alastair macleod 
North Atlantic Drift 

‚We were like the jellyfish she mused. They surrounded the boat, all pink and filmy, like upturned translucent pudding bowls, each pulsing slowly.Incapable of strong directional swimming they were at the mercy of greater forces, of powerful sea currents that swept them out of the Caribbean and carried them here.Ilse too had been pulsing away in her own home town; then Erik had happened. Emotions had brought her here. But things were cooling between them. Perhaps his novelty was wearing off; she had read of that happening. Or maybe it was her. Was she changing? She had put on a little weight.It was very intense, being constantly together on the boat.It was also new, this closeness with only one human all of the time‘