by Suzanne Cass
Only his family knew about his dubious past. Because all his petty crimes of theft and robbery had been committed while he was a juvenile he hadn’t been required to make his record public, even when he became a counsellor. He was a different person now. Always striving to do the right thing, to be an upstanding citizen. His past was well behind him and he needed to keep looking to the future.
‘Where you off to?’ Simon’s question broke into his thoughts. His quiet retreat from camp hadn’t gone as completely unnoticed as he’d hoped. Tam turned to face Simon.
‘Thought I might go and try my luck crabbing in that little bay we found the other day.’ He kept his face blank, but inwardly he seethed. He didn’t feel like company, and certainly not Simon’s. He was grumpy, tired and hungry and Simon was possibly the last person he wanted to talk to.
‘Cool, I’ll come with you. That crabbing looks pretty easy. I wouldn’t mind having a go at it.’
‘Great,’ Tam ground out between clenched teeth. ‘Here, you carry the bags then.’ He threw the hessian bags in Simon’s direction and led the way onto the tiny track that ran north, following the edge of the coastline. The little bay was a good twenty minute walk away. He’d chosen it because it was isolated and well away from camp. And it was in the opposite direction Cilla had taken. He’d watched her surreptitiously as she gathered up the fishing lines, slung a water canteen over one shoulder and headed off on the jungle track that led south; towards the long headland jutting out at the far end of their beach. That’d been nearly an hour ago.
Tam readjusted the flippers and goggles so he could carry them under one arm and pulled his cap down further over his eyes. It looked like it was going to be a long morning after all. At least there was no knockout today. They had a reprieve until tomorrow. He’d been going to spend the morning by himself, thinking.
Their shoes made little sound as they walked along the trail, the deep layer of rotting leaves muffling all sound. The vegetation was sparse at the edge of the jungle, but there was enough shade to make the morning seem almost pleasant. The tropical sun would warm up the island all too soon, until the heat became almost unbearable.
‘So, I’ve got a question for you. Who do you think eats more rice? Alisha or Marg?’ Simon punctuated his question with a snort. The inane questions had started already and the worst part was Simon actually thought he was funny. ‘No, really, I mean it,’ Simon continued. ‘Because that rice bag is getting awfully empty and none of it seems to be going into my mouth.’
Tam bit back a retort, instead lengthening his stride, putting his head down. Setting out with the one purpose of making Simon so breathless he could no longer speak.
They managed to walk the track in a little under fifteen minutes. They were almost there. A sharp bend in the trail loomed ahead and Tam kept his gaze down, negotiating the sprawling tree roots that buckled the ground in front of him. He rounded the corner and came out at the edge of the foliage skimming the rear of the tiny beach. Just as his shoes hit the sand he raised his head and stopped dead in his tracks.
Cilla was standing there, thigh deep in the water, her face in profile, staring out to sea. Completely naked.
Tam had stopped without warning and Simon ran into the back of him with a grunt.
‘What the …’
Tam was frozen to the spot.
‘Quick, get down, before she sees us,’ Simon said in a fierce whisper. At the same time he tugged on Tam’s arm, pulling him towards the cover of two large boulders clustered a few feet away. Tam was too shocked to argue. He ducked down behind the boulder before he could even clear his mind to think properly.
‘Oh. My. God. I never expected to see that,’ Simon said, voice high-pitched and dripping with innuendo. He poked his head above the boulder and ogled Cilla. ‘Look at that arse. Perfect and round and tight. Mmm hmm, wouldn’t you just love to tap that one?’
Yes, Cilla’s arse was perfect and round and tight. The image was seared into Tam’s brain. He wished he hadn’t just seen what he had. Like some kind of disgusting voyeur. He was almost glad he was crouching behind the rock, where she couldn’t see his reaction. That one brief glimpse of her lithe figure had sent his pulse skipping through his veins and he could feel his body responding automatically, the growing bulge in his pants highlighting just how much he was attracted to her. His body hummed with awareness at the remembered image of her smooth soft skin, of the curve of her hips, the side-on view of the slight swell of her breast seen just before he ducked behind the boulder. Sweat prickled his skin and he knew it wasn’t caused by the tropical sun.
It wouldn’t do to let Simon see how she affected him. Simon had just shown his true colours, and Tam didn’t like this new version one little bit. Something had always felt a little off when it came to Simon, but up until right this very second Tam had never been able to put his finger on exactly what. Now, more than ever, he shouldn’t show any kind of weakness around the man. He’d surely use it against him somehow. It’d been on impulse he’d followed Simon’s lead but now he felt an unsavoury gall rise at the back of his throat. What they were doing was wrong on so many levels.
He wasn’t going to squat here, a party to Simon’s adolescent gawping.
Drawing breath, he tensed, ready to rise up and reveal himself. He wasn’t sure what he was going to say, but he couldn’t leave Cilla unaware of their presence any longer.
‘Don’t even think about it, mate,’ Simon said. ‘What’s the harm in having a look? Let’s keep it our little secret, hey?’ A slightly amused expression filtered across his face.
‘No.’ Tam’s reply was final. He surged upwards, but a heavy pull on his t-shirt stopped him. Simon dragged him back down to a crouching position, staring him straight in the face.
‘She won’t appreciate your gallantry one bit you know.’ Simon’s eyes were cold now, his face no longer genial, had turned stark and detached. ‘She’ll blame you, say you were intentionally spying on her. That you enjoyed watching. Women like to twist facts around to suit themselves.’
Tam was staggered at this unexpected change in Simon, at the bitterness dripping from his every word. This was so unlike the easy-going persona he’d seen so far on the island. Admittedly Simon was a vain man, but this transformation in his attitude was a whole new level. Whatever kind of bad experiences Simon had encountered to give him this view, Tam didn’t care to know. Now wasn’t the time to delve into the depths of Simon’s warped mind. He needed to act, before it all became too late.
‘I don’t agree, Simon. An intelligent woman like Cilla will accept our apology.’ He stared at the man hunkered down next to him dead in the eye. A sly smile spread across Simon’s square face.
‘I’ll tell her it was all your idea to spy. Even if she acts like she doesn’t believe me, it’ll have planted the seed of doubt in her mind. Your shiny coat of armour suddenly won’t be so bright, will it, mate?’ Simon’s crafty smile faded, replaced by a steely gaze. It felt like Simon had twisted a knife into Tam’s guts. How could he have gotten so close to the truth in that one lazily veiled threat? And he was right. Tam didn’t want Cilla to think any less of him. If she thought he’d been spying on her all sorts of walls would go up around that mind of hers. And around her heart as well.
He hesitated.
He hated himself for that hesitation.
Simon pounced. ‘Please don’t tell her. For my sake.’
There was desperation now in Simon’s tone, but Tam wasn’t fooled. He already knew Simon was dangerous, but now he went up a further couple of notches in Tam’s estimation of exactly how intelligent and manipulative the man could be.
Simon took another peek over the top of the boulder. ‘She’s gone further out for a swim. If we leave now she won’t see us. Come on, mate, let’s go.’ He started to back carefully away from the beach, keeping the rocks between himself and the view of the little bay. Tam shot him a sideways glance. Every second Tam hesitated took Simon further into the jungle. If Tam
stood up and revealed himself now he’d be on his own. He could see the bare truth written in Simon’s determined frown.
Tam nearly gave voice to an oath, his whole body tingled with tension. It went against every human trait he valued to run away. Unable to speak, his fingers shook as he loosened his stranglehold on the flippers and swapped them over to his other hand.
‘Fuck.’ He loosed an oath as he still hesitated. Simon had disappeared completely, but his threat continued to hang in the air. Simon would tell Cilla if he didn’t follow, of that Tam had no doubt. He’d lie, twist the facts to use against him. Simon may even get enough people to believe him that it might well be Tam’s head on the chopping block next time they went to the conclave. If he went after Simon maybe he could make him change his mind. Moving away from the sheltering boulders at a crouch, Tam re-traced Simon’s footsteps.
~
‘Hey, Tam, where’re Alisha and Cilla? Simon’s just come back with mail from Davy Jones’ Locker, he wants everyone around so he can read it.’ Glen came over to where Tam was prodding the fire.
‘I think I saw them walking to the headland about an hour ago to catch some more crabs,’ Tam replied. Glen stopped sucking on his coconut long enough to glance over in that direction, his florid face conveying a look of disinterest.
‘Looks like they’ll miss out then.’
‘I’ll go and get them,’ Tam said with a sigh.
‘Thanks.’ Tam watched as Glen ambled back over to the shelter. He was such a lazy bastard. He was surprised Glen had lasted this long out here. But he had Simon’s ear and that seemed to be his saving grace at the moment.
Tam’s long strides carried him over the sand at a quick rate and he was already half way to the headland when a flash of orange caught his eye and he saw Cilla and Alisha making their way down the low rocky ledge, coming back to camp. Alisha raised a hand in acknowledgment. He watched the two women walk towards him, Alisha as wide as she was tall, her black hair standing out in a frizzy mess, and Cilla tall and trim, her orange bathers highlighting her slender shoulders. The sun was glinting off Cilla’s olive skin, still wet from swimming. A jolt of appreciation hit his stomach as he watched Cilla walk. He couldn’t get over how she affected him physically every time he laid eyes on her. Especially now he knew what she looked like without clothes on. It’d been four days now since the voyeur moment when he’d seen her nude, and his pulse still went up a few notches at the mere thought. Whether his gut-reaction was from guilt or from a much baser instinct, Tam wasn’t sure.
For a few days after he and Simon had seen Cilla in the bay he’d wanted to blurt out the truth every time she came near. But every time he was about to say something a glance from Simon had stopped him. He was still unsure why he was keeping the secret. Was it for Simon’s sake, or his own?
Tucking his hands into his pockets he stood and waited for them to approach. They were talking, heads together and hands flying with their animated conversation. He picked up their discussion as they came closer.
‘Sneaky little cow, finding that doubloon so quick,’ Alisha said.
‘And stupid to use it at the first conclave,’ Cilla replied with conviction. ‘Paloma should’ve kept it.’
‘She must’ve thought she was on the chopping block to use it, though.’ Alisha’s plump features crumpled into a deep frown. ‘And she might well have been a goner too, if bloody Simon and Glen hadn’t changed their votes at the last minute.’
‘Yeah, underhanded bastards,’ Cilla added thoughtfully.
There was a definite rift forming in the camp. Tam had noticed it after the first conclave, when Simon and Glen had changed their votes and Cilla was nearly voted out. But now it was obvious to everyone in the camp. There were two distinct sides. Simon, Paloma and Glen on one, Marg, Alisha, Cilla and himself on the other. Cho seemed content to be a drifter, a swing vote, not cementing a bond with either side, trying to keep everyone happy. Tam was secretly worried Cho was leaning more towards siding with Simon. Tam still had the numbers on his side at the moment, but as he knew only too well, anything could happen in this game.
‘Well, hopefully we win the knockout battle today,’ Tam added, falling into step with the two women. ‘And then we won’t need to worry about doubloons, or Marg’s elaborate plans.’
‘Hi Tam, were you coming to find us?’ Alisha asked with a grin.
He nodded. ‘Simon has got some mail from Davy Jones’ Locker.’ He lifted his head and found Cilla staring at him with those emerald eyes. He smiled and she returned his smile, but it was a puzzled grin. She knew he’d been avoiding her, it was clear in the question mark of her raised eyebrow. But she hadn’t pushed the subject, not once questioning his standoffishness over the past couple of days, letting him have the breathing room he needed. He hoped she thought he was still conflicted over their kiss. She’d never have guessed the true reason. That thought brought on another spasm of guilt. It was time to forget what he’d seen and move on. They were about to go into another knockout battle and he needed to get his mind back into the game, and stop obsessing over what-ifs and maybes.
Drawing a deep breath, he forced himself to hold her gaze for a few seconds longer than necessary, sending a silent entreaty for her to forgive him. His intestines flickered when he saw her give an almost imperceptible nod. He was forgiven.
‘Look what I caught today.’ Alisha held up three large crabs by the pincers, right in front of his face, breaking his gaze with Cilla. ‘I’m getting better at this hunting and gathering thing,’ she crowed, delighted at her haul. ‘If only we didn’t have to share them with everyone else.’
‘Yes. Some people deserve to share more than others,’ said Cilla.
‘Yeah, that bloody Glen does nothing around the campsite, he just simpers and smirks and brown-noses up Simon’s bum.’ Alisha capered on the sand, giving a more-than-accurate impression of how Glen acted. Tam laughed out loud at her audacity.
‘I wonder how Madison’s going out on Deception? Do you think she’s still there?’ asked Cilla, once their mirth had died down.
‘It’s hard to guess. We don’t know who got voted off from the Nightrebels at the last conclave, so we don’t know who she would’ve been up against. And we don’t even know how many people they’re going to keep at Deception at any one time. Will they make the people at Deception battle every time a new person is voted out? Or will they keep them all together and do one big knockout right at the end?’ said Alisha.
Neither Tam nor Cilla had an answer to Alisha’s question. They’d been told a girl called Phoebe was voted out of team Nightrebels at their first conclave, but apart from her name they knew nothing else about her. Madison was a tough competitor and Tam was pretty sure Phoebe wouldn’t have stood much of a chance against her. It all depended on who’d been voted out of Nightrebels at the conclave three days ago. The only thing Tam could be absolutely sure of was that whoever and whenever the person came back from Deception, it would be timed to wreak the most havoc in the game.
‘God, I’d love to know what goes on over there,’ Cilla said.
‘Well I for one hope I never find out,’ he replied.
‘Hey guys, hurry up,’ Simon yelled across the beach, beckoning them with an imperative wave of his hand. The rest of the team already stood around the fire, waiting.
Dumping her catch of seafood on the sand by the fire, Alisha said, ‘Go on then, read it out.’
Simon cleared his throat and intoned in a low voice,
‘For both plunder and protection
Teamwork and strategy are worth a mention
Roll with the bumps and go along the way
To keep you safe from a double dose of Deception.’
‘Sounds like this one is for both a prize as well as for exemption,’ said Marg. ‘I wonder what the prize will be?’ They all did. Tam could hear his own stomach rumbling loudly at the mere thought of a food prize. It’s what they all needed. Desperately. Alisha and Cilla’s seafood would
only go so far.
‘I’m a bit worried about that double dose of Deception bit. What does that mean?’ Marg ran a hand through her short hair, but no one had an answer to her question. ‘Oh well, we sent Nightrebels to the conclave at the last knockout, we can do it again.’
~
‘The team has spoken,’ JJ said.
Cilla watched as JJ extinguished Paloma’s flaming firebrand and the woman turned to head through the hangman’s noose and down the stairs, her shoulders hunched and footsteps heavy. She didn’t look back at the team who’d just voted her out. A pang of guilt snaked through Cilla. It hurt to vote someone out, no matter who it was.
At their camp they’d become pretty much a family unit, albeit one with all the failings and mistakes and bickering that went along with being part of a true family. Surviving on the island had helped mould them as a team. Fighting the elements and lack of food together brought them closer. Paloma had her faults, but so did they all. There were probably others in the team who were equally deserving of going home tonight. But tonight Cilla had followed Alisha’s wishes and voted Paloma off. She knew without a doubt the voting was going to get tougher and tougher to get right.
Today’s knockout challenge had been for both plunder and exemption. As the winning team, they’d gained the prize of an all-you-can-eat smorgasbord of hamburgers and bottles of soda pop. And they got to eat the meal while watching the losing team vote out someone at the conclave. Giving them a distinct advantage. They’d get to see how the other team voted, and watch all the power plays – who was an asset and who was an underdog. It’d be valuable information when they came to the merge.
But there’d been a twist. They had to vote one member out of their own team first. A double hanging.
‘Okay guys, the hard part’s over. As the winning team you can go and claim your prize.’ JJ gestured towards the row of tiered benches set up in the right hand corner of the stage, covered by a rudimentary roof of thatched grass. Coils of rope were arranged along the benches and large wooden beer kegs guarded the edges of the pews, a menacing looking cutlass resting across each one. A large table made of dark wood towered at the back of the benches, laden with food.
