by Laura Bates
Jessa stands next to May, putting her hands on her best friend’s shoulders.
‘Look, this beach faces east: that’s why we see the sun rise over the sea in the morning.’ She rotates 180 degrees, to face the treeline, May swivelling with her. ‘Brian and Elliot are going straight across, to see if there are coconuts on the beach the other side of the island, the west side.’
Elliot points to the right. ‘The land rises to the north and there are fewer bushes or trees, that’s where I climbed up on the first day to get a bird’s eye view.’
Jessa turns May 90 degrees left. ‘So south is the jungly side, where the trees and bushes are thickest and there’s the best chance of finding fruit or water.’
‘The SOS needs to be really eye-catching, as big as you can,’ Elliot tells Shannon and Hayley.
‘Oh really?’ Shannon’s voice is biting, a shade of her usual sardonic sharpness returning through the exhaustion and thirst. ‘Because I was going to write “NOTHING TO SEE HERE PLEASE CARRY ON” in really tiny letters.’
‘Right.’ Elliot smiles awkwardly, caught somehow between his unexpected leadership role and his usual detached silence. ‘Well, good luck.’
Jessa and May haul an empty backpack from the pile of supplies still heaped on the beach and set off into the trees behind Brian and Elliot, soon peeling off to the left and disappearing into the bushes.
‘OW!’ May yelps loudly, ‘If Jason thinks this was the easy option, he did not account for thorns,’ she mutters furiously, her voice fading as she moves further away.
Hayley turns awkwardly to Shannon. ‘Shall we?’
Time crawls. Hayley and Shannon slowly pile wood and rocks at the edge of the treeline, working in the shade for as long as they can. When they’ve collected a mound of materials, they drag it down the beach piled on a towel, Hayley tugging at the front corners and Shannon walking behind, holding the pile steady and collecting the sticks that tumble off.
They lug the heavy rocks painstakingly across the sand, then start tracing out the letters ‘SOS’, two metres tall, carefully keeping the message above the high tideline so their efforts won’t be swept away. The heat beats relentlessly against Hayley’s shoulders, burning uncomfortably into her hair, finding every unprotected part of her and biting down hard. They only salvaged a single bottle of sunscreen from the plane and she’s wearing the faintest smear. And while Brian slathered handfuls of the lotion onto his angry red skin she knew hers could cope better with the sun, but now it feels like her whole body is screaming in protest.
Her tongue feels heavy, like a furred slug too big for her mouth. Her breath comes in short rasps, uncomfortable and hot on her cracked lips.
The sea dances tantalisingly close, its cruel ripples calling to her parched throat. It sparkles innocently, taunting her. Her brain knows that drinking saltwater would be a death sentence, but her body leans magnetically towards the liquid. She forms the letters as quickly as she can, ignoring the splinters driving into her soft palms, exhaustedly kicking the stones into place. As soon as they can, she and Shannon turn their backs on the sea and take refuge in the shade. Closing her eyes, Hayley feels herself come untethered from the beach, like she’s slipping out of her parched, dry, cracking body. Pictures float on her eyelids. She drifts backwards and forwards in time.
A huge white yacht, lined with smart sailors in shining uniforms, saluting as they approach the beach. An airplane improbably dangling seven long ropes like jellyfish tentacles, each one miraculously attaching to a castaway before they whoosh into the sky to safety.
The whistle blowing as the first game of the tour kicks off. A whirl of colour and sound, violet pom-pom tassels rustling and spectators chattering and cheering. Erickson barking orders left and right. Hayley zooms in and out as if she’s watching it from above.
She marvels at the deftness of the other girls as they leap in formation, muscles taut and quivering, their athleticism easily as impressive as the boys making free throws and streaking down the court. Squatting at the bottom of the pyramid or just high-kicking to one side, Hayley is left out of the more complex routines she hasn’t mastered the skills for, left to gasp along with the crowd as Shannon flips dizzyingly from a three-metre height to land on her feet, hands extended to receive the rapturous applause.
The cheer squad comes alive in front of a crowd in a way Hayley had never seen in practice, their individual talents coalescing into an almost liquid, golden thing, a single body that swirls and morphs in front of her as she tries, sluggishly to keep up. A group of people she’s always somewhere deep down felt herself superior to, pulling off moves she can’t even begin to attempt.
She drifts forward again, suddenly, to arms reaching out to pull her into a fishing boat, the sweet relief of cool, bottled water, splashing over her face and bathing her fiery neck. Her parents, there in the boat, with oars, rowing and rowing but the boat sitting still in the water…
* * *
Hayley’s drifted in and out of sleep so many times before Elliot and Brian return that she doesn’t trust her eyes at first. But the familiar grumble of her ankle (the pain muted now but not gone completely) reassures her that she is awake as she scrambles to meet them. Coconuts. Four pale, milky brown, slightly wrinkled, waxy-skinned coconuts, clasped to their chests, and the widest smiles she has seen in days.
They let the coconuts thump heavily, miraculously into the sand, and Hayley reaches out a wondering hand to touch their cool, smooth skin.
‘How do we open them?’
‘Here.’ Jason appears from nowhere, an armful of sticks and wood tumbling into the sand. He holds out a fist-sized rock, grey on the outside and shiny black where it has been split down the middle, leaving a long, sharp edge. ‘I’ve been using it to cut wood.’
Elliot holds out his hand for the rock, but Jason grabs one of the coconuts instead and starts hacking at it.
‘Don’t cut the sides—’ Elliot’s voice is drowned out by Jason’s grunting. Hayley can see his ears slowly reddening as his broad shoulders tense and release, tense and release.
‘You don’t want to—’ There’s a splintering crack as the stone finds the coconut’s heart. Little white flecks spray up onto Jason’s dimpled cheeks and the milky water gushes quickly away into the sand.
‘Jason!’ Shannon screeches, flying at him, clawing at his back. ‘You idiot. You fucking asshole. We could have drunk that.’ She’s almost sobbing, dried spit flying from the edges of her mouth, her long dark hair, electrified into frizz by the humid weather, splaying wildly out around her face. Her mouth is like a red slash, her pale face consumed with rage.
‘SHANNON!’ Brian grabs her delicate shoulders, pulling her easily backwards as Jason gapes in shock, staring at her as if he has never seen her before. ‘There are others. It’s okay. There are others.’
She turns on her heel and stalks off down the beach without looking back.
‘Ooh-kay,’ Brian sings quietly. He turns to Jason. ‘Dude, you got beat by a girl.’ He sniggers, then stops when he sees Jason’s thundercloud face.
Hayley can’t remember ever seeing Shannon properly lose her temper before. Biting sarcasm, yes. But there’s usually a coolness about Shannon, a haughtiness that seems to radiate off her. Has this hot, furious temper always been there, hidden underneath? Or is the maddening thirst transforming them all into people she doesn’t recognise?
Elliot is picking through the pile of branches. Choosing a piece of wood about three yards long and as thick as his forearm, he takes the cutting tool from Jason’s hand. Jason, still looking dazedly in the direction Shannon disappeared, doesn’t protest. Elliot saws off the wood at an angle, then cuts the remaining edge into a sharpish point. He drives the blunt end of the stake as deep into the sand as he can.
Hayley cannot resist. ‘Please tell me that’s not for a pig’s head,’ she deadpans. She sees a flicker of recognition in Elliot’s eyes, but everybody else looks nonplussed.
‘There are pig
s?’ Brian asks, excitedly.
Hayley rolls her eyes. ‘Lord of the Flies? Sixth Grade English lit?’
‘Yeah, we made Arthur Windley do that assignment for us.’ Brian grins, punching an unresponsive Jason on the arm.
Elliot selects a coconut and brings it crashing down onto the stake, splitting the brown skin, opening up a long crack down one side.
‘Camping,’ he says again, with a sheepish smile, as the others look on helplessly. ‘None of you guys ever taken a tent to the Keys?’
‘I’ve stayed at the Waldorf Astoria there,’ Brian offers, helpfully.
‘Yeah, not quite the same thing,’ Elliot mutters. He smashes the coconut down on the stake again, then uses his hands to pry off a long strip of the brown outer husk, caramel coloured straw-like fibres ripping slowly away from the nut like Velcro. The others watch as the little round centre emerges, a miraculous orb that calls to Hayley’s dry throat like a siren.
When the husk lies in discarded sections at his feet, Elliot rests the coconut gently in the palm of his hand, testing its weight.
He looks at the three dark spots on top of the coconut carefully, turning it so they resemble two eyes and a mouth. He pulls a sharp sketching pencil from his pocket and carefully pierces the soft shell, right through one of the eyes.
‘Hayley, can you hand me one of the empty water bottles?’ He takes it, and gently upturns the coconut, sending a stream of slightly cloudy water trickling inside, until the bottle is about a quarter full. Hayley feels her tongue twitch involuntarily. Hawkishly, she watches as Elliot prepares the two remaining coconuts, adding their riches to the bottle.
They pass it round the circle like a holy cup, each taking a few precious sips before handing it on.
When it’s Hayley’s turn, she closes her eyes and lets the warm, almost salty liquid gush into her mouth. Stopping herself from gulping down the whole lot takes more self-control than she knew she had.
When the bottle is drained, Elliot uses the sharp stone to split the coconuts down the middle and they use their fingers to tear out the firm, white flesh, hungrily devouring each piece until only the hollow shells remain. Hayley chews gratefully, enjoying the feel of the firm meat giving way between her teeth, the sensation of actually swallowing something solid at last.
‘We should get more,’ Elliot says, looking at the smooth, empty bowls. His eyes flick towards the trees, and with a lurch of guilt Hayley realises they haven’t saved anything for the other girls. It didn’t even cross her mind.
‘Let’s all go,’ Jason says, and Hayley wonders if he’s scared of what might happen when Shannon comes back. Elliot pockets the cutting stone, wrenching the stake out of the ground and resting it over his shoulder. Hayley wonders why, then realises they’ll be able to eat and drink some of the coconuts before they return, fuelling them for the journey back and freeing their arms to carry more. Elliot has already thought of this.
Fear drives little tendrils into Hayley’s brain every time she stops to lets herself think. How long can they really last? The coconuts feel like a goldmine, and the thought of being able to drink her fill makes her feel almost dizzy with relief, but coconuts won’t last forever. And what then? How much longer?
It is best, Hayley tells herself, firmly, not to think too far ahead. She concentrates on putting one foot in front of the other, weakly picking her way through the trees behind Elliot, trying to avoid scratching her legs as they stumble through dense bushes. She has given up slapping at mosquitos, her skin so used to the constant, gnawing itchiness that she barely registers it any more. She claws at her scalp periodically, sunburn and raw-scratched bites combining in a constant ebb of discomfort. Her usually soft hair is becoming stiff with sweat and sand.
Her hot feet feel swollen and angry in unwashed socks, her sneakers starting to rub red blisters on her sore ankle. ‘Try. Something. A. Little. Less. Academic,’ she mutters, angrily, as they push through the trees. ‘ “Branch out”, Mr Curtis said… “It’ll be fun”, he said. I swear, if anyone else ever asks me “what’s the worst that could happen?”…’
They head west, cutting a perpendicular line from the beach through the trees. There’s no sign of May and Jessa, who must be somewhere further south. To the north, she can see the beginning of the rocky incline Elliot had talked about. But they push forwards, heading straight across the island to the other side. After about half an hour of heavy going, the trees begin to thin and Hayley can see the sparkle of the sea in the distance. Their meagre rations of coconut water are a distant memory, her exertions leaving her desperately thirsty again, light-headed and short of breath. The humid air sits heavy in her lungs. Sweat makes her sleeveless white vest cling uncomfortably to her armpits, her thighs chafing under the cheerleading skirt she pulled out of the salvage pile this morning in a pointless attempt to freshen up. She left off the cycling shorts she’d usually wear underneath, because of the heat. Now she wishes she’d put them on.
To her right, Brian staggers to a stop, steadies himself with one hand against a tree trunk, and vomits weakly. Thin bile and spittle dribbles down his front, and a few small chunks of coconut. There’s nothing else left in his stomach. He looks at Jason, eyes wide, all his usual clownish vulgarity stripped away. He looks like a scared little kid. Elliot and Jason support him from either side, wrapping their arms around his waist. ‘Nearly there,’ Elliot encourages him, with surprising tenderness. ‘You can do this.’ Jason just grunts and heaves Brian forward.
They emerge onto a rockier, wilder beach than the one Hayley has become used to. The sea is rougher here, crashing onto large rocks which scatter the beach and jut out of the water. To Hayley’s immense relief, palms grow thick along the shore, thick clusters of smooth green and yellow coconuts hanging beneath the leaves in large, pendulous bunches. At the base of the trees are dozens of brown coconuts in different stages of decay, some rotting away or split, but many smooth and intact, just starting to wrinkle.
Nobody speaks. For the first time since they arrived on the island it’s like they are all on the same team. Elliot helps Brian to the foot of a tree, carefully lowering him down in the shade. He sits with him, rubbing his back, while Brian puts his head between his knees, breathing fast. Jason drives the stake firmly into the sand nearby and Hayley roams the beach, selecting the most promising coconuts she can find, delighting in their weight, and depositing them in a pile at Jason’s feet. Together, using the stake, the cutting stone and the pencil, he and Elliot work to open them.
When the first coconut is pierced, Elliot hands it wordlessly to Brian, and they all pause, standing motionless across the beach, and watch as he suckles at it like a baby animal, eyes scrunched shut.
Elliot works quickly, handing the coconuts out until everybody is slurping at the sweet, nutty liquid. When they’ve drunk, they open more and drink again, then claw at the flesh, or split the shells into pieces and scrape at it with their fingernails. For the first time in three days, Hayley feels sated. Now accustomed to gnawing need, her belly feels uncomfortably swollen, though in reality she’s eaten only a little.
‘Take it slowly,’ she warns the others. ‘It’s going to take our stomachs a while to adjust.’
They sit there on the beach, quietly feeling their bodies resettle, not saying much but each, Hayley imagines, feeling the same soft flood of relief. Only now the clamour of thirst has abated does she realise how noisy it has been, crowding out other thoughts, her stomach and brain consumed with need and panic. She knows how serious their situation still is, but just for this moment she lets herself lie down and breathe, her shoulders sinking into the softly yielding sand, the breeze stroking her cheeks and the soothing splash and pause, splash and pause of the waves hypnotising in its regularity.
It’s late afternoon before they stagger back to the wreckage of the plane, their return journey slowed by the heavy coconuts. They carry nine between them. Brian, still staggering weakly along, is unable to manage any at all. Hayley sort of wa
ddles awkwardly with one tucked under each arm. Jason, shirtless, drags his yellow T-shirt like a makeshift kitbag with four coconuts stuffed inside, his muscular stomach gleaming with sweat. Elliot, whippet-like by comparison, balances three in a pyramid under his chin.
May greets them with an excited shriek, clamouring for coconut milk.
And the girls have their own bounty to share. Shannon is with them, picking over a pile of bright fruit, quiet and focused, not looking at Jason, who hovers, looming behind her, as if he isn’t sure how to approach. ‘There are bushes and trees with more, further inland, but this was all we could carry,’ Jessa gasps, between gulps of coconut water. Hayley notices that she is only using one arm, her injured one hanging heavily by her side.
‘Look what we found!’ May is chirpy, boastful even, gesturing to the tumbling pile of fruit. Its plump sheen and delicate, sweet scent makes Hayley’s stomach clench again, and she reaches out an eager hand to grab a small, bright green sphere like a little apple.
‘STOP!’
Elliot leaps towards her, knocking it roughly out of her hand. The fruit rolls across the sand, coming to rest innocently a few feet away.
‘Ow!’ Hayley looks down at her hand and sees a nasty red rash springing up on one side of her palm, angry red dots straining her skin. It itches and burns as if she had plunged her hand into scalding water. ‘What the hell?’
‘It’s a manchineel,’ Elliot gasps, breathing heavily. ‘A beach apple,’ he adds, looking around at the confusion on their faces. ‘Wow, you guys really never have been camping, have you?’
He walks over to the fruit and nudges it with his toe, turning it over. There’s a thin cut in the skin, a little whitish juice oozing out. ‘The sap is poisonous,’ he mutters, nodding to Hayley’s hand.
She gasps, feeling panic close her throat and fill her lungs.
‘It’s okay,’ Elliot says, kindly, seeing her fear. ‘It’s just a surface reaction. You didn’t eat any, you’ll be fine.’
