The Summer Island Swap

by Samantha Tonge

  The door swung open.

  ‘What the…?’

  I heard a small movement.

  ‘The spider’s gone,’ he said.

  Losing my job at Best Travel. The last twenty-four hours from hell. The prospect of four weeks of this torture. It was all too much. A sob escaped my lips.

  I heard him kneel down. Large hands covered mine. Carefully he prised my fingers away from my face.

  16

  ‘What’s wrong?’

  ‘I must look a wreck,’ I muttered and sniffed.

  ‘Not at all. You should see me first thing after too many rum cocktails.’

  A sense of failure overwhelmed me as I thought about those memes that went around social media about stepping out of your comfort zone in order to achieve great things…

  For the last nine years I’d controlled everything about my environment. My life with Amy and Nelly felt steady, reliable. This was the first time I’d left the safety net I’d created. And how had I managed? By throwing a big pity party. By only seeing the negatives. And that made me even more disappointed in myself.

  We looked at each other. He passed me my clothes. ‘I’ve got something to show you up at the house. I’ll wait for you outside and tell someone to find your sister and tell her you are fine – that you and I just have a bit of business to attend to.’

  I was too tired to argue. Five minutes later I stood next to him.

  ‘This way,’ he said and put an arm around my shoulders. ‘We can cut through the forest, behind the toilets.’ Up we climbed, towards the scaffolding that I’d noticed on my arrival. Rick steered me out of the way of dragonflies and beetles. It felt good to be looked after. Not that I’d ever admit that.

  The large house looked almost complete. Builders were removing the poles and wooden planks from the outside. The front and far side of the house had no walls or windows. Simple upright wooden frames held shutters at the top that were presumably pulled down at night or if it rained. So you could walk into the house on the ground floor and out of the other side without having to open a door. I’d never seen such an accessible building but then break-ins wouldn’t be a problem on a private island.

  Rick and I went inside. His arm slid away. This huge living room had a long unit in the middle, made out of a patchwork of grey stone tiles. On top of it was a ceramic vase filled with the powder puff and flame tree blooms, along with various colourful handmade clay bowls and a marble chess set. The roof was made of mahogany beams going up into a pyramid shape in the centre. The walls at either end were whitewashed, decorated with green tropical leaf prints in each corner. Various pictures – mainly modern art versions of rainforest scenes, insects and animals – had been hung across each white expanse.

  A wonderful black grand piano stood to one side, at the rear, with a guitar leant up against it and a wooden carving of a parrot on top. Two long magnolia sofas contrasted the warm, dark laminate floor. At either end of them were nests of mahogany tables, the feet carved into animals’ paws. Tall glossy plants filled the room’s four corners. A winding staircase led upstairs and I counted eight doors up there for bedrooms and bathrooms, I supposed, spread around the central beamed pyramid. A door to the far right on the ground floor was open and inside I could just make out kitchen equipment. That part of the building wasn’t quite complete.

  ‘I love the natural feel of this place,’ I said, my horrendous day forgotten for a second. ‘It totally fits in with the surroundings and is so bright, as if you are just walking into another part of the island.’

  ‘It’s an exact replica of what was here before the hurricane. My grandmother is a huge nature fan and loves down-to-earth furnishings. She wanted this place built the same because it brings back memories of my granddad and the time they spent here. He died five years ago.’

  ‘I’m not surprised she could buy an island. Crocker & Crowley has done so well.’

  Considering this was his family home, Rick was very modest.

  I walked across to look at the back garden and gasped. ‘This is beautiful…’ I gazed at a wide area of decking. On it was a long wooden dining table. Beyond that was a turquoise swimming pool, surrounded by more decking and plant pots. In the right-hand corner was what looked like a bar built out of bamboo, under a palm leaf parasol. Swaying palm trees punctuated the surrounding grounds made up of the greenest mown grass and several had hammocks hanging in between them, along with five well-spaced out Tiki-style two-storey beach huts, on stilts like the shacks.

  This was the luxury accommodation I’d expected to be staying in. Rick indicated to one of the sofas. We sat down next to each other on it, facing the pool, enjoying the breeze. I wondered about the money again. Rick seemed genuine but a generous slice of what the volunteers paid must have gone into building this personal space for his family.

  ‘I’ve been living in one of the shacks until a few days before you arrived. It’s been quite a job to restore Seagrass Island, to be honest.’ He ran a hand through his hair. ‘After the hurricane several of the local insurance companies went bust. Gran got about two thirds of her money. The rest of the build we have to fund ourselves.’

  ‘At least, I guess, you’ve got the shoe business to fall back on.’

  He didn’t answer.

  ‘You’ve run the renovations by yourself? That must have been quite a task.’

  ‘The family business has been… demanding of late so there’s no practical way my parents could be on hand here. Nor Lee – although despite being thousands of miles away, sometimes, via phone, he acts like an on-site manager.’ He gave a wry smile. It sounded as if he and his brother didn’t get on. ‘Gran has flown over a few times since the hurricane and stayed on Tortola. Me being in charge of the rebuild made most sense. Malik and his brother have been great. Having lived on Tortola all their lives they put me in touch with a great team to do the work. I was lucky to get them, after so many properties were damaged, but the building company is owned by a family friend of theirs.

  ‘Anyway…’ He turned back to me and concern cast a shadow over his face. ‘How do you feel?’

  ‘I’m okay. Sorry for the inconvenience.’

  ‘Come on. I had something to show you.’ Gently he took my hand and led me up the spiral staircase and into the second bedroom from the right.

  It should have felt uncomfortable, him holding my hand like that, but it didn’t.

  The bedroom was not like one I’d ever seen before with the mahogany ceiling and open windows like downstairs, and a balcony. Whitewashed walls contrasted the warm wooden features. Tropical paintings and lush plants circled the huge bed in the middle.

  Amy would have practically died from excitement at the thought of Rick and me being near a mattress, alone.

  He let go of my fingers, extended his arm and swooped it through the air. ‘Stay here tonight. This room is finished. Catch up a bit. Think about whether or not you should really go home.’

  Oh, I felt tempted. But that would mean I’d failed. ‘Is there much more left to do to the house as a whole?’

  ‘The kitchen and utility room are nearly ready, and the indoor dining room on the other side of them. However, work hasn’t started on the downstairs office we had before, nor the downstairs toilet. But the cinema room is finished and the gym. Also the room looking out to the sea where my grandmother liked to paint and design shoes.’

  ‘Margot is still very active.’

  ‘At seventy-nine she’s an inspiration.’

  ‘Aren’t you worried about another hurricane striking?’

  ‘No. The occasional hurricanes in the past have only caused slight to moderate damage across the islands. The problem with Hurricane Irma was that we got stuck in the eye of it. I know climate change might alter the frequency and intensity of these events but…’ He shrugged. ‘These days extreme weather might happen anywhere around the world.’

  ‘True. Even in England.’

  He pointed to a shelf. ‘There’s a load of nove
ls there left by the previous person who left early, only last week. I think I mentioned them to you. He couldn’t take the early starts or heat. Before him was a woman called Judy. She’d thought the shacks were only for show and that really we’d have set up some kind of glamping facilities. There was Jean-Paul. He came with his girlfriend. It was tougher than they both thought. It ended badly. They split up. The trip had been her idea. He went back to France after a week.’ Rick looked sheepish. ‘This room has kind of become a haven for those who want to leave.’

  I raised my eyebrows. ‘I thought you said only a couple of people had ever changed their minds?’

  I wasn’t the only one knocked sideways by this experience? That made me feel so much better.

  Rick sighed and sat on the bed by the pillows. He stretched out his legs. My eyes scanned his long frame. I hesitated before sitting next to him.

  ‘I didn’t want to give a negative impression. However, the last couple of days – seeing how you’ve struggled – it’s made me realise that perhaps I need to be clearer on the website. I’m sorry if, at times, I’ve come across as a bit… touchy. Seagrass Conservation means the world to me and it’s hard to acknowledge that it’s still not stable with a guaranteed future.’

  An apology? His shoulders slumped and out of nowhere I felt like giving him a hug.

  ‘Rick. I’ve tried to explain… the reason I’ve struggled in particular is that I never signed up for this kind of trip.’

  His brow furrowed. ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘My sister – she booked it as a treat after a lottery win. It was meant to be a luxury getaway. A top-notch hotel with spa treatments, five-star food, room service… but at the last minute she swapped it. I work in hotel management and she was worried that sort of holiday wouldn’t be a true break from the nine ’til five. So instead…’

  ‘You’re telling me you had no idea? She lied?’

  ‘I wouldn’t call it that exactly… there are different kind of untruths.’

  ‘Not in my book.’ His brows knotted together. He caught me looking. ‘Sorry. Ignore me. Amy’s a great person, I can tell that already. I’m sure she had good reason.’

  ‘Hence the long nails, the impractical clothes, the big hat… I was expecting… well… accommodation more like this home of yours. And lie-ins, not early starts. Bucks Fizz for breakfast instead of fish soup. Hot Jacuzzis, not cold showers…’

  Rick looked intensely at me. ‘I made a lot of assumptions. So your job is in the hospitality business?’

  For a second I wanted to be honest but I couldn’t mention my sacking in case it got back to Amy. It would have been good to talk about it. But like I’d said to him – there were different kinds of lies. ‘I’m currently employed as an assistant manager,’ I said. ‘So I understand some of the challenges you’re facing. I know what it’s like to not have the whole of the team on board. It makes it difficult to achieve goals.’

  ‘Then why stay?’ he asked. ‘No doubt you’ll fit in fine after a few days of acclimatising,’ he added quickly, ‘but you have the perfect excuse to leave so why not just fly back home? I’m sure your sister would understand.’

  ‘Amy really wanted me to enjoy this holiday; she said I needed a complete break. She was excited to treat me. It’s been… a challenging few years. I haven’t had a holiday since I left home.’

  ‘When was that?’

  ‘Nine years ago.’

  ‘Wow.’ Those dark eyebrows practically disappeared into his hairline.

  I felt an urge to laugh out loud but was still bruised by the way he’d assumed the worst about me, ever since I got off the boat.

  ‘It sounds like I’m giving you a sob story – but this isn’t one. During that time I’ve really been able to focus on my career, but that’s why Amy was thrilled to be able to afford to take me abroad. I don’t want to spoil things for her.’

  ‘Seagrass Island must be quite a let-down for you.’ He gave a rueful smile.

  There was something about Rick that made me want to open up, in a way I didn’t with other people.

  ‘Frivolous as it sounds, for once I wanted to be the one waited on hand and foot; to escape into some sort of fantasy life away from the stresses of reality.’

  ‘I get it. Sometimes I feel like running away from it all.’ He cleared his throat and swung those long legs off the bed and stood up. ‘Maybe a positive can come out of all this. You can say no but I’d hugely appreciate it if you would look at the website. I’ve assumed it spells out plainly what life here is like but I’m clearly going wrong somehow, if people are leaving early, and it’s really important to me… to my family… and to the island, that Seagrass Conservation is a success; that as many people as possible post photos and talk about us positively on social media and tell friends about us when they get back home.’

  He wanted me to help? Having done nothing but criticise me since I’d arrived? Yet his earnestness was appealing and I noticed the tired lines around his eyes – lines I often saw reflected back when I looked in the mirror.

  ‘It’s a business I need to grow… and I forget that not everyone coming here will have studied the environment or have a formal interest in conservation or climate change.’

  I followed him downstairs feeling more like myself every minute – and wondering, why, when it came to Seagrass Conservation, Rick exuded such a sense of urgency.

  ‘The staff who used to work in our home don’t start back for a couple of weeks. They’ll get the place ready for my gran who’s visiting in September.’

  ‘Was everyone okay after the hurricane?’

  We sat down on the sofa. ‘Yes. This place has a strong cellar under the kitchen. Thank God everyone was able to take refuge in there. In fact, I’ll just fetch us a couple of cold drinks. The kitchen equipment was unpacked and plugged in yesterday. I’ve stocked it with a few things from the canteen. Then I’ll get my laptop…’ He gazed at a large round clock, the hands set against a tropical beach scene. It was positioned on the far left-hand wall, next to an old-fashioned barometer. He palmed his forehead. ‘What am I thinking? You must be exhausted. Thanks to those sand crickets you hardly slept last night. And thanks to you jumping around almost as much as them, neither did I.’

  Tentatively we smiled at each other. I could tell he was as unsure as me about this friendlier atmosphere between us.

  But it felt good to feel more like his equal, instead of a nuisance.

  ‘It’s okay. This cool, relaxing lounge has revived me.’

  Rick came back first carrying a bandage and some antibiotic cream. He jerked his head towards my hands and sat down.

  ‘May I? Those blisters need re-dressing.’ Carefully he applied the ointment and wrapped bandages around my fingers. I hoped he couldn’t hear my loud heartbeat. He disappeared again, this time bringing back two juices and his laptop, and turned on a radio that played cheerful steel band Caribbean calypso music. As he sat down and started to tap his feet, all I could focus on was him.

  It was something I’d fought against, for years. If I felt my body responding to a man, I always took that as a warning, to remind me that a strong physical attraction sped things up, when time should be taken to really get to know someone – to spot a partner’s potential faults before taking things further.

  Because I was determined never to fall under the spell of someone like my father.

  17

  I wasn’t expecting to meet the man of my dreams on Seagrass Island.

  But now I realised it was true.

  I absolutely had.

  He wasn’t my usual type. A bit hairier. Very talkative. I didn’t understand what he said half the time – well, all the time, in fact – but actions spoke louder than words and he really was the cheekiest…

  … monkey.

  I smiled at Chatty, even though he couldn’t see. He was next to me, in the Games Room, on Rick’s shoulder, tickling his ear. Every time Rick groaned and pulled his paw away, it shot right back, as
if Chatty knew that if he did it often enough, Rick would lift him onto his lap for a cuddle.

  ‘I wish I had your energy,’ I said to Chatty and stroked his head. His paws both clutched my hand and affectionately bared his teeth on my skin, not leaving marks, nor hurting me. I whistled his favourite tune. He froze and cocked his head, body swaying slightly. Everyone chuckled. It had become our thing.

  ‘It’s great, at last, to have someone appreciate my unmelodic whistles.’

  ‘You are definitely two of a kind, on that score,’ said Rick.

  ‘It’s a good thing Chatty can’t understand you!’

  The Games Room was busy. Amy and Benedikt sat in front of a chess board – Jonas watched them, playing a pensive tune on his harmonica. I was glad he’d managed to at least pack one instrument. Helga chatted to Jackie and the permanent staff. A couple of Italian volunteers played snooker. There was a queue for the darts board. Calypso music tinkled in the background, from a radio. It was already dark outside. A couple of moths had snuck in. One was as big as Chatty’s head and pale purple with black patterns. I’d almost knocked my glass of water over when it flew near my face. Malik called it the black witch moth.

  Chatty climbed back up onto Rick’s shoulder and wrapped his tail and arms around his head. My hand followed him and he nestled his cheek in my palm.

  ‘Thanks again for today,’ Rick said. ‘Your comments about the website were really useful. I’ve discussed them with Jackie and she agrees. I don’t know why we’ve never had a page for volunteer stories.’

  I’d decided to help him, thanks to the bereavement counselling I’d once had. Anabelle might not have been a great stepmother but I’d always be grateful to her for visiting me, those first years when I moved out, even though it was only a couple of times a year. She’d arrive with a food hamper. It was unsaid between us that Dad didn’t know she was there. She’d suggested I get counselling, and told me that losing my mum at an early age was a traumatic thing.