Chapter 8
EIGHT
We all stare at the unearthly, bat-like creature with its dirty red breast and huge curved wings. It’s intimidatingly large and must be a metre from the tip of its tail feathers to its beak.
“Is it dead?” Sasha asks, pulling herself up and out of the water to inspect the intruder.
“Its eyes are moving.” Tom is clearly freaked out and carefully moves behind the girl with the tray when he thinks no one is looking.
“I’m pretty sure that’s an albatross,” Clara whispers, and the literary significance is lost on no one.
The bird slowly turns its head in our direction, and I remember how scared I was watching the first vampire film I ever saw when I was a kid.
“Looks more like a pterodactyl.” Jake laughs the laugh of someone pretending he isn’t scared.
Ryan is braver than the rest of us. He walks a little closer and tries to put our minds at ease. “It’s a male frigatebird. Albatrosses are plumper and don’t have red plumage. Pterodactyls have been extinct for millions of years.”
I expect someone to challenge him on this. I was sure that Tom would say, Who are you to say what it is? But as we know so little about Ryan, it’s perfectly plausible that he’s an ornithologist.
Ade puts down the guitar and approaches the creature from the other side of the pool. “Hello, buddy. There’s nothing to—”
Before he can finish the sentence, the animal launches itself at him, and my screams follow Tom’s.
The frigatebird shows its talons and flaps its wings, but Ade ducks just in time to avoid it.
The bird rises through the air unsteadily before finding its rhythm and circling the boat with a judgemental call.
When it disappears behind the upper levels, the silence breaks and Ade’s full, tuneful laugh fires up.
“That was ridiculous,” Tom says, trying to be cool.
“You’re ridiculous,” his wife tells him and, though this could make everything awkward again, we’re all relieved that the bird didn’t scratch anyone’s eyes out, and our laughter travels around the group.
“It was an added bit of excitement.” Ade goes to give Tom a reassuring pat on the back, and the drunk pushes his hand away. “But I think I have something more entertaining for us this afternoon.”
When we follow him to the back of the yacht, it is not to jump into a speedboat that will take us to the island I’d spotted. It turns out that rich people use such idyllic places as mere backdrops.
“You can head over there if you really want to,” he tells us as we descend to the lower level. “But there’s not much to see, and we can have a lot more fun right here.”
He presses a hidden button, and the seemingly unspectacular area where we boarded is transformed. An electric door opens up between the two curving staircases, and we are introduced to the beach club of the good ship Tanis.
“Marco is ready to take your requests.” Ade points to a DJ who’s stationed at a bar at the end of the long room.
“Phoebe will ply us with cocktails.” He hurries on to his next point before Tom can ask any questions.
“There’s a barbecue almost ready, and games to enjoy.
Oh, and you can swim right off the boat, of course. ”
With this, he throws off his cotton robe, sprints along the platform and somersaults through the air to splash into the water.
“You’re still a show-off,” I shout at him when he comes up for air. My sarong is soaked, but he grins up at me, and I fall under his spell.
Jake lingers on the staircase, watching the two of us, but that awkward smile is still plastered to his face. I get the feeling he’d like to talk to me, but he keeps his distance.
“I know you must be wondering what the plan for the week is.” Ade shows no remorse for keeping this from us.
“We’re going to cross the ocean to get to the Maldives by Friday.
There’ll be all the island-hopping you want over there, but this is just a quick break before we start the journey in earnest.”
We chatter between ourselves like schoolkids who’ve just been told about the end-of-term trip. We are so easily pleased.
As Ade’s speaking, a young, athletic guy in a smart blue polo shirt manoeuvres a floating disc on a chain into the water.
It has a target standing on it and, with Ade’s help, he pushes it further away from the ship.
Tom’s competitive instincts kick in, and he rushes to the edge of the platform as Jake comes to see what’s happening.
“I thought you might fancy a spot of archery.” With beads of water dripping from his expertly chiselled chest, Ade pulls himself up a short ladder and back on board. “The only rule is that, if you miss the target, you have to swim out and get everyone’s arrows.”
The deck hand or cabin boy or whatever he’s called goes into a concealed cupboard and returns with several bows.
Tom eagerly follows him and reappears with a bloodthirsty smile on his face. “What?” he says when we all stop to gawp.
“You look like a psychopath,” Ryan tells him, and Tom’s wife shrugs but doesn’t disagree.
Tom has a loaded crossbow in either hand and is pointing them up at the sky like he thinks he’s Rambo.
“I’m not going to shoot anyone, you muppets.” He glances down at the primed weapons. “But they are pretty cool.”
Sitting on the stairs, Jake and Clara shake their heads in perfect synchronisation. It was always like this. Tom always said the wrong thing and upset people. The only reason we hung out with him was to see Sasha, but now even she doesn’t seem to like him.
“Put them down, idiot.” Ade doesn’t mince his words. “They’re easier to use than normal bows, but more likely to go off by accident.”
I almost feel sorry for Tom. I considered myself an outsider at university because I wasn’t as cool or capable as the others, but he couldn’t have been further from his natural environment.
The fact he proceeds to shoot a bolt up into the air so that we all have to duck for cover promptly banishes this sympathy.
It lands in the water without causing any damage, and Tom smirks like we’re the stupid ones.
Shabeer organises a table for lunch as a chef sees to the barbecue on the deck above. Even this is for show. It has clearly been cooking elsewhere for some time, as we’re told that the meat is almost ready, and the barbecue wasn’t there when we arrived.
In the meantime, Ryan opts out of the game by going for a swim some distance from the target, and the rest of us wait our turn to shoot.
Sasha is already making a big fuss about how poor she will be – before no doubt amazing us all with her natural talent – whereas Clara is the first to have a go with one of the crossbows and just about catches the edge of the target.
“It’s actually easier than I thought,” she says as the unnamed worker reloads the weapon without making eye contact with any of us.
It makes me want to grab him by both cheeks, look at him dead on and tell him he isn’t invisible. It makes me wonder what kind of training these people go through to prepare for a job in which they’re treated like extras in a movie.
Clara’s second shot hits one of the inner rings of the target, and then Jake steps forward with an actual bow.
He needs no advice as he raises it to his eye, holds his breath and releases without flinching.
The string twangs, the arrow shoots forth (as straight as an arrow), and he is just centimetres away from the yellow bullseye.
“Beginner’s luck,” Tom is legally obliged to comment.
“There wasn’t much else to do in prison.” Jake is the master of the deadpan comeback. “I got pretty good.”
His bow hangs from his finger, and he holds it out to Tom before winking to muddy the line between reality and invention.
“At least half of what you just said was the truth,” I whisper when he comes to stand next to me.
“Oh yeah? Which half?”
Jake lived in the room next to mine in halls. We dated for eighteen months, and I still feel like I know him better than anyone else here, even if we haven’t exchanged so much as a Christmas card in years.
“Well, they’re not going to give prisoners a bow and arrow,” I conclude like the master detective I am not. “So that’s a lie. But I reckon you genuinely were in prison.”
He rolls his shoulders back as though trying to adjust the leather jacket he’s no longer wearing. It’s not often that he shows his true smile, but it happens now. It carves up his whole face, and the chipped tooth at the front of his mouth is briefly visible.
“You’ve always been a clever one, haven’t you, Bridge?” I’m not sure whether this is a good or a bad thing.
“What were you in for?”
He doesn’t look away, and for a moment, I think he will confide in me. “I’m a world-famous arms dealer.” His cheery expression remains as he pulls off his T-shirt to dive into the ocean. I try not to look at his chest and fail.
Tom is still preparing to take the shot.
He keeps getting distracted by Jake’s strong arms as they arc out of the water, and I worry for a second that he’s going to turn the bow and shoot the only guy I’ve ever loved.
That’s the problem with Tom. It isn’t the money he comes from, or the trouble he always got into when he was drunk; he has a thin skin and can’t stand the idea that someone might be laughing at him.
When he finally lets the arrow fly, it hits the second to worst circle.
He has achieved mediocrity, just as we knew he would.
Ade has apparently lost interest and is chatting to the DJ in the bar, so Sasha asks the instructor to help her with the bow.
He whispers in a way which might sound seductive if what he was saying wasn’t so entirely free of innuendo, but he manages to coach a better result out of her than her husband achieved.