Something else stirred on the island too, a presence that sensed its time was coming. A sudden shift in the seasons. It churned the waves in the sea like a great invisible oar. It rattled the branches of the trees and hissed through their leaves. The birds flapped their wings and stopped singing for a few moments, as if steeling themselves for changes yet to come.
Chapter Fifteen
As the days passed, Marla found herself becoming accustomed to her new life in paradise. Whenever Adam dropped by with a food parcel, she imagined herself the Lady of the Manor and he the faithful servant. They drank coffee together outside the summerhouse and got to know a little more about one another. Adam was a business school dropout, who had gotten into the security profession after a brief stint as a volunteer at summer camps. Gradually, Marla opened up to Adam, regaling him with tales of her wilder days and nights in London. At points the conversation became a little muted, whenever Marla began to dwell on the past. She made a mental note to avoid sounding too maudlin in future—nobody likes a Moaning Minnie after all. But there was lots of laughter too, with Adam making fun of Marla’s “posh English accent” whenever he could. She enjoyed his easy humor, and his company in general, but after a time she began to feel there was a downside (isn’t there always). This was her thing; Marla was actually beginning to wonder if there was something “wrong” with her. Waiting for Adam to make a move was becoming something of a thankless task. She wasn’t enjoying the way his visits had descended into a routine indiscernable from the systematic list of chores she had to perform daily up at the house. The initial relaxation of her first few days on the island had turned into a kind of breathless tension—a cycle of expectation and disappointment that left her feeling very much like a tightly coiled spring. Mopping the huge expanse of kitchen floor at the house became an act of aggression and perhaps most disturbingly, Marla had begun chattering to herself like some insane old washerwoman. This wasn’t good, she’d decided, and so opted to visit Jessie in the hope of getting good and loaded on her secret stash—and to hell with the hangover.
“Ah, you’ve got cabin fever already,” said Jessie with an evil twinkle in her eye, “Pietro’s gonna be gloating, that bastard. He said you’d only last a week. I had you down for at least a month.”
“You were running a book on me?” asked Marla, incredulous.
“We sure were. In case you hadn’t noticed, which obviously you didn’t, us old timers went totally cabin a few months back. Wait and see, you’ll be placing bets on all kinds of things soon. One of the oldest forms of entertainment known to humanity, especially for sexy young human beings like us who are stuck on a rock without music, TV or books to keep them occupied!”
“I see. Well, maybe there’s an opportunity for me here. I’ll write the bloody books, then you and the Italian Stallion can read them…”
“Awesome. I like that plan.”
“For a fee.”
“Not awesome. See? You’re settling right in.”
Marla laughed. Finally some of the tension was dissipating. She had been taking herself far too seriously these past few days.
“Does it get any easier? The isolation, I mean.” There was an upward curve to her voice as she mouthed the question. It ended on a hopeful note.
“No. Not really.”
Marla’s face fell again, hope shattered.
Jessie placed a comforting hand on her shoulder.
“Look, you just have to be creative about how you spend your time. That’s all.”
“I did have a long walk over to the beach, met Pietro at his place, it was really lovely.”
“Yes, I saw him yesterday too. He said he’d met you. Listen, you’re a big girl Marla, so I don’t need to tell you to be careful of that one. Hey, was he complaining about not being allowed to go swimming in the sea again?”
Marla nodded.
“Oh I wish he’d change the damn record.”
“It’s his passion though, isn’t it?”
Jessie scoffed. “One of them, maybe.” Her smile shrank. “But anyway, the lovely island walks, they soon get old.”
“I really can’t imagine that.”
“Oh, you can’t imagine it now. Just like you couldn’t imagine booking into the Cabin Fever Motel when you first arrived here—trust me, everything reaches boredom point here. The question is; what can we do about it? What can we possibly do to liven things up around here?”
She looked pointedly at Marla, who was now feeling like a school kid who’d been caught staring out of the window. Her mouth fell open, dumbly.
“Secret party. That’s how.”
“Beg your pardon?”
“That’s how we liven things up. With a fucking party. And you dear—well, I need your help to pull it off. How’s your yoga?”
“My yoga?”
“Yeah. Ever indulged?”
“No, well I went to a pilates class once, but…”
“Follow me, look and learn. Come on, the lawn awaits.”
Marla plummeted towards the ground again, as her belly dipped causing her legs to give way. As her outstretched palms skidded across the grass, she tried to twist her head to one side and ended up rolling onto a garden sprinkler. Arching her back and sitting up painfully, Marla rubbed her lower back with one hand. It was very tender where she’d pivoted onto the sprinkler valve. Both her hands were stained green from the grass and began to sting furiously with friction burning. Yoga, it seemed, was not very relaxing.
The complicated move that Jessie had assured her was “beginner-level stuff” was called “Downward Dog”. Marla honestly thought “Collapsing Cow” would be more apt a description. Jessie did too, clearly, as she spent the next five minutes rolling around with laughter on the lawn watching Marla fail. Her student gave up, lying back down on the soft grass breathless, remembering to avoid the sprinkler head this time round.
“Giving up already?” Jessie was still laughing.
“I’m glad to be the source of so much amusement,” Marla said dryly as Jessie lay down next to her, shielding her eyes from the sun with a saluting hand.
“You’ll get the hang of it. Takes practice, that’s all. Just wait ’til I show you ‘The Wheel’.”
Whatever “The Wheel” was, it sounded downright painful and Marla wanted no part of it. She rubbed at the tender spot in her back and quickly changed the subject.
“Are you serious about what you said earlier—about throwing a secret party?”
“Deadly serious.”
“Who would we invite?”
Jessie gave her a stern look.
“Jesus, you’re so transparent. You can invite Adam if you want, I think we can trust him. But none of the others, especially Anders—he’s a total slime.”
“Where would we have the party? The houses are off-limits right? And the rule about gatherings—Fowler was pretty adamant about that.”
“The whole point of having a party is to stick it to The Man. And where there’s a will, there’s a way.” Jessie lowered her voice. “There’s a mansion on the other side of the island, around the coastline from Pietro’s place but off the beaten track, surrounded by huge old trees. We call it The Big House.”
“The Big House?”
“Damn straight. The place is fricking massive, and really cool, it looks like the oldest house on the island. Thing is, it’s all locked up with shutters and shit. The security defenses are all computerized. I’d love to find out what’s so precious they lock it up in there.”