Page 32 of The Summer Island Swap
‘What’s the matter?’ Rick took the bucket. ‘Ooh. They look nasty.’
‘I’m okay. I’ve just run out of plasters. I can manage until I get back.’
‘No way,’ he said and reached into his pocket. Swiftly he prepared a couple of plasters and placed them over the blisters.
I reached for the bucket. He shook his head but I didn’t withdraw my arm. He tilted his head, stared at me and then slowly passed it back to me.
‘What are they?’ I asked after we’d reached the top of the hill again and made our way down the other side. I hadn’t noticed this stretch of about twenty trees before, with large glossy leaves and huge red-yellow pods attached to the trunks.
‘Cacao trees,’ said Rick.
Benedikt put down his bucket and pulled out his camera.
‘Wow,’ said Amy.
Rick pointed. ‘Those big pods contain the beans.’
‘You’ve gotchocolatetrees growing here?’ I said, feeling a genuine flicker of excitement. Jonas was going to be so annoyed to have missed this.
‘A traveller from the Ivory Coast brought one to the island before my grandmother bought this place. The rainforest is the perfect place for them to grow. They need tropical heat but also the shade that the taller trees provide. I must get around to pulling some down, though. I do that now and again. I don’t want them getting out of control and pushing out the indigenous plant species that serve this environment.’
That confirmed it. Rick and I could never be a good match if he destroyed a plant that grew my all-time favourite food.
Thoughts about those pods and their contents distracted me enough to get me back to the site where an early morning team took the buckets from us, to bury the eggs. We were instructed to go to bed until lunch time. I could hardly bend my sore hands. I stumbled into the canteen to pick up some fruit. Jackie was in there with Chatty and the sight of his cheeky blond face revived me. I whistled ‘Daydream Believer’. His head raised. Jackie smiled and nodded. He’d started to squeak louder. I let him smell my hand and he cocked his head towards me. I obliged and tickled just the right spot.
Reluctantly I left him and went over to the rota. Rick had rostered me in for early bird counting on Monday followed by another turtle excursion that evening. The hard work had only just begun. Not even the prospect of shopping tomorrow cheered me up as it would be for practical items.
Covered in sweat and grime, I desperately needed to wash. I dragged my feet to the shower block. In a daze of exhaustion, I stripped off and draped my clothes and towel over the top of the door. I turned on the water and flinched. Of course. It was stone cold. I shut my eyes and washed my hair. Leaves must have swept in under the door because something gently brushed the top of my foot.
Whatever it was stayed there. I rinsed my hair, turned off the water and opened my eyes. I looked down at the biggest, hairiest spider lounging on top of my toes. I suppressed a scream and shook my foot. It tumbled onto the floor. Instead of crawling off under the door it held me there, hostage. Without my clothes I couldn’t make a run for it.
I reached forward to grab my towel. The creature reacted by raising a front leg. When I was little, Mum had drilled into me never to kill spiders. So after she’d passed I’d always been the one to put them out as Anabelle was too scared. At least Amy helped when she got older. But this one was huge and I’d read somewhere that tarantulas could jump. With one swift movement I grabbed my towel and my clothes promptly disappeared down the outside of the door.
I wrapped the towel around me and slid down, sitting on the wet floor whilst the spider played dead.
‘Sarah? Are you in there? Amy’s looking for you,’ said a voice outside the door.
Fantastic. Just the person I wanted to see me in this state.
‘Are you all right?’ Rick continued. ‘Your clothes are out here.’
I covered my eyes, unsure as to whether it was the shower water or tears running down my cheeks.
‘Sarah. Open the door.’
Please. Just go away.
The cubicle jiggled. ‘Look. I’m coming in. I’ve the knack of opening these doors. I really ought to get the locks changed. They aren’t the best.’
Still my hands hid my face. If I didn’t open my eyes perhaps it was possible that this was all just a bad dream. That’s what I used to imagine as a girl when I lay in bed hearing Mum crying in her room after an argument with Dad who’d be watching TV downstairs.
The door swung open.
‘What the…?’
I heard a small movement.
‘The spider’s gone,’ he said.
