At first, Monica thought she heard footsteps ahead of her, Jessica's footsteps as she ran to keep ahead, but soon the echoes multiplied, until it sounded like many running with her towards the ship. With each step she felt the plants wrapping around her feet, like the fingers of many hands clawing at her as they gave chase. Yet, at no point did she actually see Jessica. After a few minutes Monica had to slow to catch her breath, and though the air continued to race by her, none of it wanted to fill her lungs. She gasped, trying to get her breath back, and for a moment forgot about Jessica and her betrayal. Monica panted, her hands on her knees, waiting for the stars in her eyes to clear.
The storm clouds were turning the sky into night, and the path became more difficult to follow, but it didn't matter. The island was small, and Monica knew as long as she headed straight ahead, she would end up where she needed to be.
She wiped the sweat from her forehead. Why was she running? Jessica's plan had failed, Monica still had time to reach the ship, and when she did she would give the heavy woman a piece of her mind. What she had said before would seem gentle compared to what was coming. Monica's whole body felt flush with anger, her skin so hot it was blistering. Even the stones around her neck had become like fiery coals, searing into her flesh. She stormed forward for the final confrontation.
But when she reached the village, Jessica wasn't to be seen.
At the small set of tables, Captain Lethes sat with his crew, a sweating drink in his hand. He looked up as the confused Monica returned, and he stood to meet her. Behind him his crew also stood, but then ran with a light jog towards the ship.
"Are you okay?" the captain asked her, looking her over. "Where's your friend?"
"I–I thought she would be here already. She should have been right in front of me."
He nodded. Then nodded again. The other passengers who had come to the island had started lining up by the ship when the crew returned to it. Monica looked at their pale lost faces, but none of them were Jessica.
"We have to wait for her. I think — " She paused for a moment, unsure of what she wanted to say. "-I think I must have left her back there someplace."
"It's okay, it's okay. Don't worry. We won't leave without her. But we can't just stand here waiting. I have other passengers I have to worry about, too. We have to be ready to leave when she arrives. You can wait here if you'd like, but you'll probably be more comfortable on the ship."
She looked behind her, back at the path she had just come from, and was unsure of what to do. It was getting so hard to think. She rubbed the sweat off her brow again.
"Okay, but we won't leave without her, right?"
"Of course not." He smiled reassuringly and led her back to the ship.
She stood on the deck, looking back at the island as the other passengers boarded. She was still quite tired from running, and underneath the heat she found her mind becoming muddled.
She watched the trees though, watched them swaying underneath the wind as though shaken by hundreds of hands, all trying to get her attention. But why they'd want her attention, she wasn't sure. She wasn't sure of anything anymore except that she was looking forward to getting back to the mainland, back to her tour group. It was silly, in hindsight, to have left it for a trip to the island, but she didn't think she regretted it. It was good to do different things on a vacation, and she wasn't sure if that was something she'd really understood until that moment. Perhaps the rest of her vacation would improve now that she had uncovered the secret to enjoying it. Already, she felt better.
When the crew had finished unmooring the ship and the vibrations of the engine were making the deck hum underfoot, Captain Lethes came down to stand with Monica as they pulled away from the island.
"You were right about that village," she said to him, as she watched the people on the island getting smaller. "I'm glad I saw it, but I can't imagine ever wanting to go back to it."
"True. Still, it looks like it's done you some good."
She smiled, and played with the stones around her neck. Their dark brown colour stood out in contrast against her pale skin, yet they seemed strangely cool under her fingers.
"I can't remember why I was so miserable before we arrived. I suppose we all need to put our troubles behind us sometimes. Oh look!" she said, pointing. "There's someone waving goodbye to us from the island."
She lifted her arm high and waved happily back at the shrinking figure.
"Goodbye!" she cried out.
MIKE O'DRISCOLL
13 O'Clock
The days were beginning to stretch out. Another couple of months and it would be surf and barbecue, cold beer out on the deck listening to Bonnie «Prince» Billy. Play some silly tunes on the guitar for Jack, teach him his first chords. Make some other kind of music for Polly. The sweet kind for which the diminishing nights left barely enough time.
The cold still hung in the air at this hour though. Caleb Williams could feel it on his face as he followed Cyril across the rising field. He bent down, scooped up the mostly black mongrel terrier and boosted him up the stone ditch. He climbed up and over while the dog, resenting the indignity of having to be lifted, scrambled down by itself.
They crossed the dirt track to the garden, where Caleb paused to lean against the unpainted block wall. The sun was a ball sinking below Cefn Bryn, leaving the mid-April sky streaked with red.
Gazing up at the house, he felt a sudden, unaccountable yearning. The otherness of dusk made the cottage seem insubstantial. Shrugging off this unexpected sense of isolation, he opened the back gate and let Cyril bolt through. They got the dog two years ago for Jack's birthday, but whether Jack had tired of it, or the dog had tired of the boy, it had ended up attaching itself to Caleb. Only now was he getting used to the idea of himself as a dog person.
In the living room, Polly was curled up on the sofa, dark red hair breaking in waves over her shoulders, ebbing across her blouse. She was channel hopping as he came in, and had opened two small bottles — stubbies, she called them — of San Miguel. "Saw you coming from Jack's room," she said, her grey eyes lucent with mischief. "You looked like you need one."
Caleb took the beer and sat next to her. "Is it me," he said, "or is the climb up from the bay getting steeper?"
His wife swung her feet up into his lap. "It's decrepitude," she said.
"Good. For a moment there I thought I was getting old." He tapped his bottle against hers and took a sip.
She smiled for a moment, then her expression changed. "You didn't hear Jack last night?"
"No. What?"
"I meant to tell you this morning. He had a bad dream." She frowned. "More than that, I guess. A nightmare."
"There's a difference?"
"Of course there is, fool." She jabbed a foot playfully into his thigh. "This was a nightmare."
"How could you tell?"
"I'm serious, Cale. He was petrified. He screamed when I woke him."
"Was he okay?"
"After a while, yes."
"What did he dream?"
"He was alone in the house at night. That's scary enough for most eight-year-olds."
"Poor Jack. How is he tonight?"
"He's fine. Has been all day. I was half-expecting him to say something but he never mentioned it. I guess he's already forgotten."
"Good," Caleb said, feeling a vague sense of guilt. Should have been there for him, he thought.
Polly sighed and rubbed her foot across his belly. "So, how was your day?"
Caleb said nothing. He was thinking about Jack's nightmare, trying to imagine how he must have felt. A yellow woman moved across the TV screen. He wondered where nightmares came from. What caused them?