Chapter 4
Chapter Four
Jade
Eating breakfast in a small hut on a tropical beach is not a bad way to start the day. Even if I did break up with my boyfriend the night before.
I did it by text, too. The Wi-Fi here is iffy, just as Anna said, and after my fourth attempt at FaceTiming Zach, which ended up with him showing me his erect cock and laughing, I gave up.
I can’t be with you anymore. I’m sorry.
That’s all I wrote. I didn’t know what else to say. How can I sum up almost four years where I loved him and hated him in almost equal measure? I sent it, then put my head down and cried it all out, relieved as much as anything. I fell asleep, eventually.
When I woke this morning, I checked my phone. Nothing.
It hurt, of course. But then I suppose that’s Zach. He’s probably already moved on to the next girl. Still, there’s a sting in my chest at how he can so casually walk away from everything we were together.
I squeeze more lime over my fresh papaya, chewing the soft sweet flesh thoughtfully.
The shutters are open, the blue ocean beyond calling to me.
I slept well, despite not having had a drink and everything that was going on with Zach.
I suppose I could put that down to exhaustion.
But I feel curiously refreshed in a way I haven’t for a long time.
I don’t have to see anyone, be anywhere, do anything. The day is all mine.
Then my phone buzzes furiously, as though it’s possessed by an angry bee. I jump, staring at it. Messages start to pop up on the screen.
What the fuck, Jade?
Are you joking with me?
This is bullshit. After four years?
You better fucking answer me. What the hell is your problem? Is it the other girls? I can stop that, though I thought you liked it too.
I still love you. I thought you loved me too.
Fuck. Where the fuck are you? Manny says you’ve taken off somewhere.
FUCKING ANSWER ME
Shit. I realise what must have happened. The Wi-Fi must have cut out overnight, and just come back in. And Zach thinks I’ve ditched him and then ghosted him, because I didn’t reply. The sting in my chest becomes fiercer as more messages pop up. He’s hurting. I’ve hurt him.
But then I think about all the times he’s cheated on me, dicked me around. The fights he’s been in over other girls. But he’s never fought for me. Always just assumed I would be there, would go along with whatever fantasy he wanted to play out. And I let him do it.
The sting in my chest is the same hurt I felt every time I watched him fuck some other girl, read another rumour about him, had to smile and play nice for the cameras even when I wanted to slap him. It’s time to let it, and him, go. I pick up my phone.
I’m here. Wi-Fi not great. I’m sorry.
I wait. Three dots appear. I don’t think I want to read whatever he’s typing. I write another message.
I’ll always love you. And I hope you find whatever it is you’re looking for. I just don’t think it’s me. I wish you peace.
Then I switch my phone off and go outside. I need a surf.
The ocean is where I go when I need space. It always has been, since I was a child and things at home were difficult. I would run down to the shore and scream my frustrations at the blue waves, letting them carry everything away.
It’s where I met Dora.
I grew up with people who made the world ugly. Dora showed me that it could be beautiful, too. And that I was worth something, after all.
I clutch her board under my arm as I head down to the shoreline. It’s the first surfboard I ever owned, a generous gift from my long-gone friend. When I made my plan to come here, I knew I had to bring it with me.
The beach is only a few short steps from my cabin, the sand silk-soft beneath my bare feet.
I scan the waves, shading my eyes with my hand.
There’s a nice break at the rocky point, which I guess is the tip of the peninsula.
It’s not busy, either, just three other surfers out there, black shapes bobbing in the waves.
Still, I’ve been surfing a long time, and I know how this works.
I’m a newcomer to the break, so I’ll take my time out there.
It’ll be nice just to get in the water. See if I can wash some of my pain away.
I fasten my leg rope then wade in, dropping my board once it’s deep enough and, lying on it, paddle out towards the break.
For the first time in a long time, I exhale.
Axel
The sun is up when I finally roll out of bed. I don’t sleep much; some nights are better than others. But last night, after dropping off the towels to my new guest, I fell into bed, exhausted.
I stretch, falling into my usual morning routine, feeding Nimue and brewing fresh coffee.
After yesterday’s relative calm, it feels as though a storm is brewing, though I’m not sure why.
It’s as though my mysterious guest has brought wild weather with her, her tears stirring up echoes from the past. Still, the day is bright and clear, the sky the kind of blue you see in paintings, perfect puffy white clouds floating high up, the line where it meets the ocean barely visible to the naked eye.
I make breakfast and pull out my laptop, waiting for it to connect to Wi-Fi. I could get an upgrade, but it’s more trouble than it’s worth to be honest. People don’t come here to sit on their phones, anyway.
But it does come in useful sometimes. I curse, as it kicks out just as my emails are downloading.
Irritation sits like a spike under my breastbone.
I take some deep breaths, trying to calm myself.
The email I’m waiting for should have come in when I was at work yesterday, but it didn’t. More emails appear.
Finally. I click on the one from Bank Indonesia. I blow out a breath, frowning as I skim through the contents.
“Fuck!” I slam my laptop closed. Nimue, sitting in her usual sunbeam, blinks at me then rolls over, stretching her paws. I scrub a hand through my hair, trying to figure out what my next move will be. I still have options, but they’ll take time. And time is the one thing I don’t have.
I reopen my laptop and quickly type an email to the island collective.
Sembuh is run by a council made up of a mix of expats and locals, making decisions on what’s best for the place and its inhabitants.
Ensuring we have the amenities the island needs to continue functioning independently, with everyone who lives here contributing to the upkeep.
It’s why we’ve been able to resist major development; we understand that if we want to keep our lifestyle as it is, we need to make decisions that are sustainable.
At least, that’s been the philosophy so far.
I hit send on the email, then pull up my messaging app. My father is online, no doubt working late. I find his thread, and type a quick question.
Are you sure you won’t reconsider?
There’s no answer.
Not that I expected one. I wait for a few minutes, just in case, then slam the laptop closed once more. I need to get out of here.