‘Miss Holinstead, this is Emma Gilroy from the Guardian …’
‘… The News on Sunday …’
‘… BBC News …’
‘We’re really interested in your story …’
‘… your side of things …’
‘… what happened to you …’
‘… just awful …’
‘We’re looking for an exclusive …’
‘… a great opportunity for you …’
‘… very generous offer …’
On and on. So many messages. So many people clamouring for the truth of what happened to us. To me. I look around me at the silent house, the carpet soft with dust, the clocks winding down, losing time. On the wall opposite me is Mum and Dad’s wedding picture. I get up, take it down and add it to the pile of things I’ve already boxed up in the hall. I’m ready.
One last test of strength, one last battle to win, and I’ll be free.
I’m done running. Tomorrow, I face the world.
Chapter 7
We had our first real argument about five weeks into our stay on the island.
In many ways I was surprised it hadn’t happened sooner. After all, we were toting cameras everywhere we went, aware that we were being watched. It added an extra sense of discomfort that had me on edge most of the time. The others must have felt it too. Besides that, we were all virtual strangers living in extremely close quarters. We didn’t have any outlets for our frustrations; no friends or family to vent to, no internet to distract us. There was only one hut and although we could go out and walk for a bit, we had to share the same space a lot of the time.
It was obvious that cliques were forming. Andrew and Duncan had bonded while building our hut and they brought Shaun into that. They were always together, chopping wood or sitting around the fire messing about. Maxine, Zoe and I were all friendly and tended to sit together for meals or work together at chores. Though Maxine did sometimes complain to me a bit about Zoe’s ‘freewheeling’ attitude towards washing up and keeping her part of the hut tidy, I mostly ignored it and steered the conversation elsewhere.
Gillian moved between our two groups, spending more and more time with the guys. Frank sometimes hung out with the guys, but mostly he went off on his own for long periods, returning with a few crabs or some mussels at the end of the day.
The problems began when Zoe and I went beachcombing. There were no set jobs or ‘working hours’ so we’d all been self-managing. In the evenings people volunteered to get water or wood but for the most part we just talked over our plans for the day at breakfast and then did our own thing. On that day the guys were starting work on a rabbit enclosure, Maxine and Gill were fencing the garden and Frank was making some creels for catching crabs. Zoe and I had taken to walking the beaches, specifically around the tidal pools on the east side of the island.
Since we’d arrived we’d found a number of things that had been left for us by the production team. These things seemed basically new: buckets, a plastic laundry basket, rope. They had been positioned around the beaches as fake flotsam, above the tide line so as not to be washed away. Mixed in with that, though, was stuff that was actually washing up on the island. These things were smaller, more damaged and tangled in seaweed. So far we’d found torn fishing nets, planks with the varnish chewed off by the sea, a short metal pole (currently holding our pots over the hut fire) and bits and pieces of plastic rubbish.
However, since we’d started going to the beach every couple of days to see what there was to find, Duncan had started to comment on it quite pointedly. It was just little jabs, ‘How’s the tan looking today, girls?’, ‘Need one of us to knock you up a beach umbrella?’, stupid stuff like that.
On the day of the argument we were going down to the beach on the first clear morning we’d had in a week of rain. The sky was wide open, so blue it was like August had come early. My hopes were high for the day and Zoe seemed equally uplifted. I was hoping for a good haul from the storm-roughened seas.
After an hour or so we had a good pile of things on the pale sand. I was very happy with an orange fishing buoy in particular; it would be a great addition to Frank’s fishing pots. Zoe had found a number of pieces of blue nylon rope and a chunk of wood riddled with nails, which we were hoping to extract at camp. I’d also bagged a lot of kelp and laver seaweed, which I was excited to turn into laverbread.
‘While we’re here do you want to go for a swim?’ Zoe said, eyeing the calm sea.
‘Are you kidding? It’s freezing on the beach. I’m not after losing a toe to frostbite today.’
‘But it’s not as cold as it’s been,’ Zoe wheedled. ‘Come on, I haven’t washed more than my face in over a week, I need a good dunking.’ She dug a large towel out of her backpack. ‘Look, I came prepared.’
She had a point about the wash. It had been so cold and we’d had so little privacy around the guys that a full wash had been pretty impossible. I’d kept my face and hands clean but I was worried I was developing fairly vicious BO. Icy salt water wasn’t exactly the bath I had in mind but it was better than nothing.
Since arriving I’d had to get used to stripping off around the other girls. No one had made fun of me so far. It was still kind of embarrassing but the idea of being clean was too tempting. I got down to my underwear, keeping my eyes on the sand and hoping Zoe wasn’t looking at me.
We splashed into the cold waves, shrieking and shivering. I instantly lost feeling in my feet. I only made it up to my waist and then forced myself to duck down until my shoulders were submerged. I was doing a quick scrub with my hands when Zoe sent a wave of freezing water over my head. I emerged, spluttering and wiping my face, cold needles stabbing through my greasy hair.
Zoe was laughing, not meanly, but like we were having fun together. I whipped up a large piece of bladder wrack and threw it at her, making her scream. I felt a stab of fear that she’d get pissed off, but she was grinning as she shrieked.
‘That’s so gross!’ she shuddered, eyeing the drifting, bladder-covered weed with disgust.
‘That’s going in your dinner tonight.’
She mimed being sick. I snorted.
We exited the water and pelted back to our pile of clothes. We shared the towel, and I was overjoyed to cram my damp body back into my smelly clothes and pull my woolly hat over my wet hair. We gathered up all our finds, including the bladder wrack, and headed back to camp.
When the weather was clear we’d been cooking outside. It was easier than working in the cramped hut. I took a seat by the fire and went through my bags of foraged seaweed. I was occupied for a while washing and chopping by the fire. Then I checked my guidebook for the recipe I needed. It was then that Duncan came over, Andrew and Shaun trailing behind with mugs of coffee.
‘Can we have a word?’ Duncan said.
‘Sure, can I just finish this first?’ I asked, gesturing to the seaweed with the book.
‘It’s actually about that.’
They sat down on the logs we’d moved around the fire. Duncan was between the other two, across from me, his knees wide and hands between them, fiddling with his outdoorsman sunglasses.
‘Look, we just wanted to have a chat about what you and Zoe were doing today.’
‘Oh … well, she took most of what we brought back over there if you’re looking for rope or something.’ I pointed to the lean-to outside the hut. What had been intended as a kitchen had turned into a sort of toolshed instead.
‘We’re just a bit concerned that you guys going down to the beach all the time might not be the best use of your time when there’s so much work to do around here.’
I blinked, not sure I was understanding him. He was making it sound like the two of us had been down there making sandcastles every day. I decided to just assume he had somehow not noticed what we were actually doing.
‘We’ve been going down there to bring back all the stuff that ended up on the beach. Like the planks for the lean-to and all the stuff for
Frank’s creels.’
Duncan waved a hand. ‘But it doesn’t take hours to get that stuff and Shaun saw you guys messing around in the sea.’
I could feel myself getting angry, mostly at the thought of being spied on while I was basically naked. Still, I forced myself to explain as tactfully as I could. I used my polite ‘work’ voice, hoping it would hide my growing irritation.
‘We walk around half the island looking for this stuff. It isn’t just all sitting there in one place. We were taking a fifteen-minute break to have a wash, in private.’ I glanced at Shaun pointedly.
Shaun turned a blotchy red colour and looked at the ground. Andrew snorted and nudged him. They were like a pair of grubby schoolboys. Duncan’s ears went pink, but his face was set and he wasn’t wavering.
‘It’s just a bit of a piss-take if we’re up here working and you guys are down there messing about. I’d love time off for a swim or whatever, but we have stuff we need to do.’
‘Like I said, we weren’t messing around – we went into the sea to get clean. No one is stopping you doing the same,’ I said, trying to be diplomatic. ‘If you want to go tomorrow, that’s fine too.’
Duncan held up his hands. ‘We can chat about it when you’ve calmed down.’
I dropped my professional voice. ‘I am calm. I’m just disagreeing with you.’
I held his gaze evenly and only looked away when Zoe spoke up behind me.
‘Hey, guys, what’s going on?’
‘Nothing,’ Shaun said, ‘just havin’ a chat about what we’ve been doing all day.’
‘Oh, OK. Have you guys seen the stuff we brought back? There’s nails! How cool is that? I’ve just been yanking them out.’
Andrew started talking about the possible uses for the nails and Duncan slipped away. I felt stiff and tense all over from the confrontation and not in the mood to make conversation with either of the guys at the fire. I made quick work of the rest of my chopping, distracting myself.
The laverbread patties seemed to go down well. Frank had managed to bring in some fish too, though they were small, barely a mouthful each. Still, it made a change. Since we’d all thrown our rations in together, meal quality had varied a lot. Sometimes we had a dehydrated meal bulked out with plain rice, other times someone, usually Maxine or Shaun, put a bit more effort in.
Once the meal was almost done and we were sitting around the fire, Duncan cleared his throat. My stomach flipped over. I had no desire to get into another argument. Especially not a public one.
‘Guys, I think it’s time we worked out a firmer rota for getting things done. At the moment everyone’s just doing their own thing and that’s been all right for some of us but … I just think structure would be the best way to make sure everyone’s pulling their weight.’
Zoe asked the obvious question. ‘Who’s not pulling their weight then?’
Maxine caught my eye with a raised eyebrow. It was becoming clear to me that she was not Zoe’s biggest fan. Something about the way she looked at her reminded me of how Mum used to treat her little sister, my Aunt Ruth. That same kind of disapproving pinch to the mouth.
Duncan shrugged. ‘I don’t want to call anyone out – it’s just becoming clear that some of us are doing more work than others. That’s just how it’s happened. I get it because some of us have skills that are more useful right now, but we should all be working as hard as we can.’
I didn’t want to cause an argument. Duncan wasn’t naming names, he wasn’t accusing anyone. If I took offence it was going to be on me. A public blowout wasn’t going to solve anything. I pressed my lips together and pushed the last of my laverbread around my plate.
‘So, what kind of rota?’ Zoe asked.
‘We’ve got things we need to build that should take precedence over the more frivolous stuff. I think we should all be part of the building crew in the morning. In the afternoon everyone can get on with their own projects, like the allotment and the fishing.’
The mention of fishing got my back up. Aside from shellfish, Frank hadn’t brought in much else. Either he wasn’t catching anything around the island, or, more likely, he was falling asleep next to his rod of an afternoon. Unfortunately none of us knew the first thing about fishing, so it wasn’t as if we could just replace him.
‘What about the general work – the cooking and getting water?’ Maxine asked.
Duncan shrugged. ‘We can keep that as it is, just take turns. But no one should be sitting on their arse reading if there’s work to be done.’
I couldn’t tell if I was just being sensitive or if he was actually having a dig. I had been reading after all. If checking a reference book while doing work could be called reading. I glanced at Zoe, who I knew also had a book on bushcraft that she routinely carried around with her. She didn’t seem to be taking Duncan’s words personally. I decided not to either. That didn’t mean I was going to sit there being a doormat.
‘I think we ought to have a rota for the “housework” as well,’ I said. ‘At the moment it tends to be me, Maxine and Shaun who do the cooking most nights. When it’s not us it feels like there’s a reliance on the pre-packaged meals that we should really be saving for emergencies. There’s wild food available, plus our staples. There’s a lot of scrap wood around from the building so I don’t see that gathering wood is a daily task. Not until we have the wood store.’
Maxine nodded. ‘I’d like to point out that the washing-up should also be a rotating chore. It seems to be me that gets left with it – unless Maddy or someone else takes care of it when they cook. I don’t mind doing it sometimes, but I didn’t come here to spend a year washing up.’
Duncan spread his hands nonchalantly. ‘Hey, I don’t mind taking a turn at the cooking – I’m not just very good at it, but if you’re OK with eating my crap food …’ He shrugged. ‘And with the washing-up, we can rota that, absolutely. You just had to say.’
I ripped a blank endpaper from my foraging book and, using a marker from Andrew, we drew up a rota. Two work parties would spend alternate days on building, one led by Andrew and one by Duncan. The domestic work would be given to a different pair every day who would be responsible for three meals and all the admin around them. The dehydrated camping meals and protein bars were to be kept for emergency use.
Following the meeting it seemed that everything was settled. No hard feelings, all back to normal. Maxine made some ‘tea’ with the bags from that morning and we sat around the fire for some recreation time.
Zoe was trying to work out how to make a basket from sticks and Andrew was helping to split them. With nothing else to do I ended up whittling a wooden spoon that Zoe had started work on, then abandoned.
After a while Maxine came over to sit with me and have a chat. In the month we’d been on the island I hadn’t noticed any change in her neat appearance. She was still as put together as she’d been when we arrived. Everything about her was quiet, purposeful and direct. I appreciated that immensely.
‘Bit of a tough talk that,’ she said under her breath.
I shrugged. ‘Seems to have all worked out in the end.’
She hummed doubtfully. ‘Everyone’s definitely said the right things, but I’m going to wait for the follow-through.’
She had a point. I’d seen enough of it at work. Everyone shows up to the meeting, everyone agrees, or, at least, doesn’t dissent. Then everyone just does what they planned on anyway and six months later we have another meeting about why nothing’s changed.
‘I wanted to ask about fruit actually,’ Maxine said. ‘I want to start on making vinegar and that means making alcohol first. When is there most likely to be fruit to pick?’
‘I think there might be some hanging around still actually. Sea buckthorn fruits around September but I read there might be fruit left into the New Year. I’ll keep an eye open while I’m out tomorrow.’ I yawned widely and instantly felt guilty. ‘Sorry! I’m just super tired.’
‘Time for an early night, I
think,’ Maxine said, sounding mildly amused. ‘Lots of work to do tomorrow.’
‘Isn’t there just.’
I was the first to head into the cosy darkness of the hut. Our beds were laid out like the spokes of a wheel around the fire pit. On the back wall were the shelves of rations and below them the plastic box with more of our food inside. When the pines had been stripped of branches to make the poles of our hut Andrew had left the stumps of some in place. These made natural pegs for us to keep our clothes hung on. Already I had become used to the smoky smell that clung to everything, undercut by that of drying pine sap.
Snug inside my sleeping bag I looked up at the crisscross of branches overhead, listening to them creak and settle in the breeze. It was only as I turned over to go to sleep that I thought of my book. I’d dropped it on top of my sleeping bag earlier, yet hadn’t seen it as I’d got into bed.
I sat up and looked around, finally spotting a slice of white paper in the gloom. The book was under a small heap of clothing I intended to wash. When I pulled it out I saw that the cover was bent and dirty. Had someone kicked it under my laundry to hide this? Or just to make the book harder to find when I needed it?
With the book in my hands I sat frozen. From outside came the muffled sounds of chatting and laughter. Face-to-face disagreements were one thing, but this, damaging my things behind my back felt … pointed. It felt underhanded and devious and I wasn’t sure how to deal with that. If it was an accident, why had they hidden it? If it was deliberate, what had I done? I had my suspicions as to who had done it. I also knew how Duncan would react if confronted. It was only a bent book, not worth making a fuss over. Just an accident. He hadn’t seen, hadn’t meant it. I would be the one causing trouble, making accusations.
I finally tucked the book into my backpack. The best thing to do was to ignore it, I decided. I would not give him the satisfaction of a public shouting match. It was one childish thing and I wasn’t even sure it had been deliberate. We were building a community; there were more important things to worry about.
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