I didn't go on the boat. That's where this story starts.
I had a stack of work to get through, and Jo had the kind of opening in her week where she could take the girls out with her parents for the day. Her dad is a naval engineer, and he genuinely loves boats in the way some people love their grandchildren. So when those two things overlap, you let them overlap. I also hate deep water, so this was a happy match all round.
They booked a traditional sailboat. There were yacht options, motorboat options, the lot, but Jo's dad wanted to show the girls a proper sailboat. Ropes and canvas and a real mast. The conditions were apparently perfect: sun, a few clouds, a light breeze that filled the sails once they were out on the water but didn't slap you in the face on deck. Forty-five minutes out, forty-five minutes back. Easy.
The girls were not nervous, which surprised exactly nobody. They held onto the rope fencing along the edge and stared out at the water like it owed them something. Every few minutes one of them had a question, and every time, Jo's dad's eyes lit up. He explained what a jib is. He explained where you tie the boat up at port. He showed them how flipping the sail over to the other side makes the boat turn. Jo said it was something to watch. Her father in his element. The girls absorbing it all without realising they were getting a free lesson in seamanship.
The wildlife brief was ambitious. Jo and her parents were hoping for dolphins. The girls were hoping for mermaids. Nobody got either. But you could see the rock of Gibraltar from out on the water, and on a clear enough afternoon you can see Africa too, a thin smudge across the strait. Not bad for a forty-five minute leg.
Meanwhile I was at home, productive and quiet, with no view of Africa but a much better internet connection.
Some days the right move is everyone splitting up. Jo's dad got to play teacher and grandad at once. The girls got a memory they'll probably carry. Jo got a bit of sun. And I got a few uninterrupted hours which, if I'm being honest, was its own kind of gift.