Page 95 of Shipwrecked

Mathieu splutters an objection.

“I’m okay,” I add, when Jules’s serious gaze doesn’t waver. “They shot me up with antivenom, and my fever’s gone. There’s tissue damage around the bite, but nothing I won’t recover from. You’re going to be out of commission longer than me.”

Jules studies the cast for a long time, then turns over his other hand, looking at his wrapped fingers. “Can you help me sit up?”

I grab the remote for the bed and press the button to get it upright. Mathieu opens a bottle of water and sticks a straw into it, holding it for Jules to drink. “This is going to be annoying,” Jules mutters. Then, as if a physical switch were flicked, his attention moves outwards. “Is everyone okay?”

Mathieu and I give him the rundown. At the mention of Darren’s quick getaway, his expression flickers, but that’s all the emotion he shows.

“We’re the last ones in the hospital,” I finish up. I was told I could go, but there’s no way I was going to leave Jules to wake up alone in a foreign country. Even if he’s changed his mind about a relationship, I’m getting him home and safe first. Though I’m hoping that Jules won’t feel differently about my offer to be that safety net he wants.

“I thought we’d book our flights together, and I can drive you to your place,” I suggest. My offer is selfish. I intend to make sure there’s neither sight nor sound of Darren, and he’s had the cop-on to get out of Jules’s apartment.

“I’d appreciate that.”

“And if you’re not against it, I’ll stick around for a little while? I’m not going to be heading straight back into work, and”—I gesture to his broken arm—“I’m told that happened saving my life. Maybe I can help with the showers.”

That brings a faint smile to Jules’s lips. His eyes linger on mine, with a question in them. Mathieu gives me a sidelong look, prompting me on. I understand what he was saying about courage. It’s easier to speak with him there.

“And about what you asked before I got sick—my answer’s yes. If you still want that.”

Jules’s eyes crinkle at the corners, and his lips curve into a slow smile. The tension in my chest releases.

Mathieu leans in towards Jules. “I told you he’d come around. We’ll think about it, Cillian, and let you know in a week our final decision.”

Jules makes an objecting noise. “Mathieu.”

Mathieu crosses his arms. “I want to help with showers,” he says, grumpily. His flight is booked for tonight, back to France.

“We can video chat for them,” Jules says.

Mathieu’s eyes widen. Jules is looking at him very earnestly. Taking Mathieu’s grumbling at face value and trying to make him feel better.

Mathieu, seeing that Jules isn’t messing with him, brightens. Alarm bells ring. Jules is going to let Mathieu get away with absolutely everything. I’m going to have to make sure I don’t. I vow I’ll make sure there’s a soap bottle placed perfectly, and all Mathieu will get to see will leave him frustrated across the channel.

And if he says please, I’ll move it.

Mathieu’s family come for him. None of them speak more than a word or two of English, but they seem warm and nice. Mathieu tells us both that they’ve invited us to come stay with them and kisses both me and Jules square on the mouth before dragging his feet and leaving.

It’s quiet after he’s gone. Jules doesn’t say much; he’s wrecked. Before I’m ready to move, Seán comes and gets me because our lift to the airport is there. I keep myself close to Jules every second of the trip home. Mathieu, having stolen a phone from one of his family members and having got the numbers of Seán’s parents, may as well have been right next to us. The phone never stops buzzing for a second.

Chapter Thirty-Three

Jules

Darren’s key is sitting on the ground inside the doorway, beneath the letterbox. Cillian picks it up, and I don’t comment. I’m still undecided about what to do about Darren. Part of me wants to report him. Part of me wants to wash my hands of him and forget he ever existed.

The rest of the apartment is how I left it. Small but tidy, it’s a one-person apartment. Two at a stretch. Three people and we’d be all on top of one another. As soon as the thought enters my head, I think of the hut we left behind and marvel at how quickly my perspective has changed. Compared to that, this place is downright luxurious.

Cillian makes me sit and sets about cleaning out the food that’s gone off, dumping everything straight into a bin bag and taking it outside so the smells don’t linger. I power up my laptop and begin to catch up on weeks of missed communications and a mother lode of messages. It’s slow going with bandaged hands.

I seem to have been contacted by every person I’ve ever met. One thread shows screenshots of what was on the news; pictures of everyone from our group, calls for funding for the rescue crew… It’s a mess. Somewhere in my emails are likely responses from the jobs I applied to before the trip, but I’m not going to find them now.

Cillian comes around the kitchen island behind me. He rests his hands on either side of my laptop. “I’m going to the shop. What would you like for dinner?”

I lean into his chest.

“There’s a pizza place across the road. I’d love a pizza right now. And a fizzy drink. Any kind.” The hospital would only let me drink water, and I was so queasy on the flight I didn’t even want that. The feeling of the ground disappearing beneath my feet… When I visit Mathieu in France, it’ll be by boat.