Chapter 28 #2
Xavier smiles as if in fond recollection.
‘Well, actually, a few years ago, Turt suffered some minor health problems, thought likely to do with his age. He was taken for medical treatment and observation. It was decided that the atoll would be a better place for him to live out his days – they, the experts, painted it like a dream retirement. Turt floating in the natural lagoon, being with his own kind. They determined without this intervention, the minor ailments would turn into major issues and this was our last chance to stop his health deteriorating any further.’
So even our giant tortoise friend has a last chance situation…?
‘Oh? Gus must’ve been upset at the thought of losing his tortoise best friend.’ Poor Gus, being given the news his reptilian buddy would have to be relocated without any care for their incredible bond.
‘He cried like a baby. We all did when they came to transport Turt to the atoll. This will sound crazy, but Turt gave us all such a beseeching look, like he was begging us to intervene on his behalf, and we tried. I asked them if they were sure, 100 per cent positively sure this was the only way, and Gus, well, he was desperately asking them to reconsider, give Turt a few more months, see if his health improved. But the conservationists wouldn’t be swayed and there’s no arguing with them.
And so off our tortoise friend went, breaking the hearts of everyone at the Last Chance Resort.
The Cabana Bar did a roaring trade that night, as all of the expats and guests alike drank to the greatest tortoise to grace the island. ’
‘But how did he end up back here?’ I look to Turt, sunbaking outside.
Xavier grins. ‘That’s the interesting part. A few months later, Turt shuffled into the bookshop as if nothing had happened.’
I tilt my head. ‘He swam back?’
‘No, Aldabra tortoises can’t swim that far and he’d have been at risk of predators in the open ocean.’
‘So how? Oh, this is another Aldabra tortoise?’ Turt 2.0? I’m no expert on the species, but surely they all look the same in that wizened way like Turt?
Xavier grins. ‘No, it’s Turt, no two ways about it.
He was tagged by the conservationists many moons ago, so we checked the tag and it was confirmed that it was indeed Turt Vonnegut.
It’s a mystery that we’ll never solve. It was decided to leave him to his twilight years with his old pal and, like Gus suspected it would, Turt’s health soon improved. ’
My heart expands at the thought of Turt mysteriously making his trek back to get close to Gus again and then breaks, knowing they’re now separated. ‘Will Gus still be able to visit Turt? Does he live close by?’
At that Xavier casts his gaze away. ‘He’s off the island at the moment, but I’m sure he’ll visit Turt when he returns.’
What if something happens to Turt while Gus is away? My chest squeezes with worry. ‘Do I need to do any special care for Turt?’
He shakes his head. ‘The conservation team monitor Turt and the care team do the rest. You should consider taking one of our boat tours around the island to learn about the marine life and conservation programmes though. It’s a fun tour and you can see some other tortoises and where they call home. ’
‘I’d love that. But doesn’t it kill you not to know how Turt got back though? Did someone tortoise-nap him and return him to Gus? Did he get a tortoise mate to help him with directions? Did he hitch a ride on a surfboard? Like, how? I need answers!’
He laughs. ‘We’ll never know! It’s the magic of the island.’
‘What magic?’
He lifts a shoulder. ‘At the risk of sounding woo-woo, it’s believed that the island has the ability to heal whatever ails a person, in one way or another. All you need is… hope. Esperé.’
Ah, Hope Island. ‘Do you believe that?’
‘Of course not. It’s exaggerated talk around the Cabana Bar after too many half-price cocktails.’
‘I don’t believe you. You do think the island is magical but you’re worried I’ll label you as a tree-hugging hippy or something if you admit it.
’ Or maybe he’s the opposite? I so badly want to ask him about the parcel of rainforest up for sale and what his part in it is but don’t want to get Michel in trouble for eavesdropping.
It wouldn’t take a genius to figure out where the rumour started.
No, it’s best to bide my time and see what other intel I pick up.
‘OK, I’ll confess, there are times, very rare times, when I stop and wonder if the island does have some strange power over us mere mortals.
But it’s not literal magic, more that when you pause and take stock of where we live, paradise, that you realise all those worries that plague us are best left for another day.
There’s sun to soak up, an ocean to swim in, coral reefs to explore…
We’re living on island time, so why rush? ’
‘What do you mean by island time?’
He quirks a brow. ‘It’s where you forget about rigid schedules and stop looking at the clock. Living at an unhurried pace. You’ll get there when you get there. A laid-back way of being.’
‘You? Laid-back?’
He flashes his teeth. ‘Sure, I can do island time. Strictly on Sundays.’
‘Ha!’
Island time, easing through each day as it comes, not rushing to and fro…
‘When I return to Esperé, it takes me a while to sink back into the rhythm of island time. The outside world is so fast, full of the hustle and bustle. In the real world, people are commuting back and forth, and are stuck in artificially lit offices; it’s a different energy entirely.
If you hurried here in the humidity, the way they do in, say, London, you’d expire in the heat.
I’ve always wanted to know why Brits run up the escalators the way they do.
What’s the hurry when they literally move for you? ’
I laugh. ‘It’s crazy, right? It’s an etiquette thing to keep the line moving.
London is so fast-paced and hectic.’ I picture my old life, running to catch the Tube, running up the escalator to get back to ground level, the beeps, shrieks and cacophony of street traffic.
Here, the only traffic noise is when Mariola runs the golf cart into something.
It’s so wildly different that for a moment I feel a pang for my old life, but also a deep appreciation that I get to experience island time as a local.
Is this why I’ve begun to relax into this life so easily?
My own rhythms have changed. No longer do I have a phone glued to my hand, my mind spinning with content creation ideas, worrying about the stats of my Bookstagram page.
The days are simpler here. Unhurried. And with that simplicity comes a relaxation right down to the soul.
That’s why people come to Esperé and never want to leave.
We spend the next hour discussing marketing ideas. Continuing the pop-up bookshop by the lagoon. Hosting local author talks. Cocktails and canapes events including curating a book list for guests. A sundowner reading club. Display tables around the resort with a different theme each week.
Xavier nods at each idea. ‘Perfect, the only issue is you’ll be spreading yourself too thin and doing too many hours, if you add evening events.’
‘I don’t mind.’ Honestly, I don’t. Chatting about books is my thing and so far holidaymakers have been relaxed and happy to the point it doesn’t really feel like work.
‘You say that and then next minute I’ll have a demand letter for overdue overtime. No, it’s best if we look at someone to cover for you during the day, if you’re working an evening or on your day off.’
‘Who?’
‘That’s the issue. We’re tightening our belts, not expanding them…’ He gazes off into the distance, lost in thought. ‘Though actually, I suppose I could bring my laptop and work from here. How hard can it be, helping a few bookworms find a book?’
‘You?’ I can’t keep the incredulity from my voice.
‘What? Do you think I’ll scare them away?’ He grins and it changes the entire shape of his face. It becomes softer, sweeter; he loses that rigidness he so often carries. Maybe he’s holding tension in his back teeth too? I don’t know enough about the science behind it to mention such a thing.
‘You might! What if you’re on one of those “big shot, I’m the boss buy-sell” power broker calls?’
‘The… what?’
‘You know what I mean. What if you don’t give guests enough attention? I don’t want you undoing all my hard work just because you get a phone call you can’t ignore or an urgent situation crops up.’
‘You can trust me, Harper.’ He laughs, I guess, at the role reversal. I’m not quite sure why I’m so protective over the Barefoot Bookshop already, but I am. I don’t want Xavier ignoring a guest if he gets pulled away by a staff member or an important email.
‘OK, well, maybe I’ll hang around and read out the front in one of the hammocks on the days you relieve me of my duties, how about that? That way, I’m still relaxing but I’m on hand if needed.’
‘Sounds like a fair compromise.’
I’ve been eyeing off the hammocks for days as they sway in the lull of the afternoons, creaking ever so gently like an invitation.
But then it dawns on me – is Xavier only offering to do this to keep an eye on the bookshop, or more specifically, me?
It’s odd that a business owner would go to this length, rather than just reshuffle staff.
‘You can trust me, too, Xavier. You do know that, don’t you?
’ A cloud passes over his features. Does this have something to do with the Gus situation?
Or perhaps what Mariola alluded to, that some staff haven’t always done the right thing?
Now I’m not sure what to think – whether he’s looking out for me, making sure I’m not working too many hours, or in fact wants to keep a close eye because he’s suspicious of my motivations.
‘I can handle the bookshop hours, OK? You don’t need to help, I promise you I’m good at my job. ’