Instinctively he and I edged nearer to each other – safety in numbers. Even if there were only two of us who had sense enough to realise this place was a death zone. Tropical insects? In my job I was used to dealing with bedbugs. Sometimes scabies mites. Or woodworm. Occasionally fleas if someone had smuggled a pet in. But anything bigger than those creatures…
‘We are lucky enough to have several types of tarantulas,’ said Jackie.
‘I can’t wait to spot one,’ said Helga.
‘Lucky?’ I said, folding my arms as if to protect myself.
‘They are actually reclusive little things…’ Jackie shot me a smile. ‘There are scorpions too, but you don’t need to worry. In all my years working here I’ve never heard of anyone getting stung.’
A lump formed in my throat at her soft tones. Apart from Jonas, Jackie was the only person who suspected this island was my idea of hell. She announced she’d be back in five with some complimentary reusable drinking water containers. It was hardly the champagne welcome I’d expected. Everyone made their way into their shacks.
But to unpack? Not likely. Firstly, my suitcase would remain zipped tightly shut to keep out any creepy crawlies. Secondly, there was no point. I wouldn’t be staying. This was all a terrible mistake. And I’d been so looking forward to being pampered. Tears welled but I blinked them back.
‘You didn’t know exactly what kind of holiday this was going to be?’ said Jonas as we walked back to our shacks. ‘That’s tough.’
‘That’s a generous use of the word holiday,’ I said, trying to keep my voice steady.
He shook his head. ‘The only bugs I am used to are the ones I come across in my computer. What if we get bitten? A bite might paralyse my arm. I’ve got my music to think of.’
‘You’re serious about your guitar?’
His eyes lit up. ‘Yes. I was in a band at uni and—’
‘Sarah! Let’s get settled in our shack,’ called Helga and she waved. She was already on the steps, Amy not far behind her.
‘Why did I agree to this?’ muttered Jonas. ‘I’ve no idea how I’ll get to sleep, tonight. What if a snake gets in?’
I hadn’t thought about that.
‘At least you and I can moan to each other about those sorts of things, right?’ he said. ‘Helga doesn’t understand. She thinks I’m weak.’ Jonas sighed. ‘See you later,’ he mumbled and headed over to Benedikt.
I reached our shack and went in. Helga took the upper bunk on the left. Amy asked me if I wanted top or bottom on the right.
I stared at the sleeping bags. There was no pretty throw, nor carefully placed array of plump cushions. Instead of a centimetre of plush carpet beneath my feet there was hard, unpolished wood. I wasn’t a diva. Goodness knows I’d made do with the basics when I’d first left home, living at the grotty bed and breakfast. There had been hairs in the bedding and mould in the shower.
I pursed my lips and focused on the situation in hand. The narrow bed. The suffocating atmosphere. The thing was, I’d worked hard for a better standard of living. A rest from work wouldn’t be found in turning time backwards.
I spun around and hotfooted it outside.
Amy followed. ‘Sarah? Where are you going?’
‘I’m sorry. I can’t do this.’
7
‘Look at me,’ I said to Amy. ‘I paint my nails. And eyebrows. I even iron my socks. I’m just not cut out living in the wilds. I played along when you first told me – thought it was one of your practical jokes.’ Deep breaths. ‘You stay. Enjoy yourself. It’ll be more fun without my complaints about bugs and humid nights.’ I kissed Amy on the cheek, already feeling better. ‘Why not ring Holly at work? Perhaps she’d like to join you here for a couple of weeks and take my place. She’d only have to buy an air ticket.’
Her cheeks turned blotchy. ‘But I booked this place especially for you. For us. Quality time away from our London lives. You and me, together, making a difference.’
‘You really booked it forme?’
‘What’s that supposed to mean?’
‘Nothing.’ I sighed. ‘Ignore me. I’m just feeling out of sorts.’
Amy folded her arms and tilted her head. She’d done that as long as I could remember. It was her way of extracting an answer to a difficult question. Like when I was about ten and once scoffed the last piece of her Easter chocolate, thinking it wouldn’t be missed, telling myself thatmeeating it would be better forherteeth.
‘It’s just… I’m not the David Attenborough fan who works with animals.’ I tried to keep my voice sunny.
