The Summer Island Swap

by Samantha Tonge

  He passed me the laptop and headed towards the kitchen. Margot asked me again to explain the chocolate-making process. We discussed the equipment the Crowleys would need to invest in. She grabbed a notepad.

  ‘I’m good friends with a restaurant owner on Tortola. He might be able to put me in touch with suitable suppliers. I’ll email him as soon as this call is over.’ She put down her pen. ‘So, Sarah… have you drawn up that five-year plan we talked about last time?’

  She’d remembered.

  I’d asked Dad to help me draw up a revision timetable once, for my GCSEs. I was in a major panic. He was always going on about how his projections at work paid off. I thought he’d help if for no other reason than to impress me with his organisational skills.

  It was the last time I asked him for anything. He’d waved me away and said not to disturb him the football was on – muttered that if I couldn’t put together a timetable on my own then there was no point even sitting the exams. He did his usual thing and made it sound as if that last comment were a joke. But I always knew with Dad that was just a cover. The only time he hadn’t done that was when he’d made the terrible accusation against me on the day I’d left.

  ‘I did. Thank you. Suggesting that has really made me focus.’

  ‘What’s the first thing on your agenda, when you get home?’ she asked. ‘A bright woman like you – you said that Best Travel wasn’t stretching you anymore…’

  Margot even remembered the name of my last employer. My eyes pricked. Anabelle had done her best over the years to recall the details of my life, but never really took on board who were my best friends or which were my favourite foods – not like Mum had.

  ‘I’ve learnt an awful lot there,’ I began.

  ‘I like that,’ interjected Margot. ‘Loyalty. Gratitude gets you a long way in life – but not if you take it too far. If you’ve worked hard, that’s your debt paid, so you needn’t feel you owe this Best Travel employer anything if your gut is telling you it’s time to move on.’

  ‘That’s what your suggestion has made me realise – I have no time to lose. Not if, in five years I want to be at least assistant manager somewhere spectacular, with an income that means I no longer have to ask myself if this month’s earnings will pay all the bills.’

  ‘Don’t forget your personal aspirations,’ she pushed. ‘I’ve always been ambitious but never forgotten that my career is only one part of my life. Do you want to travel? Get married? Have children? Learn how to cook Thai food? Run marathons? Because if so, those dreams also need to be factored in.’

  At that point Rick came back. He passed me a mug of tea. Sat down again. He told Margot about the mini bar we’d put in each room – effectively a shelf of small bottles of alcoholic and soft drinks, plus packets of nuts. She said how impressed she was with the hotel website and had a few ideas of her own. She’d email a family photo taken there just before the hurricane. She thought the personal touch – a photo of the Crowley family – would help attract the right kind of clientele.

  I was sorry to end the call. Margot was so easygoing. She made me feel valued and gave me faith that being forced to leave Best Travel earlier than I’d wanted would turn out to be a positive thing.

  At five o’clock Rick and I stood side by side, over on Tortola, at the arrivals gate in Beef Island airport. He was holding a sign that said Jason Elliot.

  Raucous laughter bellowed across as passengers started to appear.

  My palms felt sweaty. None of this would be happening if I hadn’t come up with the concept of renting out the beach huts. I didn’t want to let down lovely Margot, Rick – or myself.

  31

  It’ll be fine, I told myself. They are mature businessmen – not eighteen-year-olds who don’t know their own limits. Shouts and whoops caught my attention and I focused on the crowd of people coming into view. There was a young man soothing a crying baby. Grandparents. Loved up couples. And… a group of men in their thirties and forties creating most of the noise, wearing red T-shirts that said in large capitals STAGS LOVE A VIRGIN followed by the world island in really small letters.

  Scrub my earlier comment.

  Adrenaline pumped throughout my body. I always got a high from checking in new guests. Each one was an adventure. You never knew whether you’d be glad to see them leave or hope one day they’d come back.

  A tall man with short blond hair and wearing an expensive watch and tailored shorts strode over. He clapped Rick on the back. Grabbed my hand and kissed it.

  ‘I’m Jason Elliot.’ His words slurred slightly. ‘You must be Rick Crowley and you…?’

  Clearly they’d started their holiday on the plane.

  ‘Sarah,’ I said, in a polite voice. ‘Welcome to the Virgin Islands. I believe congratulations are in order…’

  The other men crowded around and the smell of whiskey rudely filled the air. Rick and I shook hands with them all before heading outside to the people carrier taxi. He asked the group about their flight. I talked to Jason about his upcoming nuptials.

  Okay. We could do this. Rick and I were in control. Or at least I thought so until we passed a small supermarket and Steve, a portly man in luminous lime green shorts, took off his cap to scratch his bald head and ordered the taxi to stop.

  ‘Quick booze stop, mate,’ he said to the driver, ignoring Rick and me. They all piled out, returning shortly afterwards carrying bags full of beer and vodka and stuffing crisps into their mouths, rogue ones tumbling onto the taxi’s floor as they got back in. The car continued down to the dock. Twice, Steve stuck his head out of the window to wolf whistle loudly. Rick did his best to engage the men in conversation but they weren’t interested.

  It was the same on the boat and they opened beer cans as soon as they boarded. Rick pointed out aspects of the coast and a seal but the men were too busy sharing jokes and rolling up their sleeves to get a tan to show off back in the office. One winked and asked if I had a boyfriend whilst the others shared lurid jokes and banter that became more outrageous as the alcohol flowed. A short man in Hawaiian shorts burped and lobbed an empty crisp packet over the side.

  ‘Please don’t do that,’ I said as warmly as I could. ‘Plastic pollution is bad enough as it is. It’s not good for the seagulls or—’

  ‘Spare us the lecture love,’ said Steve and laughed. ‘Jeez, the amount we’re paying we can do what we want.’

  ‘Hey. Steady on, Steve. Show some respect, mate,’ slurred Jason.

  ‘Just a little joke,’ he said and looked sheepish, swaying unsteadily. ‘It was decent of you to fit us in at such late notice. Sorry. You’re right of course. It won’t happen again.’

  ‘No problem.’ I smiled.

  ‘The ex’s brother is big on recycling,’ he continued. ‘God knows he talked about it enough to me during the miserable five years I was married.’

  ‘Are you all single?’ asked Rick, brightly.

  ‘Me, Jack and Tony are happily divorced,’ said Steve. ‘Jase, as you know, is about to sign his life away. Pete and Chris are single and looking for action.’

  Only the groom-to-be was in a relationship. Oh God.

  ‘As best man it’s down to me to make sure we all get the most out of this week,’ continued Steve. ‘What has Seagrass Island got to offer six red-blooded men in their prime?’

  ‘Plenty of trail-clearing if you want it,’ said Rick. His grin looked false. ‘Lee will have told you about our conservation project.’

  Steve swigged his beer. ‘Nice try mate. I run my own landscaping business so I do enough of that back home. I was thinking more of hands-on action with the lay-deez if you know what I mean.’

  ‘Brandon, who works on Seagrass Island – he knows Tortola well and has helped us plan several trips you’ll enjoy. A bar crawl. The best nightclub in the British Virgin Islands. During the day there’s a dolphin spotting trip and snorkelling for those of you up for that. Or you can relax on our very own beach with waiter service. Lovely Nia – Brandon
’s wife,’ I hastily added, ‘makes the best rum cocktails.’

  A couple of the men turned to listen.

  ‘There’s fishing as well,’ said Rick. ‘And a tour of Seagrass Conservation for those who want it…’

  ‘I wouldn’t mind a photo with your monkey we’ve heard about,’ said Steve. ‘A photo of me with that on my shoulder is bound to be a hit when I’m trying to woo the ladies.’

  A wave of protective feelings rushed over me. A glazed smile crossed Rick’s face. Chatty was sociable for sure, but a gentle creature. Any meeting with these party people would have to be handled carefully.

  I sidled over to Rick as the group spotted a shoal of large fish under the surface and took photos, challenging themselves to see who could identify them first once they picked up an internet signal.

  ‘The key is going to be to keep this group busy,’ I said.

  Rick took his eye off the horizon for a second. ‘Still sure you want to be involved?’

  I rubbed my hands together. ‘I’m loving the challenge.’

  ‘Glad one of us is.’

  ‘I’ve dealt with pre-wedding parties at work numerous times over the years. We’re talking sick on the carpets, broken lampshades, noise into the early hours that I’ve had to quash. Once a girl even got handcuffed to the bathroom pipes for a joke. I think I can cope with this lot.’

  ‘Talking about vomit…’

  On cue one of the party had thrown up over the side. I hurried over with tissues and offered my bottle of water but they glugged back more beer instead. Rick headed towards the jetty and parked up. Finding it hard to walk in a straight line, the men disembarked. They rapidly found their feet when Nia appeared holding a trayful of cocktails.

  ‘Cool. A private beach. Means we can do what we want,’ said Steve. ‘Which one of us is first in, lads? Get your kit off.’

  Drinks were downed. Empty glasses clumsily returned. Shorts came off. I spun around and looked at Nia. The two of us hurried towards the boat to grab the men’s luggage, leaving Rick gaping. The three of us carried cases across the sand and planted them on the pathway that led to the camp and up to the house.

  ‘Right, gentlemen,’ Rick shouted. ‘We’ll start taking your bags up to your accommodation. Please follow as soon as you are ready.’

  Nia went ahead to organise arrival snacks.

  ‘I can’t believe this crowd,’ said Rick. ‘Gran would be horrified.’

  ‘Would she?’ I countered. ‘It’s business. The island is private. And whilst they’ve booked under a discounted rate, they are paying your family to stay here and have a perfect right to enjoy themselves. They’re just a bit boisterous, that’s all.’

  Rick put his hands on my shoulders. ‘Thank God you’re here,’ he said. ‘How can you do that? Kind of switch off your personal feelings?’

  We walked on and eventually I broke the silence. ‘Like I say, I’ve had years of dealing with customers.’

  ‘It’s not just that, is it?’ he said. ‘I’ve seen you during the last couple of weeks, switch into a sort of… harder mode when faced with doing something you aren’t keen on. It’s as if you’ve got a reserve of toughness at your core. I admire that. Where’s it come from?’

  We stared into each other’s eyes.

  ‘It didn’t always pay to be myself when I was younger. If I showed my vulnerability Dad would take advantage – he’d do anything to make himself look like the better person.’

  An arm slipped around my shoulder. ‘Then he’s missed out, because the glimpses I’ve seen of the Sarah behind the mask are pretty special.’

  A lump formed in my throat and gratefully I heard footsteps sound behind us.

  Jonas and Benedikt were playing a jazz tune when we arrived, in the smart clothes they’d worn one night when we’d had drinks and music to celebrate Carlotta’s birthday. The men caught up and tucked into Nia’s canapés with gusto. Rick showed them to their beach huts. Jonas and Benedikt left for the canteen, saying they’d come back at eight when Nia would serve the guests dinner.

  Rock music suddenly cut through the air. Steve stood, in swimming trunks, outside his beach hut, a boom box on the steps. He rubbed his stomach fondly and belched before lobbing his lit cigarette into nearby bushes. Rick and I hurried outside. He stamped on the cigarette. Oblivious, Steve crouched down and suddenly sprang into the air. Clutching his knees tightly he flew into the water, bombing the surface. Seconds later Rick and I stood dripping with water as Jason and his friends surfaced from their huts and shouts of laughter resounded around the pool.

  32

  Saturday morning. It felt good to be asleep in someone’s arms. Warm. Safe. Cocooned from the realities of life, like redundancy and the prospect of struggling to pay bills… Snuggling under the covers I contemplated the last couple of days. Thursday night, after Jason and his friends had arrived, we’d all sat up until 1 a.m. talking. Rick and I finally left them drinking cocktails in the pool. They’d asked for a full English breakfast Friday morning and wanted Malik to take them snorkelling in the afternoon. Rick had accompanied them whilst I’d stayed behind to help Brandon and Nia clear up the villa. There were cigarette butts everywhere and spilt drinks on beds. The mini fridges we’d put in had already been emptied.

  Being part of something, right at the beginning, learning by mistakes, trying out new ideas – it exhilarated me.

  Brandon and I had also replanted several chocolate trees either side of the house. We chose younger ones as they were easier to dig up. The established powder puff trees we wanted to remove were harder and a couple of the volunteers helped out with the back-breaking work. After a shower, I took a new shot of the house and uploaded it to the website. Whilst looking after Lee’s old university friend was important, we still needed to push forwards with the bigger plan. Search engines had now picked up the website and that the number of views was growing.

  I felt like skipping! Holding hands with Amy and circling round and round as fast as we could! We’d had plenty of moments like that when we were little, with Mum. She had the most infectious laugh and put fun into the most boring things. Like when I’d have my fringe cut. She’d secretly pull silly faces at me from behind that I saw in the mirror. I’d almost burst from trying to control the urge to laugh.

  Jason and his friends had returned from the snorkelling remarkably dry. Rick said the wettest part of them had been their throats. They’d been keen to go out last night and we’d taken them on a bar crawl. Steve almost got punched by a man whose girlfriend he’d tried to chat up. One bar manager ordered them out after a shouting match about Brexit – Steve and two of the others had been firmly Remain. Jason and the rest Leave. Insults had started to fly. We’d got back to Seagrass Island at around 3 a.m. and plodded up to the house, the men now laughing about their argument. A vague memory returned of Steve serenading me with a slurred version of ‘Ain’t No Mountain High Enough’ as we ascended.

  I yawned again, pressing myself comfortably into the warm body behind me. It has been so long since a strong pair of arms had held me tight. This pair felt like a perfect fit. They felt right.

  Crap.

  Heart racing, I ran my hand down my body. Thank God I was dressed. Nervously my eyes fluttered open. Please don’t let me be in one of the beach huts with one of the stag party. I took in the mahogany ceiling and vase of flowers, the whitewashed walls and tropical paintings. Relief gushed through me. I was in the spare room, at the house. I’d more or less lived there since working on the website. I shuffled and turned around and gazed at Rick, looking adorable whilst asleep.

  The tanned face and inky hair contrasted the white pillows. For the first time I noticed the faint hairs on his muscular forearms and how long his eyelashes were. His breath touched my face and felt sweeter than any sea breeze. Our mouths were mere inches apart. Heat spread through my limbs and pooled in my pelvis as they yearned to wrap themselves around him. I longed to lose myself in the warmth… in him.

  I remember
ed now. He’d come into my room when we got back. I’d shown him the new photo on the website. With the men laughing loudly outside and splashing in the pool, even though it was late, I’d taken Rick once more through the process of treating the cacao beans. We decided that the fermentation stage to remove the slime off the beans would definitely take too long for some short-stay guests to be able to use beans they’d actually picked. Therefore, in the optimistic spirit of preparing for bookings, we would harvest a starter batch of pods ourselves and get a supply of beans ready for roasting and grinding. Margot had already emailed to say she’d been in touch with her restaurant friend on Tortola and heard back with details of a reliable company that could supply us with a proofer and sous vide. We could take delivery of the equipment as early as next week if we got our order in on Monday morning.

  ‘The volunteers will help us,’ I’d said.

  ‘I feel guilty asking,’ Rick had replied. ‘They aren’t here to pick beans. And they’ve really rallied around this week, keeping the beach tidy and covering your, Jonas and Benedikt’s duties. They’re a great bunch of people.’

  ‘That’s because they respect you so much.’

  ‘I’m not sure about that,’ he’d muttered.

  ‘It’s true.’ I’d punched his arm. ‘Somehow the camp has got wind of Crocker & Crowley’s financial problems. They want to help. And apart from their fondness for you, none of them want to see Seagrass Conservation close.’

  Rick snuffled, rubbed his eyes and I moved backwards as he woke up. He’d never know that we’d been cuddling.

  ‘Morning,’ I said and sat up.

  He yawned. Looked around. ‘We’re making a habit of crashing out in each other’s company.’

  ‘Do you think that’s because we’re both crashing bores?’

  ‘Speak for yourself,’ he said haughtily and we laughed. ‘I didn’t sleep well. I’ve a nasty feeling Jason and his friends went exploring. I woke up in the middle of the night and heard laughter that faded away, and then distant shouts. I was too tired to get up and just hoped they wouldn’t get far without torches. I woke up again later. It was still dark. More laughter and then silence.’