It was killing me.
Every damn day, I died a little more. I craved a little harder. I dreamed a little deeper.
I’m pathetic.
I’d given my heart to this woman, against my wishes and common sense, and slid further down the slippery slope into love-lust. And she didn’t love-lust me back. Not the way I needed her to.
Hey, that was life. We crashed landed. Why did I ever think I would find a silver lining?
When I didn’t respond, she returned to massaging her lower back.
“Want me to get that for you?” I smirked, hiding everything I would never say.
She smiled softly. “I’m good. Thanks, though.”
She didn’t even want a platonic massage from a friend.
Why do I even bother?
I moved away. “Conner.” My bark came out firmer than I’d intended. “Give me that damn animal and give Pippi a break. Let’s make dinner.”
Dinner.
Thank hell for something other than clams.
Pippa charged to my side and curled her arm around my hips. “Don’t let him touch me with that.”
Having her little body snug against mine hurt my blackened heart. Ducking to her level, I crushed her to me. I didn’t care if I came across as a psycho. I just wanted a hug.
She froze, not used to such embraces from me. Tentatively, she squeezed me back. Her lips smashed on my bearded cheek. “Love you, G.”
I ruffled her hair. “Love you, too.”
Estelle watched the entire thing.
Let her watch.
Standing, I didn’t give on that it hurt just as much when Pippa left as it had when she’d hugged me. I was in a weird headspace and needed some time to sort my mess out.
Grabbing the octopus from Conner, I hobbled to the fire and unsheathed the Swiss Army knife.
Estelle followed me. “How on earth did you catch that thing?”
“Teamwork.”
“Is it safe to eat?”
“Safe as any squid you’ve ever had.” I struggled to sit down. I couldn’t wait until I could bend and not have to put my leg straight out in front of me with the damn splint.
“We’re going to eat that?” Pippa’s eyes widened. “But it has tento—tenta—tenttoplicles.”
“They’re called tentacles and yes. It’s delicious.” I laughed as she scrunched up her face.
Conner poked the dead animal on my lap. “It’s going straight in my stomach. Don’t care what it tastes like. I’m starving.”
I grinned. “Proud of you, Co. We’ll have a feast tonight thanks to your hunting skills.”
He opened his mouth to argue, but I shushed him. The logistics didn’t matter. He’d worked hard, and this was his triumph, not mine.
Infectious anticipation spread through the camp, turning everyday drudgery into excitement. Everyone crowded around me as I used the knife to cut off the head. Next, I cut the eight tentacles into sections and handed them over to the children to take to the sea to wash.
It needed to be tenderised, but I couldn’t be assed. And I was sure there were many ways to cook such a delicacy, but all I could come up with was kebabs.
Once cleaned, I skewed the rubbery meat onto four sticks and passed them to my stranded family. “Dinner.”
Estelle smiled gratefully. “Thank you.”
“Don’t thank me. Thank Conner.”
She redirected her smile. “Thanks, Co.”
He glanced at me before grinning. “No sweat.”
Instead of taking a place by the fire, Estelle’s eyes clouded, looking behind her at the undergrowth.
What’s her problem?
“You know what?” She passed her octopus stick to Pippa. “You cook for me. I’ll be back in a moment.”
“What? Why?” I stood awkwardly, brushing sand from my ass. “Where are you going?”
“Umm, nothing. Just...give me a sec.” She padded up the beach and into the trees.
I stared after her. Either she had to use the facilities or there was something she wasn’t telling me.
Who was I kidding? There was a lot she wasn’t telling me.
I tried to put it out of my mind while the kids shoved their kebabs into the fire and I taught them the best way to chargrill an octopus, but I couldn’t.
I hated that she hadn’t opened up to me. I hated that I still knew nothing about her.
That’s because the price of her past comes with demanding yours.
And I wasn’t ready to spill that can of dirty worms.
Finally (not that much time had passed) Estelle returned, slightly sheepish, slightly afraid, but mostly defiant.
I frowned. “What do you have behind your back?”
She came forward, still keeping it hidden. “Now...before you spaz out, listen to me.”
My spine stiffened as every muscle seized. “Spaz out? Why the hell would I ‘spaz out?’ I don’t spaz out.”
She pinned me with a ‘yeah right’ look. “Because you’re protective and won’t like what I’m about to say.”
My fist curled tighter around my stick. “Go on.”
“A couple of weeks ago, I ate one of the leaves that passed the scratch test.”
I sucked in a breath. Christ almighty, she had a death wish. That was all I could think of because eating foreign material was a sure way to kill yourself.
I couldn’t speak.
Estelle took that as a sign to keep going. Pulling a haphazardly woven basket from behind her back, she revealed a thicket of mismatched leaves.
More than one type.
A damn salad full with some knobbly looking potato things hidden below.
I glowered. “How many?”
She ducked her eyes. “Four so far.” Glancing at the kids, she added, “I’ve sampled each one every day for the past week to see if my system could handle it long term. I wouldn’t give anything to you guys unless I was sure it was edible.” She shrugged, seeming smaller and less certain. “We needed something to supplement our diet with...well, now we do.”
I wanted to throw my damn octopus stick at her. I wanted to grab her and kiss the bloody daylights out of her. I wanted to scream and yell and get on my knees and thank her for being brave enough to do something so selfless.
“I can’t believe you.” My growl hid my true thoughts. “I can’t believe you went behind my back.”
She flinched. “I know. I’m sorry. But I was willing to take the risk. Like I said, it’s my body—” She cut herself off, rolling her shoulders. “Anyway, I figured we have a great dinner tonight, so let’s make it even better with a salad. And if we can figure out how to prepare the taro...that’s another element of food we can enjoy.”
“Yay!” Pippa jumped up and down. “Yum. Gimme.” Her hand disappeared into the basket, and before I could yell, stuffed a few leaves into her mouth.
“What the hell did she just eat?” My question was for Estelle, but Pippa answered with her mouth full. “Rabbit food.”
Estelle looked at me from beneath lowered eyes. “It’s sharper and more bitter than what we’ve eaten before, but we’ll get used to it. Not to mention, there’s an endless supply if we grow to like the taste.”
“I like it.” Pippa reached for another handful. “I like it better than clams.”
Conner wrinkled his nose but accepted a glossy leaf as Pippa practically shoved it in his mouth.
He chewed hesitantly.
I waited until he swallowed. “Well?”
He raised an eyebrow. “Not as bad as I thought.”
Pippa rushed to grab the salt and a few coconut shards that we’d sliced that afternoon. Sprinkling the white flesh over the salad and a small pinch of seasoning, she grinned. “Mummy taught me everything tastes better with salt.”
What an odd kid.
Estelle caught my eye. She wouldn’t relax until I gave my permission. And when she looked at me that way, how could I not give it?
She played every chord on my heart like a dam
n maestro.
Shedding my annoyance, I nodded. “I won’t forgive you for doing something so reckless behind my back. But I won’t refuse to eat it if you say it’s safe. I trust you and won’t waste your sacrifice.”
She exhaled with huge relief.
Having her emotions tied intrinsically to my happiness was yet another hint that she’d lied about only wanting to be friends.
Well, she knew where I lived if she changed her mind.
Forcing a grin for the kids, I clapped. “I guess tonight’s menu no longer just features an octopus.
“Let’s tuck in.”
Chapter Thirty-Three
...............................................
E S T E L L E
......
Why? Why do you do this to me? Why can’t I fight it? Why do you entice me so? Why can’t I ignore it?
Why do I have to be so strong?
You want me. I want you.
Together, we’re right.
Apart, we are wrong.
But is it worth the consequences if we give into this song?
Lyrics to ‘Why’ Taken from the notepad of E.E.
...
TWELVE WEEKS
(December)
ONCE WITHIN A song, a girl had everything stripped away in an instant. But in nothing, she found the value of something far more precious.
The night we had octopus was a changing point for us.
Galloway never mentioned me sampling the foliage for food and never refused the leaves I deemed fine to consume. We soaked the taro for a few days and tossed away the water before double boiling to ensure whatever toxins existed were no longer harmful.
Trial by trial, knowledge by knowledge, we all learned new skills. It wasn’t a conscious decision (although I did my best to advance my understanding on a daily basis) but evolution taking control to ensure our survival.
Things I’d never paid attention to suddenly became useful: the skinny vines hanging like streamers in the trees became natural string. The large taro leaves became handy pouches and coverings for our slowly growing larder of food. We threaded the vertebrae and discarded bones from our dinners on string to create wind chimes, composing music in the breeze, or slightly morbid jewellery for Pippa.
The island had stripped everything away, but in return, it’d given us new choices. Choices that held so much more importance than internet browsing or television channels.
Here...our concerns had whittled down to one: surviving.
As long as we achieved fire, warmth, food, and companionship...we were winning at this new life. No matter the stress of abandonment and constant wondering if we were lost forever, we had each other and that was priceless.
Conner’s success (thanks to Galloway) with the octopus, invigorated him to keep improving his spearing skills and most days (admittedly after hours of lunging and sometimes defeat) he came home with a fish.
If he wasn’t so lucky, he returned with other morsels. He produced an eel last week, which was almost as terrifying as the dead sea snake, a large crab two days ago that gave each of us a mouthful of delicious flesh, and yet more clams.
Between the food from the sea and the salad from the forest, we curbed our hankering for variety, but we couldn’t confuse our taste buds into wanting more flavour.
I craved seasoning other than salt. I would’ve given away every basket I’d woven just for a bottle of peach iced tea. I’d even donate my semi-successful flax blanket for a heavenly sip of chilled apple cider.
The other night, Galloway had been discussing the children’s birthdays as Pippa was turning eight soon. He’d let it slip that his was only a few weeks after hers.
I’d hoped rescue would be their gift. However, if fate wasn’t that kind, I had plans to make the softest, comfiest blanket I could for both of them.
My technique of rotting the strands until they were pliable worked. The overall result gave us something to drape without being stiff and scratchy. And I’d already thought up new ways on how to refine the concept with scraping the filaments before soaking, thrashing them, bruising them. Experiments that would hopefully yield something better.
Apart from the overheard conversation, we didn’t discuss our previous lives often. Some unspoken agreement existed that those memories would only depress us, and for now...we were different people (stranded, wild, and entirely dependent on the land) and no longer city dwellers with bankcards or phone numbers.
It didn’t mean I stopped believing in gift giving and appreciation. The past month, Galloway had morphed from my friend into my confidant, rock, and brother. The way he watched me with cobalt-blue arrows ensnared my heart until it beat only for him.
Most days, he hid his dark pain, smiling and interacting, showing only a muscular islander with long chocolate hair, sable eyelashes, and a mouth that entranced me whenever he talked.
But some days, he looked as if he’d been up all night drinking, hung over with whatever he’d done in his past, buried beneath guilt and disgrace. Those days, I fell for him more. Because those days made me see the truth.
He wasn’t just a man. He wasn’t the tatty clothes he wore or the unkempt emotions he hid. He was mine. And I wanted him more than anything.
But not once had he forced me to face my feelings. He no longer avoided me. He chatted with me, laughed with me, discussed new ways to harvest water and store supplies. He walked with me (or rather limped with me) on nights I wanted to stroll with no messy undertones and helped with chores with no anger or hidden contempt.
He was the perfect gentleman.
But one thing was missing.
I wasn’t proud of my actions. I hated myself for turning him down with no explanation. But I couldn’t help it. I’d denied myself what I wanted. Not because of some stupid decision, but because of a bonafide fear of getting pregnant. Despite the length of time here, my periods hadn’t stopped. I could still give birth.
Maybe once they stop?
But they might never stop. We might scavenge and hunt enough that my body never ceased being fertile.
Galloway didn’t know my fears, and my terror didn’t stop me from growing wet or watching him every second I could. Some mornings, I’d pretend to be asleep just to catch a glimpse of his morning erection as he stood. I gawked when he came out of the ocean in his black boxer-briefs, and one day, when I’d been in the tide with Conner and Pippa and he’d been on his own up the beach, I’d caught him naked, slipping commando into his board-shorts. The size and shape of him had clenched my core until I could’ve come with the slightest touch.
The throbbing desire drove me mad. I became tongue-tied whenever he was near because all I could think of was sex, sex, sex.
I’d tried to hug him the night we ate octopus and told ghost stories around the fire. I’d gathered the courage to touch him as a friend and hoped I was strong enough to keep it platonic.
But when I’d leaned in, he’d backed away, pouring acid on my wounds with a small shake of his head and a glow in his eyes that destroyed me.
Friends to him was no touching, no spilling of secrets, no talking of our pasts or dreams. Friendship to him was plodding through life, making tools for the camp, and ensuring we had enough food for another day.
I grieved for the ruined opportunity but stood firm on not risking our livelihood.
So far our existence worked. The sun shone and our island kept us provided for.
However, that wasn’t the case the past few days.
The sun had vanished, swallowed up by gunmetal grey clouds and a constant drizzle. Everything we owned became saturated—including ourselves—and we had nowhere to go for shelter.
Last night, we’d tried to sleep in the forest, hoping the trees would protect us, but it was useless.
During daylight, we did what was necessary: collected rainwater, hunted for another day’s ration, and carved a few twigs into chopsticks so we’d finally have utensils to use after so long with just our fingers.
/> But none of it made us happy.
We existed in foggy soup, lethargic and sad, staring at the sky, begging the sun to return.
My phone took forever to charge because there were no solar rays, so we had no distraction or photo entertainment; our emotions turned downtrodden. Would we ever get off this piece of dirt? Would we ever live in a city again? Would Conner and Pippa ever come to terms with their loss and live a normal life with school and friends and parties?
I spent most days by the water’s edge, glaring out to sea, battling with depression and the constant swinging emotions of incurable positivity and debilitating wretchedness.
Everyone was so brave. I hated that I was weak enough to miss home, miss toilets and roofs and restaurant-cooked meals.
Desolation built slowly but surely, drawing power from my desire to keep going. I wasn’t proud to admit it, but some days, I wanted to throw myself into the ocean and swim
swim
swim.
Swim until I found someone to save us and pretend none of this was real.
But I couldn’t.
I had children who relied on me, and it was their blind faith that Galloway and I could protect them that stuffed the cloud of grief back into its padlocked box and allowed me to smile and create and pretend that this was just an adventure and not the rest of our godforsaken lives.
I did my best to teach the children on the afternoons when we rested beneath our tree. But I hadn’t applied myself at college and Galloway was cagey about his education. We weren’t scholars and I failed in teaching algebra and trigonometry when I barely remembered my own schooling.
I groaned, doing my best to get comfortable in the damp sand. The day had ended and the sky had darkened. The stars couldn’t shine, hiding their brilliant sparkle in the mist.
My bones ached and our fire spluttered and wheezed as drizzle did its best to slowly suffocate it.
For two days, we’d barely moved from the meagre warmth of the flames, waiting for the weather to switch and greyness to pass.
I’d had enough.
We couldn’t let sadness infect us.
Once we did, it would be all over.
“Come on.” I stood up, swatting at my sandy legs. “We’re doing something.”