with scented bubbles, piping hot and vast.

Second, I learned quickly that sailing is hard work. So hard, it made cycling up the side of the Macquarie Pass on our first day out of Sydney seem like a gentle Sunday ride. While ever there was light in the sky, Ruben had us moving forward through the waves, chasing the capricious breeze while he shouted powerful orders and wielded the helm to his will.

And that, of course, would have been just a little sexy, if it wasn't mainly me he was shouting at. Rueben had said the yacht needed two people on deck at all times, and he wasn't kidding. Mischa ran around helping where she could, grabbing us snacks and bottles of water, but otherwise it was Rueben and me, slogging it out for twelve hours at a time.

Sometimes the orders were easy, "Hold this, don't let it move." Sometimes they were frantic, "Wind it! Fast as you can! Faster, Karla!" Sometimes they were completely indecipherable, a combination of words and angles and time periods that all made sense on their own, but as a sentence meant nothing, leaving me to scream back, "WTF does that even mean?" in a tone I usually reserved for dealing with my phone company when they added extra inexplicable charges to my bill.

I ducked and leaned and dashed and pivoted across the slippery deck. Any thought of doing these activities gracefully for Rueben's benefit had long gone overboard, along with thoughts of weight loss, Dean, the world behind or the future ahead of us. There was only survival, dependent on our moment to moment activities; one wrong winch and we'd be sailing towards the Antarctic and our deaths instead of the safety of the Tasmanian shores.

At dusk on the second day, we staggered downstairs on trembling legs, and Rueben said, "You need to check in with Bailey, see if they can lend us a hand tomorrow."

I collapsed to the soft white leather of the padded stool. "I can try," I replied, exhausted by the thought of it. After sobbing themselves dry on the deck the day before, Bailey had disappeared into the room they should have been sharing with Nev and hadn't emerged since.

After cramming a handful of dried fruit into my mouth for enough sugar energy to steel myself, I knocked on Bailey's door. "Hello? Bailey?"

A huddled lump under the 1000 thread count sheets emitted a grunt. I approached warily in the darkness. "Listen, Rueben and I are doing it really tough up there. He thinks we're about halfway now, but we're both exhausted, and another pair of hands would be so helpful. Can you pitch in tomorrow?"

The lump said nothing. I perched on the edge of the bed. "Bailey? I know this is hard for you, and I'm sorry for what you're going through, but we're not going to make it if you don't help us. Please?"

We sat, the silence loaded between us as the waves slapped loudly on the walls outside the room. I was readying another argument, some convincing rhetoric to spur Bailey out of bed with fire in their eyes, when they finally spoke. "You don't get it."

"Get what?"

Bailey's voice was low and unlike anything I'd ever heard from them before, the tone of a person whose soul had been sucked out of their eyeballs. "I don't care if we make it."

"Yes, you do," I said, surprised to feel annoyance flood the places in my heart where seconds before had been only empathy. "Don't say that."

"I don't have any reason left to live."

"Bailey, stop it. You have us, you have a life waiting for you, and you still have Nev, she still loves you, she just needs some time-"

Bailey bolted upright in bed, their hair wild, their eyes pools of ashen fury. "Don't say that she loves me. That's bullshit. There's no way you love someone and do what she did to me."

"She did it for you."

"She should have talked to me!" Bailey's voice burst out in a bellow of pain and anger. "That's how it's meant to work in a couple! Instead, she treated me like a child, keeping secrets from me for my supposed benefit. She confided in an eight-year-old about our relationship, and not me. That isn't love. I could never trust her again – which means everything we had is gone, over, done!"

They threw themselves back to the bed, dragging the covers to hide themselves and their ocean of pain. "Oh, Bailey," I murmured, "I'm sorry. I didn't understand."

Bailey spoke, low and hollow. "If I go above deck, I'll throw myself overboard. Leave me alone."

I padded out of Bailey's room and into my own, almost unaware of the tears of desperation that poured from my eyes, as if Bailey's desolate mood was contagious and I'd been infected by it. Sleep was a long time coming, and I lay in the dark in despair that even if we made it to the shore, Bailey's spirit had been lost somewhere over the Tasman.

The third thing I discovered about sailing: after three days on board, it was impossible not to loathe absolutely everything around me. I hated the way everything constantly swayed, the moisture in every item of clothing, the cramped quarters - including the tiny toilets that were like a combination of a plane bathroom and a coffin.

Mostly, with a pure and true hate, I loathed the sailing itself. Day three and everything sucked: the constant orders, the wind that whipped at my hair and caused my eyes to bleed tears, the slippery deck, the physical exhaustion. I was starting to feel as though Bailey's idea of tossing themselves overboard had some merit. Surely, swimming to Tassie had to be easier than this nonsense.

Around midday, Rueben yelled at me to "Duck!" for the third time in three minutes. As my aching thighs bitched loudly from performing yet another low squat, my glutes cramped and I fell backwards onto the hard deck. My teeth clanked together biting the sides of my tongue, and pain shot up my spine. I did not act with maturity or composure, needing this indignity pinned on someone that wasn't me. "Ow! Are you freaking kidding me?"

"What?" said Rueben, squinting to the port side (which I'd finally learned was to the left) and completely ignoring my situation.

"Could you go more than three seconds without needing to throw a boom at me? Or are you doing it for sport?" I clambered to my feet, simultaneously exhausted and energised with frustration.

Rueben said, "This is what sailing is, Karla. If you don't like it, feel free to swim."

His harsh tone, which had been pretty much constant for the last three days, finally grated away the last of my patience. Hotly, I stomped over to him. "Okay, what the hell is your problem?"

"I don't have a problem. I'm the captain and I'm doing what I have to do to keep everyone on this boat alive."

"Bull." I closed the gap between us and snatched off his reflective sunglasses. "You've been a complete arse since... I don't know, at least since the night before we left Melbourne."

"Gee, I wonder why," said Rueben drily.

"I am wondering why!"

"Karla, I hate to be that person, but if you don't know why I'm just a little upset right now, there's no point in telling you."

"Ugh." I stormed back over to the winch I'd been winding, running a search on my memory. So much had happened, it was hard to keep track.

Okay. Rueben and I had kind-of made up walking to Nev's family dinner, after he'd found out about Dom being Dean and I'd called him out of deliberately keeping me at arm's length. Then he'd been openly flirting with me the first time we saw the yacht, and was going to ask me something – which I was pretty sure was going to be about asking me to actually be with him properly, and that was great timing because I'd already decided by then that I was done with Dean. But he hadn't brought anything up since.

What then? What happened since that significant moment on the yacht and now? Other than Nev's switcheroo, and the drama of finding Mellie in the house-

"Oh crap," I whispered, realising my mistake. I was so absorbed in my revelation, I only barely heard Rueben cry, "Duck. Boom! Karla!"

"What?" Too slow, I turned, watching the massive boom swinging directly towards me. I was standing on an elevated platform, so the beam didn't hit my head but caught me directly in my squishy belly, winding me and throwing me several feet across the deck where I tumbled along the slick wooden surface.

"Karla!" Rueben raced to my side as I slid to a stop in a twisted pile. "Are you okay?"

His warm hands cupped my face and his eyes were stricken with worry. I would have answered him, but I couldn't breathe. My hands clutched at my throat and chest, as if they could reopen whatever had been blocked.

"It'll pass, it'll pass." Rueben squeezed my hands tightly. "Give it a minute. Count something. It helps."

Count. Five fluffy clouds above my head. Four people left in our clan. Three days on board this hell ship. Two men who want me in their own way. One thing I need to say.

My diaphragm finally unlocked, and I drew a heaving gasp. With strong arms, Rueben helped me into a sitting position. "Are you okay?"

A hacking cough racked through me, and I nodded. "Rueben, I know why you're upset."

I wanted him to say something, but he pulled his shrink-trick of staying silent. He sat back on his haunches and waited.

I cleared my throat. "I told Mellie that I was Dean's girlfriend. I was just trying to pull rank on her, but what you don't know, what I decided and told Bailey, is that I'm never going to be with Dean again. It took you guys helping me to see that he used me - abused me - and I can't ever unsee how he treated me."

Rueben helped me to stand, our bodies close. "I'm so glad, Karla."

"I know I'm deserving of more." I hesitated, because I hadn't thought the next part through. "I'm deserving of someone who can love me without reserve. Who sees me."

His hands slid up, one into my hair, one against my cheek, and despite the constant sting of my skin and the burning of my muscles, it felt so freaking good to be back in his arms. Dammit. I sighed and said, "But I think maybe Nev was right. Trauma has a way of making people move too fast, act crazy and make decisions they probably shouldn't. In the real world, we would have got to know each other over multiple dinners and drinks and Sunday sessions; we would have dated for months before you'd even let me meet Mischa. We need to slow down because you're still not ready for something real, I don't know if I'm ready to dive in and become a step-mother right this second, and I don't want us to be together just because of proximity and convenience."

"Karla-"

"Rueben, please don't make this harder." I wiggled out of his arms, telling all my inflamed centres to calm their bits. "You and I, we're not a priority right now. Let's just get to the farm, get settled, and work things out from there."

"Work things out. What does that mean?"

"I don't know. We could maybe... date?" The word sounded flimsy to my own ears, a remanent of a world that didn't exist, where there were still pretty dresses to buy, restaurants to visit, movies to watch. Suddenly saddened by a future that could never be, I gave up. "Never mind. Let's just forget it all, okay?"

I could see he had more to say, but he shut it down, like flipping off a panel of light switches. "Okay. Whatever you want."

My hands were shaking as I picked up his sunglasses from where I'd dropped them and handed them to him. "Sorry about that."

He put them firmly back on his face, hiding the hurt I could sense was lurking there. "No problem. Just so you know, the wind is tricky today – I'm not moving the boom to annoy you."

"Alright."

"Let's pick it up again."

So, we did, sailing on as if the box at the bottom of my mental ocean wasn't straining at the hinges to release all the emotions I actually felt about this situation.

The fourth thing I learned was that a chicken, a dog, a child and a shut-in are kept below deck for four days, everything starts to smell like a combination of various species' faeces.

Day four, I awoke with a bang; I'd been rudely dumped out of bed and onto the floor as the Great Escape pitched over a wave and tilted concerningly to the side. Startled, I staggered to my feet, pulling on my salt-stained day outfit and used my hands to balance myself out into the main cabin.

The odour hit me like a physical wave. "Oh my god," I moaned, holding my shirt collar against my nose.

"It's not that bad," said Mischa. The little girl was merrily filling two dishes with dog food and chicken pellets at the kitchen bench, balancing effortlessly as the ship rolled around us in dizzying swells. Her blonde ringlets were looking a bit ratty, but she'd tucked them under a cap the same way I kept my hair, and she was wearing a My Little Pony backpack over her flannel shirt and cargos. I smiled as she crossed the cabin; our outfits matched, although I wouldn't be wearing my backpack today because my life jacket made that too hard. Plus the only reason I wore the backpack was to have my weapons at hand, and short of pirates boarding us, I didn't need them at the moment.

As Mischa opened the door to the tiny storage cupboard where the pets were being held, a chorus of clucks and barks arose, along with a wall of stanky miasma. "I know, I know," Mischa soothed, laying down the bowls. "One more day, you guys."

Rueben entered the cabin, his face blanching. "Holy moly, Mish, that's revolting."

"I can't clean them out properly in there," she explained as if her dad was dense, her tone too grown up for a kid. "It's too small. If I could let them out in here, then I can-"

"No." Rueben strode to the kitchen, pitching forwards as a wave caught him off guard. "I told you it's too dangerous to have the pets out."

He pulled out two protein bars and tossed me one. It hit me hard in the chest, and the irritation caused me to say, "Hang on, surely they can spend an hour in here? Mish can use the saltwater pump to clean their cages, then everything will smell better." The logic was sound to me, plus challenging the captain's orders felt subversive and satisfying.

Rueben pointed at the windows, where grey foamy water threw itself towards us with malice. "Do you see what's happening out there? It's going to be a wild few hours, and I won't create more risk than is necessary. This kind of storm normally blows over quick, but they can be deadly. I need to be focused to get us through, and I can't do that if I'm worried about my daughter getting mauled by a cranky Papillion or pecked to death by a chicken we should have eaten weeks ago!"

Mischa shrank back against the wall, her expression distressed. Rueben noticed, but he stood firm. "No, Mish. Just having the pets here is dangerous. Letting them out is worse. Don't come upstairs today. Karla, let's go."

He stormed out, leaving Mischa with a trembling lip. I gave her a quick hug, keeping one hand on the wall so we didn't fall over in the rocking. "It's okay, honey. Your dad is just stressed because the weather is bad."

"I promised Nevvie I'd look after Bella. And Simon... We can't eat Chookie."

"Don't listen to your dad, he didn't mean it." There would be not Chookie Pie as long as I had a say. I kissed the top of her head. "You're doing a great job."

She nodded and hugged me hard, then I left to follow Rueben feeling a savage sense of girl power.

Above deck, the world had transformed into the inside of a washing machine, a swirling, wild, frothy mess. I couldn't figure out if the water whipping us fell from the sky or if it was seawater or if it was a combination of the two. Rueben had lashed himself to the base of the helm with a short harness, but I was untethered so I could move around and follow the orders Rueben bellowed against the wind. Every second was dangerous; the ship pitched up and down as it crashed through the increasingly large waves, causing gravity to shift around us every few beats. The swell also rocked us side to side in an attempt to slide us off to port or starboard if we didn't constantly monitor our footing.

Time meant nothing. There was only pain and danger and wind and water. My fingers shook and turned blue from the cold, but I had to force them to grip and keep a tight hold of the rails and ropes. My hair was plastered to my scalp beneath my cap, while my shirt flapped wet and heavy beneath my life jacket. At the top of each swell, my stomach lurched at the weightlessness, then as we landed heavily, my joints crunched in agony. "Not much longer," Rueben yelled every now and then, but I'd already decided that I was in the seventh circle of hell, this experience clearly destined to be an eternal punishment for my every transgression.

Finally, Rueben pointed, "Look! Blue sky!"

I followed his finger, and saw the break line in the clouds where the grey gave way to azure. The waves seemed to be settling too, a bigger gap between this swell and the next. "Oh, thank you, Poseidon," I whispered, daring to let a shaky smile cross my lips.

"Daddy?" We both turned to see Mischa with her head poking through the hatch. "I can see blue! Is it over?"

Before we could answer, a black feathered shadow darted out through the gap and onto the deck. "Chookie!" screamed Mischa, bolting after the bird, skidding on the slick wood in her socks. She wasn't wearing a lifejacket.

"Mischa! No!" yelled Rueben, attempting to run for her but restrained by his tether.

A wave hit us sideways, and the vessel canted dangerously to the left. Mischa screamed as she lost purchase and began to slide toward the rails, catching herself with one small hand just before she fell. Chookie flapped for the hatch and the safety of the cabin while Rueben fumbled frantically for his harness buckle, calling Mischa's name in panic as if he could anchor her with his words.