How to Find Your (First) Husband

by Rosie Blake

  Shit, this was serious.

  ‘Mel, what is it?’

  A pause and then Mel’s voice sounded quieter, more hopeless. ‘He asked me to bloody marry him, didn’t he.’

  ‘The NO-GOOD SCUM OF A…what?’ I stopped. ‘Wait, rewind, he asked you to what him?’

  ‘Marry him,’ she grumbled. ‘So annoying, everything was going so well, Iz.’

  ‘Well, yes, that’s the thing about marriage, Mel, it’s meant to celebrate that fact; it’s like the Ultimate Sign things are going well.’

  ‘No, you don’t get it, look at my mom,’ she said, sounding tearful.

  ‘What do you mean, Mel?’

  Mel never talked about her mum; in the past she had always brushed conversations off about it, frozen up. When I’d teased her about marrying Dex once, she hadn’t spoken to me for the rest of the day, wouldn’t budge on opening up about it. I knew there had always been this problem in her head but she’d never really shared it with me, it was the one area we didn’t go.

  ‘She always said they were so happy before they were married and that it…’ And then Mel did what Mel NEVER does; her voice broke and she started to cry. ‘…it totally changed things for her, she changed, she became so miserable…and she always regretted it. And I…love him, Dex…and I don’t want to…’ She had moved into sniffy singular words now so it was really hard to make out and I strained my whole body to hear her.

  ‘Hey,’ I soothed. ‘Hey, Mel, it’s okay.’ I wished I was over with her in LA now, sitting on her red corner sofa and able to put an arm around her. Mel didn’t do crying.

  ‘Dex is a great guy,’ I said.

  ‘So why did he do this to me?’ she wailed. ‘Why couldn’t he just have left things how they were? He knows what I think about it all and we were really happy. And we have great s…e…ex…’ She started crying in earnest now which was really hard to tackle when you’re eight thousand miles away. ‘Only last week he taught me how to hold onto my orgasm for longer than…’

  ‘Okay, Mel. Okay, do you remember we talked about this? STILL gross.’

  ‘But now no one will ever make me do that and I’ll be with a man who only knows the missionary position and who doesn’t bring me Top Ramen Noodles when I’m sick and who doesn’t wear the duvet like a Superman cape just because I find it funnnnnnny…’

  ‘You’re not going to break up with Dex,’ I reassured her. ‘That would be ridiculous and I won’t allow it.’

  The phone was quiet now, just the odd sniff coming down the line.

  Panicking and with few options before me, I did the only thing I knew might have a hope in hell of cheering her up. ‘Oh I’m the King of the Swingers yeah, the jungle…’

  Her sniffing slowed and she asked me in a sad little voice, ‘Iz, what are you doing?’

  ‘Singing our song. Is it cheering you up yet? You love this song. “Oh I wanna be a man man cub and stroll right into town and be just like the other cubs I’m ti…”’

  ‘It will only cheer me up if you do all the actions. ALL of them,’ she insisted, interrupting my wobbly attempt to sing.

  ‘But you can’t see me,’ I said.

  ‘But I’ll know,’ she replied simply.

  ‘I might wake the others and…’

  She whimpered again and that was enough for me.

  Running away from the hut over the sand, I broke out into, ‘Oh oobeee doo I wanna be like you oo oo…’ Swinging my arms like a monkey and shaking my hair around wildly, I giggled as I sang and danced and lifted the mobile every now and again to my lips to do the chorus. ‘Do oo oo, you see it’s true oo oo…’

  ‘The other one, the other one,’ she sniffed, a giggle filtering through her voice.

  ‘What? The double-whammy? I hate that one.’

  ‘You would do it if you were here.’

  ‘It’s too early, Mel.’

  ‘Pleassssssssse.’

  ‘Okay, for you.’ I smiled.

  ‘Whoop.’

  Shaking both hands out in front of me, knees bent, I started to hum down the phone. ‘A whumba whoppa whumba whoppa…’

  She was really laughing now.

  ‘Whumba whoppa whumba whoppa in the jungle, the mighty jungle…’

  Mel was joining in down the other end of the line and I put the mobile on speaker so I could really shake it up. Dropping to my knees, hair swinging wildly as we did it in my flat in LA, I carried on. ‘The lion sleeps tonight.’ I could hear Mel’s loud ‘Awoooooo’ as back-up and grinned, getting louder as I called, ‘A whumba whoppa whumba

  whoppa.’

  I was so loud I hadn’t heard the person creep up behind me, only stopping as his long shadow appeared in the sand beside me.

  Closing my eyes, I prayed it wasn’t Andrew. Mel was still doing ‘Awoooooo’ noises down the phone and they were reverberating in the silence. ‘Awoooo, awoooo.’

  ‘What are you doing?’ Zeb asked, bleary-eyed, a tuft of hair sticking straight up at the back.

  My mouth dropped open and I froze, pelvis thrust out, both arms flung out to my side, hair all over my face so I had to blow it out of the way.

  I slowly lowered my arms, ‘Oh I…Mel, I’ve got to go,’

  I said, speaking into the phone.

  ‘Thanks, Iz. Love you.’

  ‘Love you too,’ I said, speaking slowly into the phone and looking at Zeb in the most dignified way I could manage. ‘Hello,’ I said, flicking my hair behind my shoulder. ‘How are you?’

  ‘You are proper weird,’ he laughed, taking a quick photo of me.

  ‘Hey, don’t do that,’ I said, shielding my face like I was some A-Lister stumbling drunkenly out of a club.

  ‘I couldn’t resist,’ he shrugged. ‘I wanted to record this moment. So…what was it?’

  ‘What was what?’ I asked, nose in the air.

  ‘Sun dance? Welcoming in the new harvest? Summoning the Beach Witches? The dance, Iz.’

  ‘It was designed to cheer someone up,’ I said.

  ‘Someone?’ He raised an eyebrow.

  ‘None of your business,’ I said, feeling foolish for being caught on the hop. Literally.

  Zeb raised his hands. ‘You are a woman of mystery and I wouldn’t want to ruin that. Please continue to dance away.’

  ‘What are you doing here anyway?’ I asked, my surprise making me sound abrupt. I slanted my eyes in suspicion. ‘Are you following me?’

  ‘God no, I would never follow anyone around an island to spend time with them.’

  I felt my face go red and my eyes darted desperately over to the door of the hut, picturing Andrew listening to our exchange.

  ‘Shhh,’ I said, dragging Zeb down the beach in the other direction. He had caught the sun since being here; his arm was a deep brown in this light.

  He looked back over his shoulder. ‘Oh my god, is he here? Did you actually find him?’ he asked in a voice that, if I wasn’t mistaken, sounded almost impressed. ‘Up to this point I genuinely thought he was a figment of your imagination.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘An imaginary friend, Isobel. The fact he exists makes me less concerned about your mental well-being.’ Then he looked at me, all wild hair and big eyes. ‘Less concerned: the jury is still out with how well you are.’

  I hit him on the upper arm. ‘Ow,’ he said, rubbing the spot I had struck. Then he smiled at me. ‘I can add anger-management problems to your symptoms.’

  I couldn’t help a half-smile. ‘I do not have anger-management problems; you have being nice, easy to get along with human being problems.’

  ‘I’m not sure that’s a thing,’ he said.

  ‘It’s a thing.’

  ‘That’s what a mentally unwell person would say,’ he sighed.

  Looking over my shoulder for movement, for Andrew stirring,
I repeated my question. ‘Seriously, what are you doing here?’

  ‘Juara’s meant to be the best beach on the island and I like the vibe here. I want to stick around for a bit.’

  ‘Vibe?’ I repeated, raising one eyebrow (unsuccessfully, sort of waggling both).

  ‘Yeah, it seems chilled and there are some incredible places to take photos. Also,’ he added, ‘someone should probably look out for you. Alone and mad. Not a good combo.’

  ‘I’m not mad,’ I insisted, smoothing my hair down to help convince him.

  ‘Alone and strangely eccentric. It still requires someone to keep a watchful eye.’

  ‘It’s a free country,’ I sniffed, secretly a bit touched he had said it.

  Dear diary,

  Boys are so stupid. I had a big fight with Andrew today because he ignored me at school in lunch. I

  don’t know what I have done but Lyndon said that

  he was embarrassed about being married. Then, in English when Jenny said something about me, he laughed even though I don’t think Jenny was being nice. I hate Jenny and Andrew.

  I x

  Chapter 24

  I wanted to take it back, twenty-four hours later when Zeb found me kneeled in a tank, dirty cloth in one hand, Marigold gloves on, a bucket of slop next door to me as I was hastily rubbing at slime and turtle poo from one of the tanks.

  He started snapping me as, hair tied in a knot, slime smeared on a cheek, I scrubbed. Raising the cloth, I glared at him. ‘Don’t get any closer. I warn you, I will slime you.’

  ‘What are you doing, woman?’

  ‘Cleaning,’ I said, not willing to admit that I had been left in this tank for a good hour. We were meant to be working on rotation, but Andrew had missed his slot. I wanted to believe he was really busy, but the orange Frisbee that had been sitting on the terrace of the hut that morning had gone, as had Duncan. Still, no doubt he would make up for it later, and I had been living for free these past couple of nights so I really had no right to complain. And turtle poo was not as bad as other poo. I had seen worse.

  Zeb had sat cross-legged in the sand, bored of snapping angry shots of me covered in slime. ‘Want to go and explore stuff?’ he asked, sounding like an excited eight-year-old.

  ‘Well I shouldn’t really,’ I said, indicating a new patch of slime.

  ‘You do have a lot of shit to clear up,’ he commented, bend­ing and looking into the tank. ‘Wow, that is quite a fragrance.’

  I laughed and carried on attacking the same spot. ‘It’s Odour de Turtle Crap.’

  There was a beat and then I felt the air shift as Zeb bundled himself into the tank.

  ‘Okay, I will assist,’ he said, seizing another cloth from the next-door tank and hauling my bucket away. ‘This needs new water for a start,’ he announced, heading off to the tap on the side of the hut next door.

  Sitting back on my haunches I watched him leave, feeling a swell of thanks for the man.

  We worked away in the small metal tank, watching the walls turn back to their normal colour, the bucket becoming gradually less disgusting. The heat was unbearable and we had been sweating through our clothes, beads meeting on my hairline as I circled the cloth furiously back and forward. Zeb had started humming ‘It’s a Hard Knock Life’ from Annie.

  ‘Your commitment to children’s movies is impressive,’ I said, as he launched into a Prison Break style rendition of ‘Hi, Ho, Hi, Ho, it’s off to Work we Go’ from Snow White and the Seven Dwarfs.

  ‘Thank you. What we really need is someone playing a mournful mouth organ outside our tank. Bloody hell, it is so hot I might melt right here.’

  ‘Swim?’ I suggested.

  ‘Definitely.’

  Racing down to the beach, we threw shorts and T-shirts down in a heap and splashed into the shallows to sink on to the sand half submerged, shoulders bare and the sun pelting us from on high. It felt blissful and, as I dunked my head below the water and blocked the sounds out, I felt the satisfying ache of a job well done.

  ‘Incredible, isn’t it?’ Zeb said, floating on his back, hands locked behind his head. ‘Home feels like a million miles away; I feel like I could travel forever.’

  ‘Me, too,’ I said, realising as I said it that my fantasy, the cottage in England, seemed to have faded over the last few days as I explored new places and saw such different things. I felt like recently my world had expanded and I wanted to carry on seeing more places, visiting new haunts.

  Stepping back into our clothes and heading back up the beach feeling noticeably cleaner and more relaxed, I noticed the long blond hair before hearing Duncan shout, ‘Oi, Hot Girl, get over here now.’ He was standing by our abandoned tank.

  Feeling strangely awkward, I indicated in Duncan’s direction. ‘Um, that’s me,’ I said quietly.

  ‘Get hereeeeee,’ Duncan called, beckoning me.

  ‘Is that him?’ Zeb asked, looking over at Duncan. Was that a glimmer of curiosity in his voice?

  ‘No, his friend. Well, I suppose I’d better go,’ I mumbled, feeling a wave of something wash over me. He had been so kind and I was being so ungrateful.

  Zeb was drying his hair off with his T-shirt. I should spend some more time with him. We were having fun. Before I could say anything though, he stopped patting his hair. ‘Thank god, it was basically slave labour and you were about to make me do MORE,’ he announced, instantly making me feel a little better. I giggled and reached to flick off a bit of mud still on his face, pausing and blushing as I realised what I was doing so automatically. ‘Sorry.’

  He gave me an easy smile and turned to walk away. ‘It’s been a disgusting pleasure. I’ll see you round, Isobel.’

  ‘Thanks for your help,’ I called after him.

  His hand twitched as he walked away. I think he heard.

  Chapter 25

  I was given five minutes to get ready after Duncan told me he had borrowed a boat for the day to take us around the island. Annoyingly, Liz appeared to have snuck an invite from somewhere too so I had to put up with her glowering at me from behind her bright-yellow Ray Bans for most of the trip. Duncan appeared to have found some sun cream from somewhere and stepped onto the boat looking like a model in a baby oil advert; he glistened under the sunshine. When he caught me staring, he held up one arm like a strong man, kissed his biceps and asked me if I was enjoying ‘the gun show’. Flustered, I looked anywhere but at him and found myself locking eyes with Andrew who gave me a shy half-smile that made my insides melt a little. Yay, I secretly thought, I am on a boat on an exotic island with my husband. The sea is turquoise, the air is calm and sweetly scented, and the sun is caressing us. Perfect, perfect, perfect.

  Chugging out from the pier on Juara beach, the boat hugged the coastline as the waves grew a little bigger beyond the protection of the bay. The island was edged with a sliver of sand, rocks jutting out at every angle. The forest towered beyond and on the other side of the boat the sea stretched for miles, the horizon a hazy line in the distance. Zeb would have loved this scene. I could imagine him snapping away furiously.

  Closing my eyes and enjoying the warmth overhead, we bounced over the waves, surf thrown up on either side of the boat, a hint of diesel in the air every time we revved the engine. Birds circled the forest and Duncan spent a lot of time pointing to them, muscles flexed, then smirking back at me. Liz was sitting primly, life jacket zipped up to her throat, pale freckled legs neatly tucked under her like she was one of the first-class passengers on the Titanic. She was speaking quietly to Andrew, something to do with stratospheric clouds and he was being sweet and encouraging her, avidly nodding as she formed some shapes with her hands. I think she was trying to explain rain or something.

  The boat slowed up just off the shore of a gorgeous pale stretch of sand and Duncan dropped the anchor and switched the engine off. We idled in the water, all just staring at
the tropical paradise that had opened up in front of us. The boat bobbed, sending ripples out over the water. We were sitting over quivering purple shadows of coral and yellow patches of sand. The water rolled gently onto the shore less than fifty feet away and the beach was deserted, trees leaning gracefully over the sand casting long shadows.

  Duncan did a low whistle and leaned towards me. ‘Amazing, isn’t it?’

  I nodded wordlessly. He was absolutely right.

  Feeling excited, I reached for a snorkel set I had stored under my seat and whipped off my T-shirt.

  Andrew’s face darted away and I felt a warmth flood into my cheeks, wondering if I had embarrassed him. To hide my humiliation, I asked in my heartiest voice, ‘Who’s coming in?’ and Duncan picked up a snorkel, too.

  Flippers on, I lowered myself into the water, dropping at the last moment under the waves. Kicking myself back up and out, I gasped at the sudden change in temperature but, paddling quickly, soon warmed up. Adjusting my snorkel and mask, I dipped my head under the water and almost opened my mouth at the sight.

  Immersed in an underwater world that was crystal clear beneath me, all noises were muted and the colours seemed heightened because of it. About ten feet below, a fat, sponge-like coral, pocked orange, sat on the sea bed, fish darting quickly out and back in from under it, checking for danger, snatching moments when they could. A longer fish, shimmering silver, moved below me at a leisurely pace and I watched his trail. The water quivering with tiny bubbles. Shafts of sunlight cut through the water making every fish brighter and bolder. It was mesmerising and I forgot about where I was, about Andrew and the island and LA and work and I just swam gently, trying not to disturb, trying to simply observe and let everything unfold naturally beneath me.

  I passed over clumps of waving coral, fish packed tightly together, parting and meeting as if they were one. A small beige stingray rose out of the sand, turquoise spots on his back just visible. Then, as if I had conjured him, I saw the slow-moving swim of the most enormous turtle just ahead. I paddled over to him as he swam only ten feet beneath me, utterly oblivious – his shell made up of intricate patterns in brown and green on its uneven surface and his head tiny in comparison. He moved, unhurried, in a steady line and my mind suddenly flitted to Moregran back by the creek in Helford, making steady progress as she put together our tea. The pace leisurely. Lifting my head out of the water, I waved the others over, knowing they’d want to see him, too.