Chapter 1 #2
“I do,” he snapped. “Now, all I need is some sleep. You know what I’m saying?”
“Sure thing. We’ve got three hours before landing. It’s hard napping on flights, but if you—”
“Look, can you just shut up, please?”
Motormouth gasped. Shit. He’d never been so rude! But before he could say anything, the boy cried out, “Mommy!”
The hurt in her eyes turned into concern. “What is it, sweetie?”
Dan rubbed his sore head. “I’m really sor—”
“Oh, honey!”
The child retched.
Out of nowhere, Motormouth pulled out a cloth and held it to his mouth, but it was too late.
Hot spew hit Dan’s chest.
“Shit!” He tried to hoist himself out of his seat, but his damn leg and hips had stiffened, and the next stream of puke shot him in the back.
Fuck this.
Dan yanked himself out into the aisle. “Can this bloody journey get any worse?”
“How about being a two-year-old with an upset stomach?” With the boy wrapped in her arms, Motormouth pushed past him. “Asshole!”
“I didn’t mean…” Oh, what’s the point! His apology could wait! Everyone was staring at him, and gunk was seeping into his underpants and trickling down his leg.
“I’ll help you get cleaned up, sir.” An air steward handed him a wet cloth and some napkins. “Come this way. We have another seat for you.”
“Thank you.” Dan looked back up the aisle. Motormouth and the Projectile Puke Kid were being assisted too. He grabbed his bag and hobbled to the other end of the plane, wondering what the hell else could go wrong on this hellish journey to paradise.
His suitcase was missing.
In Rarotonga’s quiet arrivals hall, Dan stood alone, glaring at the empty conveyor belt.
Perfect.
Just…perfect.
He limped to Lost Baggage.
“My bag isn’t here.” Dan gave his details to the young woman behind the counter.
She had a flower over her left ear, which, like her face, was coming in and out of focus.
He tried to shake the fog out of his head.
At some point during the flight, the sharp pains in his leg and hips had turned into a warm, dull ache, and everything blurred.
Had he taken too many painkillers? Maybe.
He also hadn’t slept in almost forty hours, and his stomach didn’t feel right either, thanks to the constant wafts of vomit emanating from his clothes.
The woman finished typing into her computer and looked up. “Your baggage is still in Auckland, sir.”
Excellent.
“Where are you staying?”
“Are Moana on Muri Beach.”
The woman typed into her computer. “We’ll get it to you tomorrow.” She then sniffed the air and eyed the damp patch around Dan’s crotch.
“A child threw up on me,” he said. “Is there a place around here where I can get some clothes?”
“I’m sorry, sir. All the shops shut hours ago. But hold on.” She yelled at someone out the back. “Hey, Nikau, has that unclaimed lost property been given to the church yet?”
“Nah, it’s still here.”
“Bring it over, then.” She turned back to Dan. “You can take what you’d like for a small donation.”
A big, broad guy dumped a sack of clothes at Dan’s feet. Dan rummaged through it and pulled out the only clothes that looked like they’d fit. Loud orange shorts and a bright-red basketball top two sizes too big. But at least they didn’t smell of puke.
He handed over twenty dollars. “Now, where can I get a cab?”
“Outside, sir. But I reckon they’ll all be taken now.”
Of course. “How long before one comes back?”
The woman shrugged. “’Bout thirty minutes.”
Dan thanked her and headed to the toilets to change into his new clothes. A few minutes later, he stood at the taxi rank. It was dark, and a strong wind almost knocked him down. The pilot had said on landing that the storm would be hitting the island tonight. What else could Dan have expected?
He pulled his phone out of his bag and sat on the edge of a concrete flower planter, scrolling through messages he had no intention of answering. Without reading them, Dan cleared the notifications and then tapped a message from Femi, the youngest of his two sisters.
WTF? You’re going to the Cooks!!!
Ugh. Dan swiped the message away, only to see one from Gabrielle, his other sister.
When you said you needed to get away, we didn’t think you meant TO THE OTHER SIDE OF THE WORLD!!
Double ugh. He couldn’t deal with Gabrielle either, but after what he’d put them through these past few months, he owed his sisters more than just the quick text that he’d fired off in Singapore, telling them of his plans to join Mum and Aunt Zeezee.
In Raro now. All good. I’ll let you know when I’ve met up with Mum.
Their mother was still on one of the outer islands and wouldn’t be back on Rarotonga for another couple of days. Just enough time to get his strength back.
He fired off another message to his sisters, telling them not to worry.
Although, as his sisters were ten hours ahead in the UK and most likely in the thick of getting their kids ready for school, they’d be too busy to see his messages, let alone have time to reply.
Dan stuffed his phone back into his bag, praying the thirty-minute wait for a cab would feel like thirty seconds.
It didn’t.
An hour later, a cab finally rocked up. It was only a ten-minute drive to Muri Beach, but by the time they pulled up outside Are Moana, his whole body had seized up, and his head ached so badly he could barely see.
He paid the driver and then limped to the main entrance.
An old man sat behind a desk, watching television.
“Hello, I’m…I’m Daniel Jones.” Dan leaned against the counter, holding his breath as a sharp pain shot up his leg. “I’ve booked the…the bungalow.”
“Ah, Kia Orana, Mr. Jones. You’re here at last.” The man slowly got to his feet, his dark, glassy gaze shifting over Dan’s new lost property outfit. “You came from a fancy-dress party?”
“No. A child… Never mind.” Dan gripped the counter. If he let go, he’d fall flat on his face. He managed to pull his passport out of his bag and slid it across to the old man, who merely waved it away.
“It’s late. The paperwork can wait. I have all I need from your wife.”
“My wife?” Dan pushed himself off the counter, but by the time he straightened and caught his breath, the old man had already shuffled out of earshot. “Hey!”
Dan shuffled after him.
“This way,” the old man called over his shoulder as he headed through a door that led back out into the wind.
A hammock flapped between two palm trees as they crossed a heavily scented garden.
Clouds raced across the dark sky, and a few spots of rain hit the side of Dan’s face. “You’re a very lucky man, Mr. Jones.”
“Yeah, so people keep telling me.”
“Your wife is very pretty.”
“Thanks.” Isabella was more than just pretty. She was beautiful, but… “Hey!”
Dan caught up with the old man at the bungalow door.
“What are you talking about?” Isabella was in LA—which wasn’t the only reason she wasn’t here by his side now. “I don’t have a wife.”