Tiggy bristles. ‘I don’t know people like that. You’re hearing the way I speak and making assumptions. I wouldn’t do that to you.’
‘Wouldn’t you?’ Lucy kicks a stone off the path and it disappears over the edge. ‘You’re right, sorry.’
Scott coughs, reminding them he’s there. ‘You both have lovely accents, if you ask me. I can’t really tell the difference between the two, but—’
‘Oh, come on,’ Lucy says. ‘We sound nothing alike. You damn Americans think we all speak like the Queen.’
He chuckles. ‘You do.’
‘My Italian grandmother would be turning in her grave,’ Lucy says, ‘except she’s still alive and kicking and making the best pizza dough in central Scotland.’
‘Don’t start on that “Italians invented pizza” nonsense with me.’
‘We did. And ice cream. Don’t even go there.’
Tiggy ignores them both, switching back to Lucy’s question. ‘I started dating properly when I was fifteen. I haven’t had many boyfriends. I don’t do one-night stands, or anything . . .’ She pauses, trying to find the right word. She wants to say ‘seedy’ but that sounds judgemental, and she doesn’t quite know what Lucy is getting at – she feels that Lucy wants to use her dating history to prove some sort of point, and Tiggy doesn’t want to be sucked into that negativity. Whenever she spends time around negative people, she feels her energy being drained, like a car battery when the lights and radio have been left on all night. She needs to replenish herself with happiness and sunshine and vitamins. She tips her head back, letting the sun soak into her face. Hoping that the vitamin D is getting through her sunscreen.
‘You don’t do one-night stands or anything . . . what?’ Lucy says, leaning in closer.
‘I’m not going to let you goad me. You’re enjoying picking on me, but it won’t be much fun if I ignore you.’
‘Jeez, don’t ignore her,’ Scott chimes in. ‘Then she’ll start on me.’
Lucy grabs her water bottle from her bag and takes a swig. ‘Ah, come on. I wasn’t picking on you. All I was trying to say was, maybe you’re being a bit naive about relationships. I can guess what Giles has been up to, based on what happened in the visitor centre when he got his tracker – that lie he spun you about the girl in the hotel room . . . and also from what I’ve heard about him before. Did you have a big row about him cheating on you? But then again, it was Giles who said this was all just a game—’
‘Oh, wait,’ Tiggy says. ‘I knew I recognised your name. You were the one who wrote that horrible piece about Giles in eXite magazine last year.’ She slaps herself on the forehead. ‘I get it now. You’re a nasty piece of work.’
Lucy tuts. ‘Look, I’m not proud of every single thing I’ve written, but someone gave me the lead and I needed the cash. We don’t all have the Bank of Mummy and Daddy to get us through the lean times.’
Tiggy crosses her arms. ‘There you go again with your assumptions! And you actually want me to confide in you? Tell you about Giles?’ She feels tears prick at her eyes and tries to blink them away. She doesn’t want to let this woman see that she’s upset. ‘If this is a game, it’s not very much fun. It’s like Big Brother is some kind of psychopath!’
‘Um, Big Brother is—’
‘Ladies, ladies,’ Scott says. ‘How about we take a breath? Tear into me for a minute. I’m stuck here with this bum ankle. I’m not going anywhere. Take your best shot.’
‘Sorry,’ Lucy says. ‘I think the sun is getting to me. Besides, I don’t think there’s anything I could say to you that would offend you, and to be honest, that’s not much fun.’ She picks up a small stone and throws it at him.
Scott shakes his head. ‘You’re warped, lady. There’s something wrong with you.’
‘No shit,’ she mutters, wandering over to the bones that James has left in the clearing. ‘Anyway, what do we think of these?’ She picks up the largest and runs a finger over each end, peers down its length as if she’s trying to read the grain.
‘Anthropologist now, are we?’ Tiggy says.
‘Look at this,’ Lucy says, ignoring her jibe. ‘This end. It looks too . . . I dunno, smooth.’
‘It’s probably been worn away by rain and salt and wind and whatever else,’ Tiggy says. ‘It’s not like it’s been left here recently, is it? Some animal died. It doesn’t look like there have been animals here for a while, so . . .’ She shrugs. ‘Look, it’s just an animal bone. It doesn’t matter.’ She slumps inwards, plonks herself down on a rock. She has no more strength to argue. She’s already feeling bad about what she said to Giles as she stormed off. He might be an absolute pig, but she does still love him. She certainly doesn’t want him dead. She needs to pull herself together and show herself in a better light to have any chance of winning the prize money they promised her. She wonders if the others have been offered the same.
There’s a beep in her ear and she flinches, looks around to see if anyone else heard it. Lucy is still inspecting the ends of the bone. Scott has his eyes closed again. The voice in her ear says, ‘Thank you. Your preferences have been updated.’
She slaps the tracker angrily. ‘What preferences? What are you talking about?’
Lucy looks up, raises her eyebrows.
Tiggy shakes her head and turns away. She’s trying to decide how much she wants to say, with the others listening. Lucy is desperate for something juicy, and Scott is only feigning sleep – but then the sound of other voices, getting closer, stops her from asking the tracker anything else at all.
The others are back.
‘Ah, the wanderers return,’ Lucy says. She lifts a hand to her forehead, squinting into the sun. ‘Brenda . . . you’re looking a bit peaky. Dodgy prawn sandwich at the country club?’
‘Something like that,’ Brenda says.
Tiggy takes a good look at her. She does look pale, and something else. Like all her previous bluster has blown away. She looks smaller, somehow. More vulnerable. ‘What happened? Was that you we heard screaming?’
Brenda nods. ‘I just need to sit down for a minute.’
Scott has opened his eyes and pulled himself upright. ‘You need to come and join invalids’ corner, by the look of you. Care for a drink?’ He offers his water, although there is barely a sip left.
Brenda shakes her head but sits down next to him.
It looks to Tiggy like she might have hurt her leg. She seems a little fragile in her movements.
‘There was a small incident with a snake in a picnic basket,’ James says. He grins, and it’s clear he’s trying to lighten the mood. ‘It’s fine though, I used an incredible technique I saw on TV. Distract, grab and toss. I think I might patent the terminology.’
‘Jeez,’ Scott says, turning to inspect Brenda. ‘Was it poisonous? It didn’t bite you, did it?’
Brenda shakes her head, but it’s odd – she won’t look him in the eye. ‘Let’s get down to the beach. I could really do with a drink.’
Amelia
T - 14
‘Brenda’s right. We’re wasting time.’ Amelia taps her watch. It’s already T minus 14. ‘We’ve wasted hours sitting around here. We’re meant to be at the beach!’ She gathers the bones from the ground and shoves them into her bag. ‘We’ll look at these again down at the bar. Maybe Harvey can tell us where they came from. He’s surely due to check in on us again soon? He might already be there, and I’m sure he has medical supplies’ – she looks at Scott and Brenda, who are leaning against each other, still propped up against a rock – ‘for anyone who needs them.’
‘Yes, let’s go.’ James offers a hand to Scott. ‘Ready?’
‘Ready.’
He pulls Scott up, while Lucy does the same with Brenda. Tiggy picks up everyone’s backpacks and hands them around, helping Brenda on with hers. For a moment, no one is bickering. No one is complaining. They’ve become the group that they are supposed to be. Six strangers on an island – none of them with any real clue what they are do
ing there, but all ready and willing to accept the challenge.
The fact that there are seven of them has not escaped Amelia, but she’s certain Giles will be joining them soon, once he’s finished licking his wounds. She glances over at Tiggy and gives her a smile, and to her relief Tiggy smiles back. They haven’t quite clashed as such, but she hasn’t found a way to bond with her yet.
Hopefully a few drinks will help.
Lucy has taken the role of supporting Scott, who, after wincing a bit and a few muttered grumbles, is managing to walk down the uneven path – albeit slowly. Tiggy has linked arms with Brenda, and they both seem happy enough for the time being. Amelia takes the lead, with James following close behind, and as she looks down at the rocks, the waves gently lapping, leaving a slow trickle of foam, she can’t help but wonder if this is the calm before the storm. She hasn’t forgotten Tiggy’s words from earlier, about this all being some sort of reality TV thing. Because if it is, there will surely be another curveball for them to deal with soon.
James taps her on the elbow. ‘Let’s walk a little faster,’ he says, keeping his voice low.
Intrigued, Amelia picks up the pace and they walk together. ‘What’s on your mind?’
‘That snake,’ James says, still talking quietly. ‘I know I made a thing of it with Brenda, telling her it wasn’t poisonous and all. But I think it was. That documentary I mentioned? It was about the Florida cottonmouth. Not the most venomous snake in the world, but if its bite is left untreated, depending on the amount of venom released, and the size of the victim . . .’ He pauses. ‘Well, let’s just say it can have pretty nasty consequences.’
Amelia frowns. ‘But it didn’t bite her, right?’
‘So she says. But I don’t believe her. I know she’s in shock from it all, but she’s been acting weird since we brought her away from that place. Did you notice how she sat down next to Scott? She didn’t look comfortable.’
‘Why would she lie though? If she has been bitten, we need to call for help.’
‘I don’t know. Either she doesn’t want to make a fuss, or else she thinks it’s not a big deal – if it wasn’t a dangerous venom, maybe she thinks it’ll just itch a bit then go away.’
‘And it won’t?’
‘Not if it’s a cottonmouth bite, no.’
‘What would a snake like that be doing here, though?’
‘The only way it could be here is if someone put it here. On purpose.’
‘Oh God . . . and put it near where Brenda was having her little relaxation time. Hoping it would—’
‘Yeah. You don’t need to say it. I get the feeling that someone is messing with us.’
‘But it doesn’t make sense. We’re meant to be here for fun, not some sort of test, aren’t we? But Tiggy and Giles think it’s a game, don’t they? Maybe they’re right.’
James reaches up and pushes away an overhanging branch from a bent, withered tree. ‘I don’t know about that. I’m starting to think that some sort of test is exactly why we’re here. You know, there’s something else I didn’t tell you.’
Amelia turns, making sure the others are still far enough away. They are making progress, seemingly oblivious to her and James’s whispered conversation in front. ‘Go on,’ she says.
‘That thing I threw – to distract the snake? It was a bone. A small one, about seven centimetres long. With joints.’
‘What kind of animal . . . ?’ Her voice trails off. She already knows.
James shakes his head. ‘It wasn’t from an animal. I can’t be 100 per cent sure, but I’m pretty certain it was a finger.’
‘A human finger?’
‘Well, yes. Unless it was a chimpanzee, which is even less likely.’
Amelia tries to work this through in her head. The thought of human remains scattered around the island is odd, of course, but is it any more than that? ‘They could’ve been here for years,’ she says. ‘Maybe an old burial site was disturbed while they were setting things up for us to come here.’
James frowns. ‘What have they set up for us, exactly? The whole place seems pretty untouched. The bones were on the edge of the track. It’s not like there was an area nearby that looked like an old burial site.’
‘You don’t know what was here before. You don’t know anything about this place. None of us do.’ As she says it, a splinter of a memory pricks at her. An island she went to, long ago. Where was it? She massages her temples, as if trying to encourage the memory to resurface. She’s been to lots of islands for her work. She’s been told countless tales by the locals about the places she’s visited. Sometimes she can’t remember who said what and where, and there have been plenty of talks about burial practices in countries where people have very little money but plenty of land. In some of the African plains, there are more burial sites than villages. She blinks, and the splinter forces itself in deeper, the memory embedded inside, along with countless others. If it’s relevant, it will work its way out sooner or later.
‘OK,’ James says, with a small sigh. He’s obviously decided not to push it. Perhaps it’s best not to think about other possibilities why there might be human remains on an island that none of them know the location of.
All the talk of snakes and bones has been a welcome distraction. Amelia barely noticed the burning in her thighs as they descended the final part of the hill into the bay, and now they’ve arrived at the beach, and the sun has crept around to find them. The sea sparkles like sprinkled gem stones, greens and blues and yellow and white. The sand is soft under her feet after the hard-packed mud of the path with stones and roots pushing through. She leans down and unties her boots, then pulls them off, followed by her socks. Her feet are hot and sticky, lined from where the socks have wrinkled and dug into her flesh. The warm sand between her toes is a welcome relief, and she flexes and curls them, letting the sand trickle through. ‘Now this is more like it,’ she says. James follows her lead, and then the others – with Tiggy helping Scott get the boot off his injured foot.
Then they are all smiling and relaxed – and the bar is there, waiting for them. Amelia had thought there might be a barman. Maybe Harvey. But there is no one.
‘Self-service, is it?’ Lucy says, catching up with her. ‘I used to work in the students’ union for a while, when I was doing my journalism degree—’
‘You actually got trained to write that crap, did you?’ Tiggy says, the sneer evident in her voice.
‘Now, now, ladies,’ Scott says. ‘Keep your claws in for a bit longer, will you? At least until we get a drink.’
Amelia doesn’t know what Tiggy is referring to, but decides not to ask. ‘Well, if you fancy serving us, Lucy, that’d be great.’
‘Or we can take turns,’ James says.
Lucy ignores all of them and keeps walking towards the bar. When she gets there, she lifts up the section that serves as the door and slips inside. She bends down and disappears behind the bar, then reappears, grinning. ‘They’ve got everything in here. But there’s already a load of stuff made up in the fridge. And our names are on them.’
‘Did you actually say what drink you wanted?’ James says.
Amelia shakes her head. ‘Although one of the instructions back at the start said think of it, didn’t it? I did do that.’
‘Me too,’ Tiggy says. ‘I thought of a bottomless Kir Royale, like they do in the Mambo Club in Mayfair. Made with Bolly, of course.’
‘Expensive tastes, eh? I thought of a pina colada,’ Scott says, with a small shrug. ‘Not had one in years.’
‘You didn’t think that, Scott,’ Lucy says. ‘You said it loud and clear.’
He rolls his eyes. ‘Whatever.’
‘What about you, Brenda?’ Lucy asks.
‘White wine spritzer,’ she says. ‘I know, not very exciting. It’s my summer drink. It automatically slotted into my head as soon as the question was put to us. If I was asked again now, I’d probably go for something stronger.’ She winces, and Amelia notices her
scratching her leg.
Maybe James was right about her being bitten. As though he’s read Amelia’s thoughts, he says, ‘Brenda, are you sure you’re OK? You’ve looked a bit uncomfortable since we brought you back, and I’m worried you’re not telling us the whole truth about that snake . . . I might be wrong, but if it’s the type I think it is, the venom could be pretty potent. Maybe we should get you some help, just in case . . .’
His sentence trails off as Brenda glares at him. ‘I told you already. I’m fine.’
The group falls silent.
‘I thought of a tequila sunrise,’ Amelia says, trying to cut the tension. ‘About as current as your pina colada, Scott.’
Scott doffs an imaginary cap. ‘Nothing wrong with the classics.’
James climbs onto a bar stool. ‘I asked for a bottle of Coke. A glass bottle. Real, not diet.’
‘You can have anything you want and you ask for Coke?’ Scott says. ‘What – you an alcoholic or something?’
James fixes him with a hard stare. ‘Only alcoholics drink soft drinks, is that it?’
‘Alcoholics, pregnant women and children,’ Scott says, pleased with himself.
‘What about your vitamin-loving extremist health nuts, hmm?’ Lucy says, pulling some glasses off the hooks above her head and placing them on the bar.
Scott snorts. ‘Those people are the worst. Don’t you think vitamin-loving extremist health nuts doth protest too much? They are among the biggest hypocrites I’ve ever met – and I include law enforcement personnel and bankers in the swathes of humanity I’ve had the misfortune to meet.’
‘Wow,’ James says. ‘Cynical snake-oil salesman reveals true colours.’ He turns to Lucy. ‘How does that work for a headline?’
‘Boring. Because he’s right: it’s all the evangelistic green juice yoga monsters you need to be wary of. Usually the biggest coke fiends in the business . . . and I don’t mean the stuff you like in a glass bottle. Of course, there’s always the possibility that you’re drinking the soft stuff to keep a clear head . . . keep an eye on us, maybe.’ She winks at Amelia, then delves under the counter again and brings out a series of metal flasks. She swivels them round; each one has a label. Seven flasks, one for each of them. Including Giles, who hasn’t made it down yet.
The Last Resort Page 9