The Island (24 page)

‘No it's not.'

‘It's too risky. Don't you realise that if one of us gets injured, that's us finished?' He's really flushed now. ‘I'm going to train as a doctor –'

‘Well, you're not one yet.'

‘If I know one thing, it's that any injury, any accident, any disease we contract – we'll be done for, Frances.'

He scratches his head and, for a moment, I almost believe he's sincere and not some overbearing, full-of-himself posh boy who's too chicken to try the one way to get off the island.

‘Maybe I'll just swim then,' I say, just to annoy him. But the rocks beneath the cliff are swirling even on this calm day and I remember the iron grip of the rip current.

Rufus sighs. ‘I'm afraid the smoke signal's our only chance.'

I stand up so that he can't see my wet face. Raise my arms to dive back in.

‘Haven't you been listening to a word I've been saying? You can't dive here. You could hit your head and –'

His face is white even with his sunburn.

I let my arms fall.

‘And hadn't you better retrieve the spear?' he asks tightly.

Hadn't you better retrieve the spear?

‘Ooh, yes, silly me,' I say.

I scramble up to the very top of the rock where the spear is.

‘Oh dear,' I call. ‘It seems to be stuck.'

He swears. If you can call ‘oh bugger' swearing.

‘I might need some help up here. It's really wedged and I can't…don't want to break it…'

Rufus's head appears over a crag. I wait till he clambers over and is standing beside me. He can barely stand up straight because he keeps wanting to hold on to the rock for support.

‘Here,' I say.

He looks at the spear in my hand.

‘But it's not –'

And that's when I stumble into him.

‘Oops,' I say.

We both go over, dropping like birds into the waiting sea.

 

One More Time

His little feet are clenched around the edge of the tiles. Half-term holidays and the lido's screaming.

‘That's right, Monkey. You can do it.'

‘I'm not sure, Frannie.'

‘Sit down if you want. I'll catch you.'

‘I want to stand like the big kids.'

‘Well, I'm here waiting. See?'

I hold out my arms and the pool attendant smiles at us.

‘Back again?' he says.

We both watch Johnny.

He raises his arms and tucks in his head. Takes a deep breath and –

The pool man chuckles. ‘There he goes,'

‘
Well done
, Monkey.'

‘Like a bird. Lovely,' he says.

Monkey's in my arms; his little legs are kicking madly as he gasps.

‘I did it, Frannie.'

‘I know, Monkey.'

I kiss his wet head.

 

Water War

Everything's bubbles and swirls, a dream-world of whirling hair and kicking legs and the sweet-shock of the water.

Then we whoosh up to the surface, gasping.

I'm laughing; I can't help it. That was the biggest rush ever, and the sky's screaming-blue and my eyes are streaming.

‘Oh my God,
oh my God.
'

The rock soars above us, giddy-tall.

Beside me, Rufus is speechless.

Then he isn't.

‘You, you – absolute
shit.
'

‘You forgot “bitch”,' I tell him, treading water.

‘Why did you do that? After what I just said about danger and avoiding accidents, you decide, in your wisdom – because you know everything; Frances
frickin
Stanton knows
everything
about how to survive on this bloody island – to
push
me, when you know I don't like heights, and –'

‘
I know everything?
' I scream at him.

We're face-to-face now, hair streaming, and Rufus is still clutching the spear, face twisting.

‘
I
know everything?' I pant. ‘You're so patronising.' Once I've started, I can't stop. ‘You've been bossing me around, ordering me about since I came to your part of the island –'

‘That's rich. That's rich, coming from you. I've never known such an obstinate, wilful, intractable cow in my life. You're pig-headed –'

‘Me, pig-headed?'

‘Reckless.'

‘Anything else?'

‘Impetuous.'

‘Why do you always sound as if you've swallowed a dictionary?'

‘Cow-bag.'

‘Wanker.'

We're spitting words into each other's faces. His blue eyes are splinters and it's like the island's holding its breath, listening to us.

Rufus looks down at his hands, which are empty.

‘And now you've made me drop the sodding spear.'

We both look at the spear, which is drifting away from us, peacefully. Every so often it rolls, as if it's basking in the waves.

‘I'll get it.'

I dive under before he can stop me and I follow its shape, letting the sea absorb me into its wavering world.

I try my best, I really do. But it's kind of hard to seethe underwater.

Rufus ignores me when I get out of the water.

He's busy gutting the fish and doesn't look up.

Whatever.

I place the spear next to the other one and wonder whether I should go back to camp alone, but I'm not actually sure which path we took; there are several possibilities and I don't want to ask him.

Instead, I wander down to the end of the beach and potter round the rock pools. The sea sparkles teasingly and I wish, I
wish
I could get a boat and sail out, right to the horizon.

There are birds here, picking their way about the rock pools on long, red legs. They make a high piping sound and I know they're oystercatchers; I've seen stuffed ones in the Horniman Museum.

The real thing's better though. I sit watching them, trailing my hand through the palm shadows on the sand.

‘Ready?'

You forgot Cow-bag.

I get up and follow him, arms folded.

Follow the shadow of his headdress, which moves across the sand in long, flickering lines. Rufus is holding his flip-flops. His feet march purposefully along the edge of the sea.

OhmyGod. No.

‘
Stop
,' I cry.

He freezes. ‘What now?'

‘Do. Not. Move.'

I'm running now, heart flipping.

‘What is it?'

‘
Stay there
.'

He's frowning; thinks I'm playing another one of my tricks.

I shake my head; can't breathe. Make him look down at where I'm pointing.

At the monster in the sand.

 

Will It Get Us?

I know it's a monster 'cause me and Johnny used to scare each other about it in the Horniman Aquarium. One puncture from one of those spines and you'll never see tomorrow.

‘Go on, dare you.'

‘No. You do it, Frannie.'

‘I think the glass is cracked just there.'

‘Will the poison come out and get us?'

‘Yikes, I don't know. Shall I test it and see?'

‘Yes, yes. Go on, Frannie.'

Huffing his breath against the glass as I place my finger against the crack and pretend to die.

‘Hahaha. Again, again.'

 

Swapsies

‘Stonefish,' I pant.

We both look down at where I'm pointing.

Spines like barbs and big as a lobster, it's knuckling into the wet sand, trying not to be seen.

Rufus leaps back, breath hissing.

‘Christ. Bloody hell.'

‘I know,' I say.

We both peer down at it and Rufus prods it with his spear.

I shiver.

‘Well, thanks for, um, telling me.'

‘Better put your flip-flops on,' I say.

He nods, white between his freckles.

We walk back together, both inspecting the sand as we go.

The fish smells good.

Rufus does it a different way from me, placing the fillet on a flat stone in the coolest part of the fire. I don't care how it's cooked so long as I get to eat some of it.

My stomach growls.

Rufus clears his throat. ‘Listen, about what you did today…'

‘Let's forget it,' I say. I'm busy chopping limes. It's a relief to be using a properly made knife after my tin-lid one. I'm not so worried about losing my thumb.

‘No. I never thanked you properly.' He coughs. ‘I mean, you probably saved my life.'

Well, I
did
save your life. No ‘probably' about it.

‘Just forget it.'

The cooking fish hisses as Rufus talks.

‘It was my father who made me scared of heights. I was at boarding school…'

He's attacking an onion with the machete and I worry he'll have his hand off if he doesn't watch what he's doing.

‘Here – give me that,' I say.

His hand is trembling. I make him swap so he has the smaller knife.

‘I was seven or eight – I hadn't been at Gordonstoun long – and the masters took us to North Wales on an outdoor expedition course. We had to do orienteering and part of the route was up Mount Snowdon.'

‘Oh yeah?' I say.

‘As a treat for being the first ones to finish, we got to use the zip wire. I was last up and as I stood there, looking over the valley, I knew I couldn't do it.'

‘Why not?' I ask. I chop a chilli into tiny pieces, sucking in my breath as the fire goes straight into the cuts and sores I always seem to have on my fingers.

‘It was like my father all over again, when he used to make me do the monkey ropes –'

‘The monkey ropes? Jesus, were you brought up in a zoo or something? Didn't you ever, like, just sit down and watch a bit of telly?'

I think of the days and days doing just that with Cassie.

Rufus ignores me. He's gazing across his melon patch with a tortured look on his face. I take the knife off him.

‘“Higher, boy, higher,” he'd shout at me. “I'm not having a boy of mine acting like some sort of nancy boy.”'

Nancy boy?

For a moment it's like Rufus is seven years old again. I see the gangly kid he must have been, shivering as his father forced him up the tree or whatever the hell it was.

‘And the harness,' he blurts out. ‘It was so
tight.
I could hardly move my legs to climb, it was so hitched up.'

I look up at him. ‘So not only did you get shoved up a pole, you also had a massive wedgie?'

He blinks at me. ‘I'm sorry?'

I pass him the chilli and limes. ‘Never mind. At least your mum wasn't a dodgy old prossie.'

That makes him blush.

‘I'm sorry,' he says. ‘I suppose my problems must seem rather petty compared to what you had to put up with.'

‘I think the fish is done,' I say.

The fish is incredible.

Every single, limey, chillified, soft, flaky mouthful of deliciousness.

‘Unctuous,' Rufus says.

‘Definitely,' I agree. I have no idea what he's on about.

Pause.

‘So…swapsies?' he says.

‘You what?'

‘Swapsies. Now I've told you one of my stories about how messed up I am, you could tell me one of yours?'

I stare at him.

‘I mean, all I know is that you live with your mum and her boyfriend…' His voice trails off.

‘I don't think so,' I say.

I put my tin down and get up to stoke the fire.

 

Loan Shark

‘So what made you want to burn your school down? Didnae like it there or what?'

The Scottish policewoman has brought me a cup of tea. Her name is Christine, but she says to call her Chrissie.

‘She's landed herself in a bit of a mess, this one,' she tells Wayne. ‘She's not talking to me. I don't know if it's sunk in yet, what she's done.'

Wayne shakes his head. ‘I'm shocked – we all are. Don't know how I'm going to tell her mum. This one's always been difficult. You know what teenage girls are like.'

His hand's gripping my shoulder. I can feel his thumb pressing and rubbing.

‘What will happen to her?' he says.

Chrissie-the-police-officer looks serious. ‘There'll be a court hearing of course and, it being an arson attack, there's a serious chance of Frances being taken to a Young Offenders Institution. But it's her first offence, so…' She shrugs and Wayne makes a face.

‘What a mess,' he sighs, and Chrissie nods. I stare at the desk. There's a lipstick mark on Chrissie's mug. There's a plate with plastic packets of biscuits. They start talking about what action the school's taking; when the court hearing will be.

I still smell of smoke.

I wonder if Miss does too.

The police officer told me that Miss is in a coma. That she suffered burns, and did I know what that meant? How did I feel about what I'd done? The policewoman is nice, but her eyes tell me that she's shocked. She'd be appalled to have a daughter like me.

‘Well, I think that's all the paperwork done,' she says.

Wayne looks at her.

‘Anaïs Anaïs, am I right?'

She stares.

‘Sorry, sorry. It's a habit.' He smiles. ‘It's just that my old mum used to wear it. Reminds me of her, that's all. My favourite perfume.' Wayne sighs. ‘What are you like, eh?' he asks me.

He turns back to the policewoman. Thrusts out his hand. ‘Thanks for everything, Chrissie. I'd best be getting this one home now.' He shakes his head. ‘I don't know. Teenage girls.'

Christine-who-likes-to-be-called-Chrissie tucks a strand of hair behind her ear.

She's still looking after him as we leave.

And now we're in the car and the traffic's slowing down.

I've still got the biscuits the police officer gave me: a little plastic packet of bourbons. I hate bourbons; they always taste dusty and nothing at all like chocolate.