Page 85 of Taking the Heat

‘Oh, sorry, you misunderstand: these aren’t names of the people whoaren’tyour cabin mates. One of these two namesisyour cabin mate.’ Miles began to shout excitedly. ‘The winners will have a 50/50 chance of getting their guess right!’

I want that envelope!Everything inside me screamed for victory. If I could narrow my guesses down to just two people, I thought I might just be able to convince myself to enter that damn cabin again.

‘Now, you must be licenced to drive a jet ski, so for that reason we have paired each unlicensed competitor with a qualified one. You’ll need to hang on, so, as usual, touch restrictions are lifted for the duration of the game. The jet skis have your names on them; head on down to see who you’ll be working with.’

Clunking along the wooden jetty, I saw Dante stop at the shiny black jet ski, his name printed on the side in silver. I prayed that my moniker wasn’t on the other side.

‘Tara! Tara, over here!’ Henry waved happily from the last jet ski in the line, a happy yellow contraption. My name and his flanked the sides in bright blue script.

As glad as I was to be paired with Henry, my heart sank a little as my hopes of winning seemed to dribble away; he isn’t exactly Mr Competitive, and I simply couldn’t imagine him having more than a basic working knowledge of a jet ski. ‘Henry! How on earth do you know how to use one of these things? Do the royals get to use them for racing along the Thames?’

Grinning, he leaped on and stuck his hand through the kill-switch safety loop. ‘Actually, I learned when I spent some time in the south of France as a teen, then bought my own to use on the lake at my family estate.’ He started the engine and revved it mercilessly. ‘I believe you’ll find me surprisingly skilled.’

‘Oh … good?’

My nervous expression must have given me away, because Henry laughingly reassured me, ‘I promise, I’ll look after you. I really think we have a good shot at winning this thing!’

‘I hope so.’ Henry held out his hand so I could step onto the runners of the jet ski. The machine dipped under my feet, causing me to squeal as I plummeted onto the seat.

With the sun-warmed leather between my thighs and my arms wrapped tightly around Henry’s waist, we puttered away from the jetty and over to meet the other contestants at the starting buoys.

It took a few minutes for everyone to get sorted; some of the people with licenses were clearly out of practice, spinning in circles or bunny-hopping their way to the starting line. Henry seemed very relaxed by comparison. In fact, he was more at home on the jet ski than I think I’ve ever seen him since arriving on the Island.

Miles arrived on the back of a small white boat, a starter’s pistol in his hand. ‘Good luck, contestants!’ he yelled. ‘On your marks! Get set!GO!’

At the bang, Henry floored it and we streaked away.

If you’ve never been on a jet ski, I’ll try to explain why I find them so terrifying. They’re basically a motorcycle—and we all know how safe those are—but on the water. There’s the horrendously loud engine, drowning out your screams as you hurtle to your doom. They’re fast, hard to manoeuvre, easy to get thrown from, and most horrifying of all—they don’t have brakes! Can you fathom that? A vehicle capable of going a hundred kilometres an hour and no way of stopping save allowing water resistance to slow you down.Insane …

The only reason I wasn’t freaking out like Jen on a skydive was Henry. As we barrelled across the waves, the hull of the ski jolting us as we banged along, he was smooth and in control. I swear, I even heard him cry ‘Whoopee!’ at one stage, but with my eyes squeezed tightly shut, it was hard to tell.

After a particularly brutal slam down over a wave, spray slapped me and I looked up instinctively. We were far from shore, travelling at a break-neck pace, the crystal blue waters blurring beneath us. Peering over Henry’s shoulder, the wind blasted my face, but I could see the first floating station before us.

The inflatable station was a lurid yellow, and it looked just like a kids’ bouncy play castle. It swayed back and forth on the water and as we drew closer, the structure became clearer. The castle had two levels, with a ramp leading up to the top where the ten coloured markers hung. Water dribbled down the ramp, and it shone in the sun, slippery and sheer.

We weren’t the first to reach the castle; Clara and Lars were already there, with Dante and Rafaela right behind.

Lars and Rafaela jumped onto the castle, bouncing up and down as they charged for the ramp. Rafaela hit it first, and she made it up halfway before losing her footing and plummeting down again. Lars only managed a few feet and the same thing happened.

There must be another way …I studied the castle, noticing the walls were ribbed in wide bands—wide enough to get a foothold in.

Henry pulled the jet ski up to the side of the thick rubber platform and I bounded off. Instead of heading for the ramp, where there were now five competitors trying to clamber their way up, I lit out running for the back corner where the walls met.

Launching myself at the corner, my bare feet found purchase on one band, while my hands fitted easily inside the upper ones. Leap-frogging up and feeling like the world’s most uncoordinated parkour star, I gripped the rail of the top level. Pulling myself over ungracefully, I grabbed the yellow tag, then threw myself off the side again.

The bouncy surface cushioned my fall. I rolled twice, then sprinted on wobbly legs back to Henry before anyone could work out what I’d done.

‘Brilliant work!’ cried Henry. He hit the gas again as we zoomed away, leaving the rest in our wake.

My glee at having outwitted the ramp helped me to relax on the second leg. I didn’t feel so much like screeching in fear as we whizzed along; I was actually enjoying the feeling of the sun on my head and spray on my feet.

The second station was a giant clear ball, trapped inside a ring of bumpers to prevent it from rolling out to sea. It looked a bit like the humongous beach ball from that really old Coca-Cola ad. Inside, the coloured tags hung from all over the walls.

Henry sped us up to the jetty, where an assistant helped me climb inside the sphere. The idea was to roll the ball on the water, using your body weight, until your tag was within reach. If there had been anyone else inside, it would have been a nightmare, because everyone would have been moving in their own direction.

Because it was just me, I spun the ball, falling occasionally onto my hands and knees, and the yellow marker rotated to my eye level. Snatching it, I then had to roll the ball back to the jetty so I could get out again.

Just in time …Three other jet skis swished up just as I straddled the seat and Henry left them in our wake.

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