Even the two attendants who man the terminus are closing up. “Last ferry for the night, love,” one of them says in a strange accent as he mounts a bicycle and pedals away.
“You a’right, Miss?” the other attendant asks on his way out.
“Yes, fine thank you.” I walk out to the forecourt in front of the terminus to wait.
The hotel offered to send someone to meet me because La Canette doesn’t do taxis here, or cars of any kind. So, I wait in the gathering dusk for the tuk-tuk, or flying saucer, or whatever transport the hotel people are sending. La Canette has no streetlights either. Something to do with eliminating light pollution to allow the stars to shine. For God’s sake, what kind of city runs without cars in this day and age? It seemed like such a fascinating detail when researching the island from the comfort of a warm, well-lit home in London. Now, in the gathering dark, chilly, middle of nowhere, it’s starting to feel like a huge mistake.
I try calling the hotel but the email with their contact details won’t download without internet. I keep pulling the screen down to refresh, again and again, but my carrier doesn’t recognise the local network and can’t pick up not even a ghost of a 5G signal, or 4G, or even 1G.
The ferry blows a loud horn as it sails away. Despite the sea sickness still gripping my tummy, I wish with all my heart I was still on it going to England, to France, to anywhere with civilisation. Somewhere familiar. Anywhere before the time when I was called “Trapper the Slapper.”
It was starting to dawn on me that I’m alone. The urgency of the last two weeks, the shock, the worry about Clive, all of it camouflaged the fact I was losing almost everything that really mattered to me.
It starts to rain. Not much, just a gentle drizzle. Enough to make my hair frizzy and my clothes clammy.
“Are you all right?” A tall man walks toward the terminus.
I quickly wipe the tears off my face. “Yes, I’m fine. Just waiting for someone.”
He regards me for a moment longer then walks a few steps toward the locked gates into the terminus. “Hello?” He calls through the metal bars.
“They’re closed.” I call out to him.
He checks his watch and huffs in exasperation. “I have a parcel to pick up.” He takes out his phone to shine the flashlight at the sign with opening times. “Bugger. Seven in the morning.”
His accent is London or possibly Home Counties. The familiar rounded vowels are oddly comforting in this strange, lonely place.
As he turns to walk back from the gates, I screw my courage and ask, “Excuse me, do you happen to know how I could get to Bright Cove Hotel?”
“Vaguely.” He frowns uncertainly. “I’m new here.”
I hate asking strangers for help, but this place is short on options. In all likelihood, this man is the last person walking this way until seven in the morning.
“I’m sorry to bother you, but my phone won’t work here and I’m trying to call the hotel. They were supposed to pick me up. Maybe I could just walk there.”
His gaze takes in my suitcase. “I can’t make calls, either. That was my new network router in the parcel.” He tips his head toward the terminus. “But I should be able to call up Google Maps.” He taps his screen a couple of times. “Bright Cove, did you say?”
“Yes.”
Using his fingers to expand the view and pan to right and left. “Aha, there it is.”
Thank God.
Then he looks up, and even in the near dark, his expression is troubled. “I don’t think you can walk there. It’s at the other end of the island. Two hours on foot.”
It would take more than a two-hour walk to defeat me. And the exercise would warm me a bit. At least, I’d be doingsomething,not just standing here like a helpless Cinderella waiting for her fairy godmother to magic up a carriage. “I can’t stay here.”
“Indeed not.” He comes over to my side and picks up the suitcase. “Come on, you can stay with me tonight.”
Not so fast, Mister.“I don’t think so.” I grab for the handle while quashing down the surge of fear. He’s a tall man with wide shoulders, and his grip on the suitcase handle is strong, but that’s no reason to let him intimidate me.
“I’ve done plenty of martial arts and self-defence. So, unless you want a bloody nose, you’ll let go.”
He puts the suitcase down and removes his hand. I quickly wheel it closer to my leg.
“I’m sorry if I frightened you.”
“Apology will be accepted as soon as you walk away.” My voice sounds stronger than I feel. And to think a moment ago, I was desperate not to be left alone.
