by Rosie Blake
What had he meant I’d asked him to come? Er, hello, unlikely; I was on a mission to find my future husband and wouldn’t have invited another man along for the ride. Unless I was paying him to photograph the happy reunion? Now he was tearing into a hot baguette. What was his power over the air hostess? How was he finding food? I hadn’t been offered tap water. The meat from earlier was rolling about and I needed something to settle my stomach.
Closing my eyes, I focused on imagining water and I drifted off, suddenly back around the infinity pool of the Marine Bay Sands Hotel. I was dancing on a sun lounger, champagne glass in hand, a pair of twins snaking and twisting in the shallows of the pool, Barney passed out on another lounger. Someone was steering me gently out of the bar area. I sung to him in the lift and did a dance which I had been working on with the twins. He said it was lovely and that if I kept practising, maybe I would be a professional one day. I had nodded and then slumped on him, offering him my hair to smell. But that was just a dream I thought as I jolted away on the plane, examining Zeb’s profile as he grinned up at the air hostess. Wow, he just winked at her. I crumpled up the Sudoku, my knuckles white as I squeezed the paper. Then I lost all other thoughts as, circling the island, I glanced out of the window at what appeared to be a tiny strip of tarmac no bigger than a driveway. And a massive forest at the end of it. So no more worries about my life as it was clearly about to come to a dramatic end anyway.
Chapter 16
Tioman Island
We survived! We survived! We didn’t fly into the forest despite the fact the runway appeared to be designed by someone who thought the island was a model village! Hooray to the genius pilot! Now that we had actually landed on the ground and I had got over the urge to high-five the entire plane of people, ‘Hey, buddy we’re alive; looking good, lady, we made it; hey, you, we’re here, our persons intact!’ I had to stop to take in the extraordinary scenery.
The plane taxied over the tarmac, moving in a slow, bumpy semi-circle before coming to a stop. Towering over the runway, the lush greens of the forest rose up majestically. The sky above was a striking bright blue, punctuated by thin wisps of cloud that failed to provide any kind of cover from the pulsing heat. The fog and grey of Singapore had long been left behind. As we stepped down the stairs and onto the tarmac, the ground seemed to sizzle and the air smelled like salt, soil and coconut oil.
This was the scene of my reunion, I thought with a thrill. This was where I would meet my childhood sweetheart. I couldn’t think of a more appropriate place for us to reunite. The tropical location seemed to exude sex and mystery and ‘MONKEY!’ I squealed. ‘MONKEY!’ There was a monkey, plain as day, sitting on the other side of the airstrip. He was looking at me, one finger in his nose. I spun around to tell someone and caught the amused expression of Zeb who, being Zeb, would probably not be excited by a monkey at an airport in the slightest. Too cool for mammals. When I looked back, the monkey had gone. Wondering briefly whether I was more hungover than I first thought, I trooped over to collect my suitcase from the dusty floor of the arrivals lounge, which was essentially an open-aired wooden shack on concrete stilts.
Moving through to have my passport checked and meet the allotted bus that would take me to the hotel I’d booked, I could see Zeb walking off down the dirt road in front, beaten-up leather bag slung over his back, a straw cowboy hat on his head like he was auditioning to be a model in the Next summer catalogue. I sniffed, curious as to where he was walking to and maybe a tiny bit disappointed he hadn’t said goodbye. Silly Iz, he’s annoying and too edgy for his own good, you don’t need him to notice you. Ooh, MONKEY! He was back!
An hour or so later, with one rather ineffectual fan simply whirring hot air back towards me, I had unpacked my things in the world’s cutest wooden beach hut. The walls were made of deep-brown panels with carved-out holes for windows. These were covered in a criss-crossed wooden frame so that the light that filtered through left a dappled pattern on the crisp white sheets. The hut itself was simplicity personified. I was like Mother Earth. A simple shower, sink and loo had been tacked on almost as an after-thought and there was a single bed and a tiny wooden wardrobe for my things. A sand-spattered terrace wound itself around the whole hut and, as I opened the door, I was greeted with a stretch of white sand and the turquoise blue of the sea beyond. Hello, awesome Instagram photos. I was basically on my dream honeymoon destination. I just needed a groom.
Turning to the bed I inspected the tools I had acquired to hunt down said groom. A pen and small black leather notepad for noting things rested on the top of the duvet next to a camera with a lens that could zoom an excellent length, overly complicated binoculars (fruits of one of Mum’s online technology sprees during her bird-watching phase), a basic map of the island with hotels identified, photocopies of Internet Andrew and another from my old school, a line-up of the class of 1989 with Andrew’s face circled in red pen. Target identified. I had everything I needed to make this mission a success. I mean, this finding an old friend a success.
I sighed and lowered myself onto the bed. Maybe I had taken things a little far? It suddenly seemed rather impossible and now I was all alone on a tropical island (well me and the monkeys, really), I missed Mel and Mum; they’d give me the confidence I needed to do this, they’d make me feel anything was possible.
Grabbing my iPad, I headed off to the hotel reception to seek Wi-Fi. I would Skype home and explain the latest from here and Mum would give me some of her hearty advice. Trying to do the maths in my head, I decided we were about nine hours ahead of the UK and nine hours behind LA. I reckoned it would be about 7.30 a.m., but that was okay in Mum World as she liked to ‘seize the day’, normally through song.
Settling on a low wicker sofa, I propped up the iPad on a cushion and then texted Mum to tell her to turn on her Skype. The number dialled and the photo I had uploaded of her laughing at Pentire Point as the wind whipped the hair across her face made me smile in anticipation. Yay to mums making you feel better. The dialling came to an end and I frowned and leaned over to re-dial. Then there was a muffled sound and my mum’s voice – her thick, plummy English accent – wafted around me. ‘Hello, hello, is it on? Is it? I think it’s Isobel, she texted, hello—’
‘Mum,’ I called, only able to see the kitchen at a slant; the Aga dotted with pans, a tea towel draped over the rung, the window seat, tattered terrifying squirrel cushion resting on its side. Everything had a warm-yellow glow to it and my stomach lurched. I wanted to be drinking tea around the scrubbed pine table, laughing as Mum concocted something suitably weird in her new juice maker.
‘Mum,’ I repeated, ‘move in front of the camera.’
‘I can hear her voice. Darling, darling, we are ONLINE. We are HERE FOR YOU,’ she shouted.
‘Yes, I know, I just said…’ Mum walked past the camera at that moment. ‘Hold it, Mum, turn around, here, here, closer, closer. Stop. Can you see me?’
In the camera Mum had wheeled around and was staring at the ceiling like my voice was coming from Oz. Then she looked again at the screen and jumped. ‘Darling, why didn’t you say?’
I grinned and did a double thumbs-up at her. ‘Big progress on Skype, kudos.’
Mum pulled her hands together like she was praying and bowed. ‘Skype shall not defeat me.’
‘Where’s Dad?’ I asked.
‘In bed, of course, waiting for me to bring him up his customary Earl Grey tea. It’s like a slave labour camp around here, darling. I am rushed off my feet waiting on him. I have calluses, darling, calluses.’ She lifted one foot off the floor and tried to point the sole at the computer screen.
‘I get it, Ma,’ I said, shielding my eyes behind one hand. ‘Thank you for that graphic insight into your domestic bliss.’
Mum sat down and was now gazing at me intently. ‘Darling, you look thin, are you eating properly? Where are you now? Have you seen him yet?’
�
��Mum, I’ve been gone less than seventy-two hours. I am eating my body weight in cheap hamburgers mostly, and I’m in the Barracuda Hotel on Tioman Island which you have to Google as it is completely amazing and, no, I have yet to see him.’
‘Barracuda Hotel, darling, that sounds rather dangerous. STAY OUT OF THE WATER.’
‘I’m assuming it is sort of cute and quirky rather than a warning.’
‘Well, hotel names aside, darling, I think the whole thing is all wonderfully romantic,’ she sighed, sitting back in her chair. ‘He’ll be more than lucky to have you and he’d be a fool to turn you down.’
I could feel my confidence restored as she spoke.
‘I bought this completely fabulous thing for recording things. Wait, I must show you, and you must tell me if you want one too. It’s a Dictaphone disguised as a pen! So handy, I am not sure how it works yet but I am super-excited to find out.’ Her voice grew weaker as she left the camera to rummage for the mystery object and, returning, hair somewhat askew, to hold it up for me to see.
‘What would I record?’ I shouted at her departing back.
She returned, puffing. ‘Wonderful, isn’t it,’ she said, holding up what looked like a biro. ‘And only £199, which your father thought was rather decadent but your father thinks sending mail first class is pushing the boat out so what does he know?’
‘That’s great, so er… what are you going to record?’
‘Oh ideas, stuff. I might record your father at dinner and see if he gets mad.’
‘I’m sure he will.’
‘Yes it will be hilarious. I’ll try and work out how to send you the recording.’
‘Well, Mum, you certainly know how to live so I shall be off, back on my mission.’
Mum looked into the camera. ‘Oh good luck.’ She smiled at me. ‘I saw a seal yesterday, a slippery little head in the water so I waved at him and told him to swim over to you and give you a kiss.’
‘That sounds terrifying,’ I said, laughing now. ‘Please don’t set any more sea life onto me.’
‘Oh, darling, he was too busy basking about on the rocks here to listen anyway.’
‘Well that’s a relief.’
‘Now, you go get him,’ she said, leaning forward to send me a puckered kiss.
‘Love you, Mum,’ I said, going to press the ‘Off’ button, and then I was left with my faint reflection in the screen of the iPad and a smile on my face.
I would go and get him, I thought as I rested my head back on the sofa, the strands of wicker creating tiny pressed lines into my thighs. I looked up through the palm trees and the sea beyond. But first I should probably have a swim.
Floating effortlessly in the sea like a starfish, I wasn’t sure I could have felt calmer. Raising my arm and spreading my fingers, my skin glistened with a hundred beads of water. The whole world was a deep turquoise, the horizon barely there, my surroundings all sea and sky. There were a few people a hundred yards out, snorkels on and heads down, roaming along the line of coral. Every now and again one of them would wave the other over to look at something. Fishing boats pootled past in the distance and the odd bird dipped into my field of vision. The heat was incredible; I was practically dry by the time I had reached my towel and as I went to reach for my Kindle I paused, outstretched hand frozen.
Further along the beach, on the terrace of one of the huts, a man lazed in a hammock. Wearing board shorts and aviator sunglasses, he seemed to be asleep, one foot resting on the boards. He had curling light hair, caramel skin and full lips. He had the body of an athlete or a tennis player’s body, all lean. I lifted up my sunglasses, squinting as I tried to get a better look at him. It couldn’t be? On my first day here? But then it was a relatively small island. It wasn’t COMPLETELY impossible that it was him.
Kindle forgotten, I got up as if in a daze and found myself starting to walk over to him. Grinding to a halt in the sand, my head yelled, ‘Take a prop, Iz.’ I would need a reason to head his way. Beyond his hut was a beach bar and I turned back around, pulling out my purse from my bag. A drink! I needed a drink. I was parched. With a smile I grabbed my sarong, knotted it quickly, raked a quick hand through my hair and set off.
Shoulders back, Iz, just in case he is watching you. I licked my lips, feeling a buzzing in my stomach as I headed closer towards him. My palms slipped over the leather of my purse. The nearer I got, the more distinct he became. His hair was definitely lighter than it had been on the television, but that was only natural out here. And he seemed to look tallish but he was lying down so it was hard to tell that too. His stomach was flat and he had excellent taste in swimwear, so all of that was how I imagined it to be.
I tried to walk in a straight line and keep my eyes ahead but kept falling in sand divots, stumbling like I had only just learned to walk, mouth dry. As I passed him, I couldn’t help turning my whole head in his direction and staring. He was asleep, mouth slightly ajar, a bottle of beer empty on a table beside him. Was it him? I tried to picture the 1989 schoolboy, the man from the television and this Hammock Dude.
In the shade of the bar, clutching my lemonade, I waited for my heart to settle down. From my vantage point on the high stool wedged deep into the sand, I could simply see his right foot. It was tanned, quite narrow, had the right number of toes, but really gave me no other clues to his identity. I suppose his name in some kind of elaborate italic foot tattoo was probably a hope too far. And would I really want to be married to a man who feels the urge to tattoo his own name into lower appendages? An anklet might have worked, perhaps? A simple chain with the letter ‘A’ dangling as a single charm. But then again, did men wear anklets? Did anyone really wear anklets? Should anyone wear anklets? I went back to my lemonade and then yawned. The travelling had made me sleepy and all that swimming/starfishing in the water had really tired me out.
As I wandered back over to my towel, I knew Andrew wouldn’t wake. I paused. Should I walk over to his hut and say hello? See if it was him close up? Pretend to want to borrow sugar/a coconut? My foot wavered over the hot sand and then I changed my mind.
Dear diary,
Yesterday Moregran fell down the stairs and hit her head and it was scary because I found her and had to ring the ambulance. Mum dropped me off to Andrew’s house when she went to the hospital to be with Moregran and Andrew was really good at sitting with me. We played Legend of Zelda and he let me have double the goes because he knew I was thinking about Moregran and when I cried a bit he just went and got me a custard cream because he knew they were my favourites.
We didn’t talk much but he held my hand when I cried and I felt a lot better.
I x
Chapter 17
Sleeping Andrew had returned inside his hut a while ago. I had read thirty-six per cent on the Kindle and was starting to feel woozy. Surely he would return soon? I needed to keep a close eye, but I also needed the loo. Scrabbling up, I raced to my hut, desperate to keep this visit quick. Peeing with the door open, splashing water over my hands, I smoothed my hair, adjusted my white and yellow striped bikini and seized my biggest sunglasses, grabbing the binoculars Mum had given me before I left: ‘They have exceptional light transmission.’
His hut door was still shut when I emerged, panting, back on the sand. Heading over to a row of peddle boats I rented one for an hour, setting off at a slow crawl, binoculars on the seat beside me. I’d be working out and keeping a keen eye open. Ten minutes later and the peddle boat was becoming an effort. It had looked less hard work than the reality. My thighs were burning as I pushed and turned the pedals, making slow progress. Swimmers were everywhere, searching the coral and lounging on lilos. There was laughter and shouting from a volleyball pitch set up further down the beach. Startled birds launched themselves into the sky at the noise. Starting to feel woozy again, I closed my eyes, pedalling now almost at a standstill. Then a shout and my eyes snapped open as the boat st
arted rocking and I was covered in spray.
‘What the hell?’ I jabbered, a hand shooting out to steady myself as a man emerged from the water, straddling the front of the boat.
‘Permission to come aboard,’ Zeb roared, laughing at my expression.
‘Permission not granted.’ I scowled, wiping at my face and starting to pedal again.
The extra weight wasn’t helping and Zeb was now balanced on either side of the front of the boat grinning down at me.
‘What are you doing, Crazy Lady?’ he asked, looking at my binoculars and then back at me. ‘And I like your sunglasses.’
Narrowing my eyes, I put my nose in my air. ‘I was getting some fresh air, some peace and ALONE time.’
‘And the binoculars? What are they for?’
‘Bird watching,’ I said, picking them up and training them on the sky. Bloody birds had all gone, I put them down again.
Zeb was now standing on one foot, about to move into the body of the boat. ‘What are you doing?’
He froze in mid-air. ‘Sitting down?’ he said hopefully. ‘You look like you could do with some manpower.’
‘I don’t think so,’ I said, pushing furiously at the pedals.
The boat wobbled violently and Zeb grabbed at the front.
‘Well you leave me little choice but to throw myself into the water and drown.’
‘Don’t be ridiculous.’
‘I’m not; your rejection would cut me so deep I would not have the energy to paddle my little legs.’
I rolled my eyes. ‘Okay, fine.’ I gave up, raising both hands in surrender. ‘SIT, sit and be silent.’
Zipping his lips, Zeb crept over into the spare seat and, sticking his thumb at me, started a complicated mime about pedalling.
Feeling a bubble of unwanted laughter rise in my throat, I focused on pushing one foot after the other. We made speedy progress as we coursed back across the sea, churning the water up in our path and feeling the breeze on our skin.