Chapter Thirteen
Jules
Cillian won’t let me help with the bamboo poles, so I gather vines for Mary.
She turns her first net into a bag handily enough and then sets about fashioning another.
I must have been running on adrenaline the first day with all I collected.
After only a few lengths of vine, my headache gets too much.
I don’t meet anyone’s eyes as I amble to my lean-to and stretch out, gritting my teeth against it all.
After a few minutes, Mathieu lies down next to me. His hand finds mine to squeeze. “You’re sore?” he whispers.
“Sore,” I murmur.
“I’m sorry.” The others are background noise, working on the bamboo, the vines, the bags. Yasop and Willow are throwing as much live wood as they can onto a fire on the beach, hoping someone will see the smoke signal.
“You know, I am very shy,” Mathieu says quietly.
“I know you’re a liar.”
Mathieu laughs. “It is true, I am shy. I was afraid of coming to Ireland, of not having any of my friends or family around me.”
“Why did you decide to come for Erasmus?”
“I wanted to change, and it was hard to do at home. With all my friends and family, I felt so self-conscious trying to be braver. Like I couldn’t be that in front of them. Ireland was a test to get out of my shell.”
Is Mathieu messing with me? I consider his muted, confessional tone. He’s never been anything but honest.
“You’re so bubbly and pleasant. It’s hard to believe you worry about getting out of your shell… I had no idea.”
“I admired you from the first time we met.”
Despite my headache, I open my eyes. I roll onto my side, facing Mathieu. It’s not comfortable with our lacklustre leaf litter as cushioning, but I want to see his face.
Mathieu’s hair is curly as hell in the humidity and stuck to his tanned skin by sweat. His eyes are the dark brown of the earth, warm and steady. They’re focused on me.
“You came to our classroom to invite all the Erasmus students to a gathering, even those not in our Classics class. You booked a private room in a bar with dinner and drinks and had the nightclub wristbands ready and free shots waiting for us once we arrived at the bar.” Mathieu smiles softly.
“You ring people, ask for things, plan things. You always put fun events together for everyone. You’re very, very cool.
I was so disappointed that you had a boyfriend, but I thought we could at least be friends.
” His smile fades. “You did not seem interested in the same. I worried I was coming across badly. It makes me feel fake. Pretending I’m not nervous to talk to people. ”
My heart tightens. His hand has slid away from me, and I recapture it. “That’s only because I was dating Darren. It wasn’t because I didn’t like you.”
“I mean, even as friends. It is okay,” Mathieu adds quickly.
“I am glad that we finally got the opportunity to become close. I no longer feel that distance between us. Perhaps because I am starting to find my courage?” Mathieu closes the remaining distance between us.
He presses a kiss to my cheek. His lips linger, breath warm on my skin.
“Mathieu.”
He cups my cheek and burrows his face between the fronds and me, pressing a kiss on the other cheek.
“I am going to figure out how to make you a pillow for your neck. Rest,” he murmurs.
“That is an order from Cillian. He made me promise to make sure you don’t exert yourself.
He’s going to show Yasop where the water is. ”
He pulls away.
“Mathieu.” I catch him. His cheek tastes of salt and sunburn. His fingers slip up my nape, cradling the back of my head. He releases an affected breath, lets me kiss his other cheek too, then sits up. I’m too sore to chase further.
His hand sinks into his pocket, and he messes with something there, fidgeting and indecisive, before he takes it out. “Mary helped me put this together.” He holds up a necklace. Stripped, thin vines cradle a crystal. “Blue quartz.”
The stone is smooth on one side, jagged on the other. It’s the colour of a clear morning sky, with veins of deep ocean blue and white breaker foam running through it. “It’s beautiful,” I say.
“Yes. It’s the colour of your eyes.”
Mathieu hands it to me, flashing a dimpled grin. I stare at him.
“Pillow next,” he says.
Mathieu leaves before I can say a word. I study every inch of the quartz, listening to the fire crackling and Mary working, talking softly with Charles. I’ve always loved her relationship with Charles. How nice they are to each other.
As I run over everything Mathieu said, a knot of guilt forms in my stomach.
Mathieu noticed I purposefully kept my distance from him.
He worried it was because of his personality.
He has a wonderful personality. The last year of college would have been incredible had Mathieu and I grown closer right at the start.
But for that to happen, I would have had to break up with Darren earlier. A killer trade. Having a friend who likes the way I plan things out instead of thinking it’s controlling would have been nice.
It could still be nice. Just because college is over doesn’t mean Mathieu and I have to lose contact.
I slide the quartz over my head. The stone sits warmly over my breastbone.
◆◆◆
That night, Mathieu tells us about his grandparents. They have a small vineyard in the south of France, and he visits them every summer to help tend the farm. He invites me to visit and reaches over to pat Cillian’s side.
“You too. They’ll appreciate having someone to do all the heavy lifting.”
Mathieu and I laugh. I don’t feel guilty because Cillian won’t let me lift anything heavier than my own two hands. He’s got some freaky sixth sense and knows when I’m about to try.
“I like horses,” Mathieu adds, as we’re about to drift off to sleep. “And libraries. I’m trying to figure out a job that combines the two.”
There’s no rescue the next day.
◆◆◆
That night, Cillian tells us about all the courses he’s done. Skiing, mountain climbing, sailing, kayaking—every single outdoor activity you can think of, basically. He works at an adventure centre in Wicklow for half the year, and skills up during the off-season.
“I like spending my money on experiences and certificates,” Cillian explains.
“And tattoos,” I say.
“And tattoos,” he agrees. “Can’t take those from me either.”
Mathieu and I agree that he’s the “cool” instructor. I privately guess that everyone who sets foot in Wicklow Adventure Centre has a crush on him.
◆◆◆
The next night I tell them about all the jobs I worked growing up. Cafés, pubs, restaurants, hotels, bike shops, gardening centres, and even a florist.
“My favourite was at a rec centre. We’d get in huge groups—birthday parties, hens and stags, office bonding trips—every single day.
It was chaotic at first, but once I was trained in all the stations, I got to help the manager with organising everything.
Once I was doing that, I loved going in every day.
I only left the place because I had to move for university. ”
Darren would have rolled his eyes if I told him that.
Mathieu makes a happy sort of noise. “Suits you,” he says.
“You’d be good at that,” Cillian agrees.
If they’re curious about why I had so many jobs, they don’t let on. Once I turned fourteen, the government seemed to struggle to find me a permanent place to stay. Workplaces were more stable than ever-changing residences. I preferred that.
◆◆◆
“It’s been a week,” someone says.
There’s been no sight or sound of boat, plane or people. Seán’s face tightens every time someone mentions the lack of rescue, and I try not to repeat the obvious too. I focus on other things.
I wait for Cillian at the edge of camp, eager to be off.
He’s finally given me permission to do a water run with him.
I think because he’s sick of me complaining about being left out.
We’re sleeping in the same lean-to, so I have full access to him for said complaining at night.
The fact that my neck has improved a huge amount likely helped my argument.
I have all our bamboo jugs in Mary’s net, ready to go, when Cillian comes over. His stubble is growing in dark, and his muscles look more defined than they did last week.
Cillian studies me from head to toe. “Look left.” I do. “Look right.” I do. “Up. Down.” He heaves a sigh. “I’d rather you—”
“See you all later,” I call, setting off.
I hear laughter. Mathieu. I turn on my heel, walking backwards long enough to catch his eye. He’s placing logs on the fire. He smiles at me. I smile back.
When I turn around, I feel at my neck, making sure the band is secure. I haven’t taken the quartz off since he gave it to me.
A stone cairn marks the start of the inland path.
Mary has made some sort of frond shoes, and it’s a rule that you have to wear them for the trek inwards.
When I bend to put mine on—they’re kept next to the path—I notice the little bite marks all over Cillian’s ankles. They’re shaped like arrowheads.
“Racer bites,” Cillian explains, slinging the net of empty bamboo jugs over his shoulder. “Non-venomous, just sore.”
“Snake bites cluster like that? I thought they had two punctures. Like vampires.”
“Some venomous ones have prominent fangs. The small guys on this path don’t. Put on those ankle pads, too.”
Frond shin guards are next, slotting protectively over my lower legs. I stare at Cillian when he doesn’t put them on.
“It’s annoying with my shoes,” he explains. His gaze lingers on my face. “Are you sure—”
“Let’s go.” I lead the way.
Cillian heaves another sigh, then lengthens his strides to catch up. “Alright, I get it. Let’s take it easy. We’re in the shade, but we don’t get the ocean breeze, so it’s muggy.”
“I can carry the bamboo.”
“We’ll take turns.”
I have a feeling I’ll have to wrestle them off Cillian for “my” turn. Which I will, because otherwise there’s no point in me being here. Cillian and Mathieu have teamed up and been like this all week, but I know Cillian is the main instigator.