Chapter Sixteen
Cillian
Once the water is only to my neck, Mathieu and Yasop are there to help pull the supplies onto the sand where everyone is waiting.
Jules tugs off his flippers and goggles.
“I can’t believe you got everyone to shore from there, in the middle of a storm,” he says, panting.
There’s a light tremor in his limbs, and his face is reddening from a sunburn.
“It’s a decent swim dead flat like this. ”
Thunder had rumbled overhead as sheeting rain crashed down on us. The waves had been towers, their breaks like the traps at the bottom of waterfalls. “You don’t remember it at all? Once we hit the water, you started swimming.”
Jules shakes his head.
“The tide played a big part in it. It carried us most of the way. The only thing I had to do was get everyone out of the pull of the backwash at the beach. We all got caught in the breakers.” It was a small miracle that nobody got swept away before I reached them.
If not for the bright orange of the life jackets, I wouldn’t have even seen where to reach in for anyone.
“Is that 7UP?” Willow spots the cans. My attention returns to the group as Jules trots to Seán, whispering something in his ear before going and opening the plastic bag he’d tossed the cans into.
“Quick vote,” Jules says. “Everyone in favour of getting to drink a full can to themselves without rationing, say ‘yes’.”
There’s a chorus of approval, and Jules opens the bag, dispensing the cans.
The metal is cool from sitting in the ocean water.
The cans hiss open in unison. For a moment, nobody speaks; we just drink.
I don’t save any of mine. The second it’s on my tongue, it’s gulped down and gone, the sizzle on the back of my throat so satisfying I have to tip back my head and shut my eyes.
At my side, Mathieu makes a sound of enjoyment, finishing his too. “So, so good,” he groans, leaning against my arm, dramatically tipping his head back. He looks blissed out. I let him get away with it.
Jules sips his can. Mary and Willow drink theirs similarly.
“I’m alive again,” Charles says.
“Did you bring back food?” Darren asks.
“Protein bars.” Jules sets his can down in the sand and gets the waterproof bag with the bars, dispensing them to everyone except for me and him. Mathieu hesitates before taking a bite, casting me a questioning look.
“We ate ours before the swim,” I tell him.
I wait until everyone has taken a bite and is chewing to speak. “The radio’s not an option. The entire unit is gone. We found the satellite phone, but that’s broken too. Seán, you can see if it can be fixed.”
Jules shifts his weight, but he doesn’t contradict me.
I should have clarified that I wasn’t going to tell them we broke it on deck.
Telling the group we just ruined their chances of an immediate rescue isn’t a good idea, and I’m not going to give Jules the opportunity to try to take responsibility for it.
“Those things aside,” I continue, “there are a lot of supplies still on board. Food, water, clothes, toothpaste, cushions, bug spray, sun cream…a whole list of things that’ll make the rest of the wait here a lot more comfortable.”
Expressions fall. Darren looks at Jules as though he somehow carries the blame for the news.
“How was the swim?” Mathieu asks. He fixes a look on Jules, who stares back with as unrepentant a look as he gave me earlier.
Jules makes himself stop panting. “It’s not far.”
“There’s a drag, but not a strong current,” I answer. “I brought rope and knives. If we put together a raft, we can ferry things over.”
“Bamboo stalks,” Seán says, looking at the treeline.
“Tied together with the rope and the life jackets for extra buoyancy,” Mary jumps in. She’s sitting on the ground, her leg stretched out in front of her, with her bag clutched in her lap. “We can help with that.” She glances at Charles, who’s sitting next to her.
He nods. “I’ll get the bamboo, you do the weaving.”
The group detaches everything from the life jackets and starts carrying them to the treeline.
The sun is too intense to work in directly.
I linger, securing my survival knife to my waist. Seán pops open the satellite phone box.
Cushioning foam cradles the broken device.
Seán looks from the snapped antenna to me. I meet his eyes and say nothing.
Without a word, he picks up the phone, takes it apart, puts it back together, and tries turning it on.
He has as much luck as I did. He takes it apart again and studies the battery.
He leans over to me and shows it in the light.
With his finger, he points out the hairline crack going through the centre of the battery.
The last of the hope that he’d be able to repair it snuffs out. “Alright,” I say. “We’re about to be loaded up with supplies anyway, and we’re going to be found soon. Let’s go get some bamboo stalks.” I nudge him to come with me, and we go together, out of earshot of the others, into the jungle.
“When you say the radio is gone, what do you mean?” Seán asks. “The yacht looks intact from here.”
“The cockpit is crushed,” I say. “Parts of the emergency beacon are still there, its bracket is crushed into it. I think it got destroyed before it sent out any signal. If it was working, rescuers would be here by now.”
Seán rubs his face as we reach the bamboo grove.
“It’ll just be a few more days,” I say. “We weren’t on some secret trip where nobody knew where we were. They’ll be searching—”
“In the wrong place,” Seán cuts in, an edge in his voice.
“I told the resort we were making our way back to the mainland, and I told the mainland we were making our way back to the resort. That’s a huge in-between, and even if they guess what our route was, we got so blown off track in that storm we might not be in the same vicinity. ”
I stop and turn to face Seán. “They’ll find us. We’re keeping a smoke signal going, and the yacht is a perfect landmark for anyone searching from the air. Your dad is probably ten miles east, circling islands as we speak.”
Seán’s chest heaves. “He thinks we’re dead.”
“He thinks we miraculously survived a freak storm and are stranded on an island, waiting for him to come find us.” Seán’s dad saved my life when I was a teenager and gave me a safe friend in Seán that I had only ever dreamed of having.
“My dad is probably on the phone telling him to stop looking because we’re dead.
He probably said that after a day, if anyone even mentioned the fact that we’re missing to him.
And if my dad would say or think that, then your dad never would. ”
Seán rubs his face again, grimacing when he jars his bad shoulder, still in a rigged-up, falling-apart windbreaker sling. I can get it into a proper sling now. If I hadn’t broken the phone, I’d have been able to get him a doctor.
“The anti-inflammatories will help,” I say.
Seán drops his hand, brows pinched.
“With the pain.”
“It’s not that bad,” Seán says. “You’re right about Dad. I’m sorry. I should be the one stepping up, but it’s you that’s doing it.”
“If it was my shoulder wrecked, you’d be the one doing the physical labour. And you’re the one taking care of everyone.” I’m keeping everyone fed and watered, but Seán, Mathieu and Jules are the ones I’m truly watching.
◆◆◆
Jules and Mathieu are gone by the time we get back to the camp entrance. Two figures move across the raised rear deck. The bamboo stalks in my arms creak.
“They went over to organise things,” Mary says. She’s sitting, checking the rope for fraying.
“Or gone over to eat,” Darren says, laying out some bamboo poles.
“He won’t take a bite out of anything without making sure there’s enough for everyone first,” I say.
“Right.” Darren straightens. “You’re an expert on Jules after a week of ‘concussion’ watch.”
“Darren, come on.” Willow looks up from where she’s helping Mary organise the ropes. “Not the time or place.”
Anger burns in Darren’s eyes. Jealousy, too. Darren’s growing irritation with the sleeping arrangements hasn’t escaped my notice, and Mathieu’s tendency to stick to Jules at all times hasn’t escaped Darren’s notice.
The anger in his eyes doesn’t match his body language as he shrugs loosely. He directs his attention to Willow. “I’m sure you know Yasop better than any of us. There are things you know about people you date that nobody else does. And I dated Jules for two years, so I know that he—”
“If you’re not too busy with the bitter-ex routine, we’re all trying to get something done here,” I interrupt.
“I’m just saying—”
“You don’t need to.”
Darren reddens. Willow glances wearily between the two of us as Mary glares at Darren. Yasop is standing back with a fed-up expression. I stare Darren down.
“Jules wouldn’t do that,” I say. “Even getting him to eat the protein bar on board, I had to resort to…” Things were resorted to. “Make him.”
“Come on, Darren.” Yasop steps in. “Let’s help Seán.”
Darren joins Yasop. His body is a tense wire. I watch Darren’s back until they disappear into the undergrowth.
The girls exchange a look and take turns peeking at me.
“He’s not eating the food on the yacht,” I say.
“We know,” Mary says. “I bet he’s out there trying to find a usable pen and paper to document every crumb he finds so he can figure out the best way to divvy everything up. I can’t stand Darren.”
“Mary,” Willow cautions.
“What?” Mary whirls on Willow. “He can talk shit about Jules, but nobody can say anything about him? It isn’t fair.
We’re all trying to get by, and I know it’s frustrating that Jules and I haven’t been able to help, but we’ve been doing everything we can.
Do you think I wouldn’t be out there cutting down bamboo branches if my ankle wasn’t like this?
And the second Jules got mobile, he joined the treks to get water, too.
He wasn’t being lazy or slacking off for fun. ”
“We know you’re injured, and it isn’t your fault that you can’t do water runs. Nobody is saying that.”
“Only because Charles almost punched Yasop in the face for the comment he made yesterday.”
“Yasop was tired.”
“Right.”
Willow leaps to her feet, mutters that she’s going for a walk, and stalks away along the edge of the treeline. Mary, to my horror, begins crying.
I stand there awkwardly. Jules cried on the boat, and folding him into my arms had felt like the most natural thing in the world. I think if I so much as tried to pat Mary’s shoulder, I’d cringe myself to death.
“Can I do anything?” I ask.
“No. I don’t know. I’m feeling penned in with everyone. Which is ridiculous, given the size of this island.” Mary cups her good knee. “You’re not going to stop looking out for Jules now that he’s better, are you?”
Reasonably, there’s no reason I should be treating him differently from anyone else on the island now. If I should be favouring anyone, it’s Mary, given her injury. After what happened on the yacht, the wave of sexual aggression that had risen like a tidal wave, I should take several steps back.
But Jules kissed me back. He groaned and sank to his knees.
I can’t shake the way he looked at me. Expectant.
Waiting for my cue to direct him where to go.
I’d seen the way he reacted to Mathieu’s physical forwardness in the club and fantasised about what that might mean in bed.
But a daydream to amuse myself during the daily water trek and having the bossy Jules go obedient are two wildly different things.
Mary clears her throat.
I’ve been staring at the yacht, waiting for a glimpse of blond hair. “I forget what you asked me.”
That draws a small smile. “I asked if you’re still going to look out for Jules.”
“I am.”
Mary releases her knee, some of her tension gone. The tears have stopped. “Jules said that life jacket there is for you, but he thinks it would be better if you helped get the raft ready with us all so we can make at least one run with it before it’s dark.”
“Does he now.” I try again to spot them. They must be inside the cabin. I weigh up my options but settle next to Mary with a sigh. Standing on board watching over their shoulders would be stupid when I’m better served here. I’ll have my chance to lecture them later.