“Now, Kyle, if you just kneel next to Amber, and gently put the arm nearest to you up at a right angle…”
I felt his fingers touch my skin and I almost jolted away at the shock of it. His hands were warm, his skin a little rough. He picked up my hand and put it back onto the earth. I breathed in as deeply as I could. I realized this was the first time a guy had ever held my hand…and he was putting me into the recovery position. I was pathetic.
“That’s good…now pick up her other hand and place it onto her cheek. The side of her face that’s nearest to you.”
I braced myself for the physical contact this time, but it still felt stupidly nice as he touched me again.
“You all right there, patient?” Kyle asked softly. I opened one eye up at him, hardly able to see him against the sun.
“This is really helping my hangover,” I whispered, and he laughed.
Kevin tutted. “Come on, Amber, you’re supposed to be unconscious.”
I closed my eyes again and let his words flow over me, making myself floppy so Kyle could manoeuvre me easily.
I didn’t need to be taught how to do the recovery position.
I’d had to do it myself, on my mum. When I was thirteen and Dad dared to go away for the weekend and leave us. She’d passed out on the kitchen floor and I was worried she’d choke on her vomit. I’d had to Google it, and follow the directions of a YouTube video.
I never told Dad what happened though… In case this was the thing that tipped him over the edge. The thing that made him leave.
Didn’t matter. He left anyway. Less than a year later. Wrenching me with him.
Later I’d figured out he’d been with Penny that weekend.
SITUATIONS THAT ARE DESTINED TO FAIL:
A webcam
+
My sunburn
+
The slowest internet connection EVER
Eight
Evie and Lottie waved madly at me – Lottie jumping up and down with excitement.
“Hello, traveller,” they called. “We are here from Planet Skype, to serve your insatiable need for sarcasm.”
I wanted to reach into the computer monitor and yank them both through the screen, dragging them into America with me. I was sitting in the corner of Kevin’s cabin, sweating into my vest-top and feeling so far away from them. It had been a HORRID day of training. Horrid mainly due to my honking hangover combined with lectures on pus and blisters and blood. I’d given myself a break – for aftersun application, and much-needed girlie catch-up time.
“I miss you guys so much!” I yelled, jumping in my chair, high off seeing them.
Lottie and Evie beamed back. Their faces were all pixelated and smudgy. Lottie’s eyes were just two black holes. The slow connection obviously couldn’t adequately process her copious amounts of eyeliner.
“We miss you too.” Lottie’s voice warped in the high pitch of her squeal. “Though your face scares me. I want to courier an industrial vat of aftersun over to you.”
I touched my burned red face sheepishly. I could feel the heat from it on the back of my hand.
“I promise, on all of the Buddhas, that I used factor 50. I just didn’t realize I’d have to apply it every ten minutes.”
Lottie burst out laughing.
“Hey, it’s not funny. It hurts!”
“Oh, but it is.”
“You still look beautiful,” Evie said. “… It matches your hair.”
“HEY!”
They both giggled themselves into a frenzy and I had to sigh and wait it out.
“So how ARE you?” Lottie demanded, after she’d recovered. Her hair was all scooped up on top of her head and she pushed her kohl-covered eyes right up into the webcam. “What the blazes is happening over there in America? You having fun?”
I nodded. Shook my head, then nodded again.
“Uh oh,” Lottie said. “Tell me everything.”
This was why I loved them – their constant ability to know when something was up. “No, it’s great,” I said semi-honestly. “It’s so pretty here, and all the other counsellors are okay. REALLY American, but friendly and stuff. I’ve had basic training all day. In the sun, as you can see… The children aren’t arriving until tomorrow…”
Evie pushed towards the screen. “How about things with your mum?” she asked quietly.
I did my nod-shake thing again.
“Okay. Well, not really. But not bad, it’s so weird…” I trailed off. “Is it okay if we don’t talk about it?”
They looked at each other and nodded.
I changed the subject. “Did I tell you they made me get resuscitated by people? With a hangover! I thought I was going to die. Last night there was this welcome campfire party and I drank too much. A headache in altitude is, like, worse than listening to Joel’s band with a migraine.”
They laughed. Joel’s this guy from back home, the boyfriend of Evie’s old best friend, Jane. He’s in the world’s worst band ever – death metal, with added lack of talent.
“So…” Lottie’s head loomed close again. “Have you met any American HUNKS?”
I rolled my eyes.
“I hope you saw that eye-roll. It is destined for you. Never has an eye-roll been so destined for you.”
Lottie pretended to catch it, like it was a blown kiss. “What? I’m only asking.”
“Well, yes. There are American guys here. Some could be classified as ‘hunks’, I guess…” Water sports guy would definitely qualify. Maybe Kyle. Though we’d spent all of training today talking about how he loved reading biographies – that wasn’t typically “hunky”.
“I want a hunk!” Lottie said. “I’m getting on a plane now.”
My stomach dropped, even though I knew she was joking. If Lottie was here, all the “hunks” would’ve swarmed to her – like bees to a honeypot made of the juice of a thousand genetically-modified rose petals.
Evie interrupted, with reason as always.
“Amber’s not there to go boy hunting though, is she? She’s there to see her mum.” Evie sighed. “Anyway, aren’t we supposed to be having a Spinster Club meeting? Isn’t objectifying men as ‘hunks’ slightly counterproductive?”
Lottie and I smiled at each other through the webcam.
“Right you are, Evie,” I said. “What’s the topic of discussion for today? It has to be quick. They’re threatening another campfire later.”
Evie’s head ducked down and reappeared with some notes. “I thought I’d choose a transatlantic theme.” She coughed, in a fake announcement. “Ladies: America or England – which is the most sexist country?”
I grinned and Lottie gasped. “You can’t do that, Evie!”
“Why not?” Evie asked.
“Because America and England aren’t allowed to battle each other. We’re, like, proper mates. We watch the same TV and fought together in World War Two.”
“That’s why I picked it,” Evie said. “Because we think we’re so similar. It would be too easy a fight if we compared England to, say, I dunno, a super repressed country where women can’t go to school or vote, or drive or whatever.”
I nodded. “Makes sense to me.”
Lottie shrugged. “Okay, then. Fine. Break the special relationship.”
“I will.” Evie shuffled her cards. “So, Amber, as you’re over there, you have to argue America’s corner. Lottie, you can defend the UK. And I’ll flit about in the middle of the debate being Switzerland.”
Lottie put her hand up, like she was in school. “Okay okay okay, I’ve got the perfect start. The UK is better at feminism because we’ve had a female prime minister.”
I wrinkled my nose. “Does Margaret Thatcher count? She hated the word ‘feminist’ and basically only had men on her cabinet.”
“At least she had the right junk,” Lottie argued.
“Is that what we’re calling genitalia now? Junk?”
“Okay, she HAD A MASSIVE VAGINA.” And we all crumpled into laughter. Just as I was about to point out that gender is so much more than biology, I heard the door of the cabin slam. I jumped.