‘Sure,’ Lockie says with a laugh.
‘I’m just doing my best, using what’s here,’ he replies. ‘Fish are practically volunteering to jump in the fire. I am looking for a goddess though…’
I pick at my portion, grateful it’s stopped my stomach from growling in complaint.
The disembodied voice of the island crackles through the speakers all of a sudden.
‘Islanders, there is something in the hatch. The first boy to get there wins a perk.’
There’s a beat of stillness. Then they’re off – well, Lockie and Ozzy are.
You’ve never seen true alpha chaos until you’ve watched two grown men, both part peacock, part toddler, race for a mystery box like it contains the one cure for a disease we all have.
Sand slings everywhere as they run, and they’re neck and neck for the most part.
Tony doesn’t even flinch. Just bats a lazy hand and keeps chewing.
‘I ain’t competing with those two in a race,’ he says. ‘I’d rather keep my dignity.’
‘You’re not going to run like a good boy?’ Camilla asks with a twisted smile.
‘You’d go mad if I called you a good girl,’ he replies.
‘I love being called a good girl,’ Honey adds in an overly sexy tone.
Camilla doesn’t look impressed – Tony does though.
Honey leans forward, watching Lockie and Ozzy go, tipping her head and biting her lip like it’s a Diet Coke break.
‘Oh my God. Look at them. They’re like… antelopes,’ she says. ‘But, like… well fit.’
‘Honestly, it’s embarrassing to watch,’ Camilla adds. ‘Respect to you, Tony, for not bothering.’
I don’t say anything. Mainly because I’m too busy watching them tear across the sand like they’ve been training for this moment all their lives, but also because I’m still very aware that we’re being filmed. I don’t want to be caught saying anything I’ll regret.
They’re neck and neck. Lockie’s longer strides eat up the ground, but Ozzy’s pure power. Every few seconds one pulls ahead, then the other.
Tony starts commentating, like it’s the Grand National.
‘Ozzy takes the lead, Lockie is hot on his heels, then Ozzy again, but Lockie’s right behind him, then Ozzy…’
They’re almost there when Ozzy does something superhuman. He digs deep, shoulders dropping, stride widening. He just… powers forward. Like he’s been storing a turbo boost in his calves for exactly this moment. Lockie tries to match him, but it’s too late. Ozzy slams a hand down on the hatch, claiming his prize.
‘And it’s Ozzy who wins,’ Tony announces.
Lockie arrives half a second later and bends over, his hands on his knees as he sucks in air like he’s been minutes without it.
Ozzy straightens up, catching his breath first, and pulls out an envelope, holding it up like a trophy. He jogs back, a little smug bounce in his step. Lockie trails after him, wiping sweat off his forehead with the back of his hand. He looks beat.
Ozzy stops by the firepit, holding the envelope proudly.
‘Well,’ he says, grinning, ‘that was invigorating. Bit of light exercise.’
Lockie collapses onto the sand with a dramatic groan.
‘That took at least a year off my life,’ he confesses. Well, there’s no point trying to pretend otherwise when you’re huffing and puffing and your face is kind of purple.
‘Good,’ Tony says, not looking up from his fish. ‘Much as I like you, mate, it means I might win the next one.’
