The Scoop

by Terence J. Quinn

  32

  THE NEXT morning she was conscious. I had slept restlessly in the cabin I still thought of as Cody’s. The woman was hot and a little feverish when I went in to see her and I gave her some more water. Her eyes were still dark and damaged but I could see a little glint in one as she looked up at me. Her face was too swollen to register any real expression but I imagined she must be scared and perplexed: ‘What happened to me? Who is this big blond bloke and where the bloody hell am I?’ I sat down on the edge of the bed. She cringed under the sheet and I jumped back up, hands outstretched, palms outward.

  ‘Sorry, I didn’t mean to upset you.’ I smiled reassuringly. ‘My name is Jonno Bligh and you are on my boat. You are safe. The other, um, men have gone.’

  She whispered something; I couldn’t make it out. Bending down beside her to listen more closely, I was just able to make out her stuttering words:

  ‘W-where is D-Dani?’

  Shit. I presumed she meant the other woman. I didn’t want to answer that yet. To distract her I asked if she wanted some water. She nodded slightly; I went to the galley and got a glass of water and a straw. I helped her sit up a little so she could drink slowly. The effort clearly pained her and she lay back down.

  ‘Look, I’ve got very bad news. I’m afraid your friend didn’t make it. She passed away. I’m very sorry.’ I blurted this out like a complete prick; surely I could have made it sound a little less harsh? Tears squeezed out of her slitted eyes and I went to the bathroom for some tissues.

  ‘I don’t think she suffered. She was unconscious at the end.’

  Her tears continued for a while, her shoulders moving slightly under the sheet.

  ‘Where am I?’

  I told her about the storm that had hit The Scoop Jon B and that was why I did not know exactly where we were. I skipped over the bit about cold turkey. She nodded slightly.

  ‘And the p-p-pirates?’

  Pirates? Yes, that made sense.

  ‘They left yesterday; they probably think you are both dead. I don’t think they’ll be coming back.’

  That was a lie. The evidence was to the contrary – the remnants of previous fires, the guy with the briefcase – they probably came to the island on a regular basis. But I wanted to reassure her, not scare her further.

  She went quiet for a few minutes and I thought she’d gone back to sleep. I noticed that the sheets were covered in sand and other small bits of debris. Then she croaked:

  ‘M-more water please.’

  I asked for her name. Her cracked lips moved painfully as she whispered ‘Annie’. I asked her if she could eat something and she nodded. There was some barbecued fish left over from the previous night and I mashed it up with some cold rice and a little water. I spooned a couple of tiny amounts into her mouth but she brought it all back up again. I cleaned her up and suggested she try and get more sleep. Another slight nod, then her eyes closed.

  It was disconcerting but oddly energising to have another person back on the boat. I spent the morning tidying up. Wagga thought it was a game, following me everywhere, pouncing on items I was about to pick up and generally getting in the way. I smiled at his antics, scratched his chin. Chances were that he was also happy to have another person on board.

  Annie was out of it for most of that day; I looked in on her once or twice to put a damp cloth on her forehead and dribble some water into her mouth. Without aircon, the room was stifling and the soiled sheets were damp from her sweat. Later, I had to carry her into the bathroom. I fetched a clean shirt of mine to put over her. It must have been pretty galling for her to rely on a man after what had been done to her by others of my gender. But she didn’t seem to notice. This time she was able to eat a little and drink properly through the straw while I changed the sheets. The food seemed to revive her a little and there was even the ghost of a broken smile when Wagga jumped on the bed and tried to get under the sheet.

  That evening, for the first time, I worked on an idea for my next book, scoping out the plot and putting notes down on characters. The process was fluid, the creative dam having fully burst at last. It felt so good to be writing again; to be free of Charlie’s destructive grip. Lying in bed later, I returned to Annie’s revelation. Pirates! I knew, of course, that modern pirates existed, I’d read many news agency wire stories about their evil exploits. But I thought they were mainly based in Somalia. Even though it was obviously a terrifying ordeal, part of me couldn’t wait to hear how she and the other woman had been kidnapped and brought to Rehab Island. Drifting off to sleep, I felt a sense of foreboding that we weren’t finished with those pirates. But my last waking thought was of the woman next door. Something about her, something beyond her ordeal, really intrigued me.

  Washing my face the next morning I realised that I hadn’t shaved for, what? – seven, eight weeks? My thick blond hair was bleached to a white–gold colour and sprawled over my ears and down the back of my neck; my knotty beard was just a few shades darker. The deeply tanned face in the mirror looked like a Viking warrior. Jeez. I smiled; I bet I’d scared the shit out of her when she first saw me. On the upside, I looked healthier than I had in a long time. The whites of my eyes were clearer and I had lost a little weight. I decided to shave . . . for some reason it seemed important that I make a good impression on her.

  She was half sitting up against some pillows when I went in with some tea. I had got the barbecue going early and boiled some water for shaving and also to make her a cup of tea. If she noticed my beard had gone, she didn’t comment on it. But I swear Wagga did a double take when he saw me.

  ‘Good morning, how are you feeling?’ I asked with my best bedside manner. But when I put my hand forward to give her the mug of tea, I noticed that she flinched again.

  ‘Bit better, thanks.’ The stutter was gone but her lips still hardly moved. She still spoke through her teeth. She looked slightly better, although still hideous. The dark bruising had paled to a pastel palette of greys and mauves and yellows. She held the mug in two slightly shaky hands and was extremely tentative when putting it to her bruised lips.

  ‘No milk, I’m afraid, but I put a little lemon in it, hope it’s okay.’

  Her demeanour was still expressionless. I figured the facial muscles were probably damaged and moving them would be painful.

  ‘Thank you so much . . . Jonno,’ she whispered.

  I blushed. How ridiculous. I felt like a schoolboy being told by the French mistress that I’d conjugated a few verbs avec beaucoup de style. Strangely, I didn’t know if she was thanking me for the tea or for saving her life.

  ‘It was nothing. I only wish—’ I was about to say I wished I’d been able to do something earlier, to save her from the brutal assault. But that would have opened up a can of worms that needed to stay shut for a while.

  ‘I only wish I could have saved your friend,’ I said instead.

  A single tear ran down her cheek. ‘She wasn’t really my friend but I regret . . .’ She paused. ‘. . . she had to suffer like that.’

  As she held the mug of tea, I noticed a faint white line on her wedding finger. I had a sudden terrifying thought: maybe there had been other people apart from Dani. When I asked her, her eyes closed and she gave a slight nod. Then she handed back the mug and eased back down on the bed again.

  ‘I’m sorry, I’m very tired; I need to be alone now,’ she said in a quivering whisper, her chin beginning to tremble, more tears leaking from her eyes.

  33

  OVER THE next few days, Annie felt her body steadily repair itself. Her face had lost most of its puffiness and her eyes had opened up. She still did not know if she had any internal problems or even – try not to think about it, she told herself – some disease. The thought made her sick. All she could see was that the visible cuts were healing and the bruises fading to smudgy shadows. But her spirit lagged far, far behind. She felt flattened, defeated, her brain numb. The pirates had not just taken her body, they had stolen her pride and sel
f-confidence. A wave of bitterness and dread washed over her. For the rest of my life I will never be able to forget what those disgusting animals did to me. Revolting images flicked through her mind along with dreadful sounds: screams, grunts, laughter . . . even the crackling of the wood in the campfire. She vomited into the washbasin, her hot cheeks wet from bitter tears.

  When she looked up into the mirror moments later, she was startled by the image that squinted back. It was both familiar and foreign. The face was thin and gaunt, the eyes red-rimmed and haunted, and the cracked lips turned down at the corners as if in disappointment. A greyish pallor still tinged the skin in between the fading bruises. I look like an old, haggard crone, she thought. Well, what do you expect, after what you have been through . . . Scarlett Johansson? That thought brought a weak smile.

  She looked at herself in the mirror again. That’s right – at least you are alive; Martin and the others are not. They suffered a lot more than you. You should thank God that you still have the luxury of feeling sorry for yourself. If it had not been for Jonno . . .

  Annie’s mind turned to the mysterious Australian who had rescued her: he saved my life but I’m not sure what to make of him, she thought. A man of contrasts. He is so big and solid, yet seems gentle and a little shy. A hint of sadness about the eyes. Reminds me of Pascal, she thought with a pang.

  Pascal Marchand had been her first love. He was the son of a well-known French chef. She had met him in her very first week at Bristol University. Before that she had been the proverbial pig-tailed ‘goody-two-shoes’ at her CoE convent school. She had worked hard and never got into trouble; deputy head girl, captain of the netball team and popular with her classmates. Pascal had had seemed such an exotic creature: dirty blond dreadlocks, brown sympathetic eyes and sharp, handsome features that somehow always looked tanned, even in Bristol’s harsh winters. He introduced Annie to marijuana, Daft Punk, and his old Japanese motorbike. The shy schoolgirl was now bewitched, bewildered and, a week later, bedded for the first time.

  They had been together for seven years when he died, after moving to London together after uni. He had worked part-time as a motorcycle courier while he tried to write a novel and Annie worked in a boutique advertising agency. Since then, Annie always thought of it as ‘that bloody bastard motorbike’. Pascal had been on a rush job delivering documents to a law firm in the West End when he skidded on a patch of ice, fell off and slithered 30 metres along the road before being struck by a black cab. Senseless. Stupid. Shattering.

  Jonno has the same sensitive, sympathetic eyes as Pascal, she thought. I have vague pictures in my head of when he held me in the water. How compassionate he was. Now my saviour keeps his distance from me, which is a good thing. I don’t know if I will ever be able to trust any man again . . . even him. And what is he doing here anyway? What did he see, hear that night? Does he know what actually happened? What the pirates did to me? Another sudden wave of nausea hit her. Those, those fucking bastards! She heard herself shout that out. Especially the boss man. He may not have touched me but he was still the worst. Then she felt panic set in – what if they come back! Oh my God, I need to get out of here. Get back to somewhere safe. Tell people what happened to Dani and Gary and my poor husband. Get the bastards who did it. The image in the mirror morphed into the grinning man with the gold tooth.

  Then she was sick again.

  34

  I WATCHED in wonder as Annie’s innate loveliness emerged bit by bit like a beautiful butterfly from a drab carapace. And like a butterfly, her beauty was fragile: her cheeks looked hollowed out and dark shadows still underlined dull, troubled eyes. Now that there were no longer sticky slits I saw that they were large and green.

  To my chagrin, I detected a slight attitude towards me – not exactly hostile but there was a definite coolness there. We had not talked much; so far she hadn’t told me anything about herself and how she had come to be abducted, and I did not want to press her despite my intense curiosity. Besides, she wasn’t there most of the time. She would walk past me on the boat seemingly in a trance, her face a deathly white mask, climb down into the water and then disappear to the far corner of the lagoon beach for hours on end.

  At first I was resentful: ‘For Christ’s sake, I’m just the guy who saved you from certain death, why are you pissed off at me?’ But then I realised that perhaps there was indeed a fate worse than death and she had just experienced it. So I decided to let her be, giving her time and space to be on her own, to work things out in her own way. It broke my heart to hear her sobs and moans in the night but there was nothing I could do other than ensure she had food and water and a shoulder to cry on if ever she asked for it. Wagga also seemed to be doing his best to comfort her, sleeping on her bed at night and jumping on her lap whenever she was around.

  Once out of her sickbed, I watched Annie go off on her own, walking unsteadily and lowering herself gently in the calm water. On the second day, she asked me to take her to Dani’s gravesite.

  We took the tender and when we landed on the beach, she walked over to the spot where the two of them had been buried in the sand; her head dropped to her chest and tears dampened the dress shirt she’d borrowed from me, along with one of my silk ties for a belt. I stood quietly a few feet behind to give her room to grieve. Then she turned towards me, her smudged eyes glistening. She had an air of ineffable sadness about her.

  ‘Jonno, I haven’t properly thanked you for what you did. Not just for saving my life but also for the compassion you showed. Not just then, but since.’ Her voice, still a bit throaty, was soft, a bit posh. But then, like many Australians, I still think all English accents are posh.

  ‘You know, that day on the beach is a hellish blur but I do remember the sheer helpless terror I felt when I saw the sea rising towards me. But then, when you held me, it was an unbelievable comfort, the first time I’d felt like a human being since those . . . men,’ her voice broke at this point, ‘. . . captured me. I will remember that extraordinary act of kindness as long as I live. Thank you.’

  Her voice was still low and slightly hoarse and this gave her words an added intensity. I was stunned, I didn’t know what to say; to be honest I felt like just taking her in my arms and squeezing her tears dry but I knew that would freak her out, so in the end I just nodded. After an awkward moment or two, I gestured towards the palm trees and led her slowly up the pristine beach to Dani’s makeshift grave.

  I didn’t know if she was religious but I knew she would do a better job of paying her respects to the dead woman than I had. I watched her gingerly kneel down beside the heap of earth and then I left Annie to say goodbye to her friend in her own way.

  35

  AS I WALKED away from Annie, I realised I was heading in the same direction the stocky man with the briefcase had taken . . . towards the jungle. That piqued my curiosity: where had he gone and what was he up to? I reached the spot where he had walked through the tree line and started walking inland.

  The intensive sights and sounds and smells of the rainforest were a shock after the clean sand and seascape I had just left behind. It was a different world entirely as I picked my way through the dense undergrowth, watched by thousands of hidden eyes – birds, reptiles and sundry other wildlife. The humidity clutched at my chest and the sweat streamed off my bug-bitten body.

  I may not be Tonto but anyone knowing what they were looking for could have made out the occasional trace of the pirate’s progress: a broken branch here, a twisted plant there and the odd dent in the rich, earthy forest floor that had not been washed away by the monsoon rains. But the clincher was a soggy cigarette butt that I found near a natural rock pool after I’d trudged through the rainforest for about fifteen minutes. I picked it up and sniffed it – there was the hint of a spicy aroma.

  Memories of an Enid Blyton Famous Five book from my younger days came to mind – pirates and hidden treasure, who could resist? Then, when I found the entrance to a cave just past the rock pool, I was be
side myself. My imagination raced ahead: what would I find? Would it be like Aladdin’s cave, full of gold plates, jewelled crowns and artefacts? My enthusiasm was dampened slightly when I peered in because it was very dark and I could hear some movement and high-pitched sounds. What the bloody hell was going on in there? I couldn’t see a damn thing and didn’t want to risk injuring myself. Frustrated as hell, I made my way back to the beach, resolving to return with a torch as soon as possible.

  Annie was quite composed when I got back; she had made a flimsy cross out of a couple of pieces of bamboo and placed it on Dani’s grave. ‘I don’t know if she was a Christian, but I don’t believe she would have minded either way,’ she said. We stood there in silence for another few moments before returning to the tender that I had pulled up onto the sand.

  That night, after dinner, Annie opened up a little for the first time . . . helped, I think, by the large glass of warm white wine she was gulping down.

  ‘I’m sorry, Jonno, but this whole nightmare has been doing my head in. I’m still in total shock. I’ve got to talk to someone about it or I’ll go crazy. And, as you are the only one available, I am afraid it has to be you.’

  So, sitting up straight, chin high, her gaze focused on some distant spot through the saloon window, she told me in a low-key tone all about the pirates’ attack on her boat, the murder of her husband and another man, followed by her capture. She didn’t want to elaborate about what had happened on the beach and I certainly didn’t want to interrogate her about it. In fact, I stayed completely silent throughout what was a virtual monologue, letting her get it off her chest, occasionally nodding sympathetically to show I was listening.