I have tied a knot around the horizon and am pulling it towards me. My car is on a tightrope road and Noah sits quietly in the back seat. His eyes are fixed upwards as a flock of birds passes by. Grey animals; they etch into the clouds in the half-light. I know Noah can see them. It’s the way he’s moving his eyes, craning his head to look backwards, pressing his nose up against the glass until the insects outside can feel the warmth of his breath.

I should have cleaned the car before we left. The passenger seat is littered with a stranger’s crumbs, smudges streak the windows, and the steering wheel needs a wipe.

I catch Noah’s eyes in the rear-view mirror and smile at him.

“How are we doing back there?”

“Good,” he nods as he speaks, taking his nose away from the glass. “Can we stop for raspberries? I’m hungry. When will we be there?”

“There’s a sandwich and some crackers in your backpack. Vegemite and cheese with the crusts cut off. It won’t be long.”

He perks up a little as he unzips the container. It will keep him distracted as we drive past the raspberry farm—not that he needs distracting. He’s such a compliant child. So easy to love.

Although I keep my eyes on the road, I can still see the rich canvas of my home rolling past. The fields are so green—I once heard a man describe them as painful. He told me how he had to shield his eyes from the brightness of the grass and the trees and the wonder. How he had to squint to see the dew sliding down each blade of grass, the mountains dormant in the distance.

I pull over, careful not to brake too fast with these bald tyres on the gravel edge of the road. I wrench on the handbrake and swivel in my seat to face Noah.

“Okay, buddy, finished that sandwich?”

He nods, his mouth full of bread and his cheeks a vegemite finger painting. I pull a tissue out of my pocket and lean over the back of my seat to clean his face.

I hear my phone buzz and rummage around in my bag. A message from Noah’s father appears on the screen. I don’t bother reading it. Instead, I get out of the car, walk around it, turn off the phone and throw it into the scrub. Noah looks at me quizzically, but I offer him a chocolate biscuit that we baked together yesterday and soon he seems to forget.

“Right, time for our adventure.” I see him smile.

I get back in the car and start the engine again. Singing and laughter trickle through the cab as I drive into the city—if you can call it that. Just a big country town, really. We drive through the streets until the silos dwarf the car, arriving at the docks a little after seven. I watch Noah watching the water. Soon, we will be out in the rise and fall of the ocean. I will have to hold him in my arms to stop his mind swimming through the sea, searching for the kraken beneath its depths.

I drive up to the booth and roll my window down, squinting at the man inside.

“Do you have your ticket?” He sounds disinterested.

“Here.” I give him my boarding pass and wait for him to nod his approval.

“Drive through onto Deck 5, park your car as directed, and leave your vehicle. You can take a bag each into the cabin. Here’s your room key. It’s number 8012.”

I smile and nod, careful not to show my face too directly. As I drive the car onto the boat, I can see Noah’s eyes turn to glass. They are a mirror of the ocean. I quickly point out the men getting ready to tie the cars down. Meltdown averted, I find my parking spot and shut off the engine. I reach into the glovebox and take out the cash-filled envelope. I tuck it into the back of my jeans while keeping my eyes on Noah. If he dived into the sea he would sink down, down into its depths like a lead sinker. I wonder if he would close his eyes or if he would look at the fish and the seaweed and wait for his feet to hit the sandy bottom.

I pick up his backpack and sling it over one shoulder. Gently, I take his little hand in mine and lead him from the car, across the deck and up the stairs.

“Can we explore the ship?”

“We need to find our cabin. Here, you help. Look at the first number. It’s an 8. We need to find Deck 8.”

“But I want to find the captain and the playroom first.”

“No, Noah, we talked about this. It’s straight to the cabin.”

“But you said we were going on an adventure, Emmie.” I stop and pick him up to sit on my hip.

“And now I say we’re going to the cabin, Noah. No arguing.” My lips brush against his ear as I speak ever so quietly. No doubt he can feel my breath worming into his brain. He wriggles and starts kicking at my shins, tears beginning to stain his cheeks. But his arms are easy to cover with mine. I hold him back as I weave our way through the narrow passages of the ship. It is strange how the closer we get to the sea, the further inland I feel on this travelling island. It is a paradox hotel.

People who pass us in the rabbit warren corridors don’t even seem to notice Noah’s distress. They are far too concerned with finding their own rooms to see something as small as a child, whimpering in my arms.

We reach cabin 8012 and I manage to wrangle out the room key while still holding onto Noah. I drag him inside and close the door behind us.

The water has sprayed up from below and trickles across the porthole. Tears down the cheeks of this great red machine. The grey birds fly across the sky, circling the ship. I will abandon this green land for Noah. I will leave it in the rear-view mirror of a stranger’s car bought with his mother’s money.

Noah looks at me with his giant, telescope eyes and sees a girl in the back of a painting as she steps outside its frame. He has no idea what I am doing for him. The sacrifices I am making for him.

“Where are we going, Emmie? Where are you taking me?”

“To the mainland. Wouldn’t you like that? We can build a life together. Just you and me.”

Noah sits silently as his chest heaves with the rocking of the ship. Finally, he calms himself enough to speak.

“I-I think I’ll miss my mum, Emmie. If we go on an adventure. I think I’ll miss my mum. Maybe we should go back home.”

I scoop him into my lap, clutch him in my arms and rock him gently.

“No, don’t worry my love, you won’t miss your mum. Not after tomorrow, or the next day, or the next.”

His shoulders move up and down; he wheezes like a balloon with a hole in it. He finds it hard to speak between breaths.

“But Mummy will miss me, Emmie. I know she will.”

I shake my head and squeeze him tight.

“No, Noah. Your mum won’t miss you. I know she won’t.”

His hair feels soft between my fingers. His skin peach-sweet like a cherub’s. He is aware of my heart in its bone cage beating against the bars.

“She won’t miss you at all, Noah. She won’t even know you’re gone.”