Love...Among The Stars: Book 4 in the Love...Series (Love Series) (11 page)

Sylvester accompanies Poppy and I back to the water bungalow. As we walk along the jetty towards it, I can see a small flotilla of boats fanning out in all directions, and my heart leaps with cold, clammy terror. I again picture a big bloated fish belly white version of Jamie Newman being extricated from the water, and not for the first time in my life, curse the fact that I have a very vivid imagination.

Inexplicably, the cool breath of air-conditioning that greets me when I open the bungalow door causes a sharp, horrible shiver to course its way down my spine, despite the thirty degree heat.

'Mum? I want to see Dad!' Poppy demands in a quivering tone.

'I know sweetheart. I'm sure he'll be back any minute.' I curse myself for saying such a stupid thing as soon as it's passed my lips. I don't know any such thing, and lying to Poppy is never something that sits well with me, especially when it's such a serious issue.

'Why don't we go and look for fishes and
crabbies
in the water outside Poppy?' Sylvester says in a light voice.

Poppy gives the old man a critical look. 'It's not fishes and
crabbies
,' she tells him.

Sylvester's face crumples in mock confusion. 'Isn't it?' he appears to think about it for a second. 'Maybe it's fishy
wishys
and
crabbalors
then?'

'No!' Poppy giggles, despite herself. 'It's fish and crabs.' She takes one of his hands. 'Let me show you them.'

This old man seems to have a supernatural ability to keep children amused - and distracted. If I thought he'd accept it, I'd pay him for his services. He takes Poppy's hand, leading her onto the decking outside, and down the steps to the water's edge. This leaves me standing alone and able to fully contemplate the disappearance and likely drowning of my husband. I wish Sylvester had a way of distracting me as easily as he has my daughter.

An hour passes, and I've move from the stage of cool, clammy fear, into the turmoil of sheer, outright, boiling hot terror.

I've had no less than
three
separate visitors from
Wimbufushi's
staff - each more important than the last - culminating in the soft features and smooth tones of Mr Kadesh, the resort manager.

'I assure you Mrs Newman, we are doing everything in our power to find your husband.'

'Then where the hell is he?!'
I rage. 'We're on an island in the middle of bloody nowhere! It's not like he can go and hide behind another island!' My eyes narrow. 'Unless you let him go out there on a faulty pedalo! Did you? Did you let my poor stupid husband out on to the open ocean on a malfunctioning pedalo, Mr Kadesh? Because if you did, you can be the one to explain to my poor daughter that her father has been killed thanks to your pedalo based negligence!' I'm obviously being crushingly unfair to Mr Kadesh, but I'm scared, tired and angry, so I have to lash out at someone.

'Now, now my dear.
Try to stay calm,' says my new friend Sylvester from my side. He came back into the bungalow when Mr Kadesh arrived, leaving Poppy happily prodding a defenceless crab with a pencil.

'I don't want to stay calm! I want my husband back!'

'We have all our available boats out looking for him,' Mr Kadesh continues. 'I have also alerted the authorities in
Malé
, who are preparing a search and rescue team as we speak.'

The word 'search and rescue team' sends another gut-wrenching shiver down my spine.

I slump onto the bed and put my head in my hands. I'm trying very hard not to cry, but I'm failing miserably. Sylvester sits down next to me and puts an arm around my shaking shoulders. Mr Kadesh, a man evidently not used to this kind of thing, stands awkwardly in front of us both, looking into the middle distance.

'Mum!' I hear Poppy exclaim from the decking outside. 'Come and look!'

I wipe tears away and look at my daughter, who is standing up and holding a small and abused aquamarine crab in one hand. Bless her, she has no idea that our lives are about to be shattered. All she wants to do is show me her crab. I can't bear to break her childhood innocence, but I know the moment will come - right after I've identified Jamie's bloated corpse, I should imagine.

I need to compose myself before going out to her. 'I'll be there in a second sweetie, I promise,' I tell her, wiping my face again.

'No Mum! You need to come and look
now
!' Poppy insists, and whips her head around to look down over the railing that runs around the decking. She must have spotted an even bigger crab down there in the water.

'Okay Poppy, I'll be there in a second.' The last thing I need now is my daughter to go off into a tantrum because I'm not paying enough attention to her crustacean discoveries.

'Come here now Mum!' she demands, even louder.

'Poppy!' I snap. 'Just wait!'

She
plonks
the small crab down on the decking, stands upright, points one imperious finger over the railing and looks at me in no uncertain terms. 'It's Dad! Dad's here!'

Oh!

My poor sweet child!

Here I am snapping at her because I think all she cares about is a stupid bunch of crabs, and she's actually started to imagine that her father has returned! She must be so terrified!

I am the worst mother in the world!

I stride out onto the decking and gather her up in my arms. 'I'm so sorry Pops! I wish your Dad was here too!'

'He is Mum!' she says, squirming to and fro to get free.

'No Poppy... he's lost at sea! I'm so sorry! But there are plenty of people out looking for him, I promise you!'

The look of exasperation I am greeted with should not be possible for a seven year old. They simply haven't had enough life experience. Nevertheless, Poppy pulls it off with startling aplomb.

'No Mum! Dad isn't lost. He's down here!' She once again points a dainty finger down over the railing. If this is all in her imagination, it's doing a very good job of convincing her it's real.

I join her at the edge of the deck, and look down.

My heart skips ninety three beats in the space of a quarter of a second - which I realise is impossible, but it happens anyway.

Below me, bumping gently against one of the concrete pillars the decking is propped up
with,
is a pedalo. Slumped in one seat of the ridiculous contraption, with his head lolled back on his shoulders, is the pinkest Jamie Newman I have ever seen.

Pink, and very much alive, I am pleased to say.

'Hey baby,' he says in an exhausted and pained voice, as his eyes focus on me. 'I may have got a little bit sunburned. Do you think you could get me a drink and some aloe
vera
?'

'Jamie!' I cry in shock. 'You're not pale and bloated!'

He gives me a confused look. 'Er... thanks?'

'I mean... you're alive!'

'Dad!' Poppy exclaims happily. 'Do you want to see my new crab?'

Jamie gulps and blinks several times. 'I'd love to Pops, but first I think I might need some help. Laura, can you go and see if you can find me a doctor? I don't feel right.'

It is at this moment that Sylvester joins me and pokes his head over the railing. Jamie sees the helpful old man, and his face immediately darkens. 'Not that kind of fucking Doctor!' he wails, before promptly fainting into unconsciousness.

Luckily, Jamie's injuries appear to be confined to the kind of sunburn they warn you about on public information films, and a degree of dehydration that is solved by the consumption of two
litres
of water. By the time half an hour has passed, my husband is looking a lot better. So much so that the island's doctor has left us alone, as has poor old Sylvester and the rest of the Wimbufushi staff.
Ample opportunity then, for me to enter into scolding mode.

'You absolute twat.'

'Yes, dear.
I know.'

'You selfish, irresponsible idiot.'

'Yes, that's me.'

'You thoughtless moron.'

'Thoughtless moron... yes, I am indeed one of those.'

'You could have left me a widow and your daughter fatherless, just so you could have a go on a child's toy.'

'Hey, hey, hey! Steady on. It's not a child's toy.'

'Be quiet Jamie! I am the one speaking here, not you!'

'Yes dear.'

And so on, and so forth, for a good fifteen minutes, until Mr Kadesh knocks politely at the bungalow door. I open it and provide him with my best apologetic facial expression. It's one I'm well practiced at making, so it's very convincing.

'Hello Mrs Newman. How is the patient?'

I roll my eyes. 'He's fine. Sporting one hell of a sunburn and extremely embarrassed, but apart from that he'll be okay.'

'Excellent,' Kadesh beams, probably out of relief that his resort island hasn't been the site of a tourist death today. 'Do you think you will be able to make your plane back to
Malé
at three o'clock?'

I glance up at the clock on the wall of the bungalow, and am stunned to see that it's only just after half one in the afternoon. There's nothing like a heightened sense of panic to make you lose track of time. I could have sworn the search for Jamie went on for a good ten hours, but here we are, a mere three hours later and all has been resolved.
'Yes, definitely.
He's fine to travel - as long as I cover him in enough cream. You'll probably want to lay down some plastic sheeting on the plane's seat.'

Mr Kadesh stares at me with mixed confusion and revulsion.

'Just kidding. We will all be fine to travel.' I bring out the apologetic smile again, because at this point, it really can't hurt.

'Mr Kadesh!' I hear Jamie call from behind me, and look round to see him coming towards us. Given that he is more sunburned than the Sahara, Jamie is walking with a strange, stiff gait that makes him look like C3PO with troublesome bowels. 'Thank you for all your help,' he says to the other man, offering a hand with a wince of pain.

Mr Kadesh warily reaches his own hand out. I can tell he's debating on whether it's a good idea to shake my husband's hand, for fear of some of the stupid rubbing off on him. Eventually good customer service wins out over understandable trepidation, and he pumps Jamie's hand up and down a couple of times, before letting go. 'No problem, Mr Newman. I'm just glad you are well.'

'Oh yes! Nothing that a bucket of
Sudocrem
and a visit to a skin specialist won't cure!'

The poor resort manager doesn't really know how to respond to this, so he simply bids us both good day, and scuttles off back to the island, no doubt to hand in his resignation and look for a job on the nearest fishing boat.

'Come on tomato boy, we'd best make sure we're packed properly if we're going to get off this island on time,' I tell Jamie and wander back across the bungalow to get my suitcase.

It's just as well we have a good hour and a half before the sea plane leaves, as it takes almost that long for Jamie to get dressed.

Picture, if you will, a man in moderate pain asked to accomplish a simple task on his own.

It's not a pretty sight, is it?

What should be the easiest thing in the world for a fully grown adult to do - get dressed - becomes a Herculean task for a man, when you introduce a bit of discomfort into the equation. You would think that given how violent and aggressive the buggers can be given the right motivation, they would power through pain in a very macho, Michael Bay movie kind of way, but nothing could be further from the truth.