Page 70 of The Summer Island Swap
Scrub my earlier comment.
Adrenaline pumped throughout my body. I always got a high from checking in new guests. Each one was an adventure. You never knew whether you’d be glad to see them leave or hope one day they’d come back.
A tall man with short blond hair and wearing an expensive watch and tailored shorts strode over. He clapped Rick on the back. Grabbed my hand and kissed it.
‘I’m Jason Elliot.’ His words slurred slightly. ‘You must be Rick Crowley and you…?’
Clearly they’d started their holiday on the plane.
‘Sarah,’ I said, in a polite voice. ‘Welcome to the Virgin Islands. I believe congratulations are in order…’
The other men crowded around and the smell of whiskey rudely filled the air. Rick and I shook hands with them all before heading outside to the people carrier taxi. He asked the group about their flight. I talked to Jason about his upcoming nuptials.
Okay. We could do this. Rick and I were in control. Or at least I thought so until we passed a small supermarket and Steve, a portly man in luminous lime green shorts, took off his cap to scratch his bald head and ordered the taxi to stop.
‘Quick booze stop, mate,’ he said to the driver, ignoring Rick and me. They all piled out, returning shortly afterwards carrying bags full of beer and vodka and stuffing crisps into their mouths, rogue ones tumbling onto the taxi’s floor as they got back in. The car continued down to the dock. Twice, Steve stuck his head out of the window to wolf whistle loudly. Rick did his best to engage the men in conversation but they weren’t interested.
It was the same on the boat and they opened beer cans as soon as they boarded. Rick pointed out aspects of the coast and a seal but the men were too busy sharing jokes and rolling up their sleeves to get a tan to show off back in the office. One winked and asked if I had a boyfriend whilst the others shared lurid jokes and banter that became more outrageous as the alcohol flowed. A short man in Hawaiian shorts burped and lobbed an empty crisp packet over the side.
‘Please don’t do that,’ I said as warmly as I could. ‘Plastic pollution is bad enough as it is. It’s not good for the seagulls or—’
‘Spare us the lecture love,’ said Steve and laughed. ‘Jeez, the amount we’re paying we can do what we want.’
‘Hey. Steady on, Steve. Show some respect, mate,’ slurred Jason.
‘Just a little joke,’ he said and looked sheepish, swaying unsteadily. ‘It was decent of you to fit us in at such late notice. Sorry. You’re right of course. It won’t happen again.’
‘No problem.’ I smiled.
‘The ex’s brother is big on recycling,’ he continued. ‘God knows he talked about it enough to me during the miserable five years I was married.’
‘Are you all single?’ asked Rick, brightly.
‘Me, Jack and Tony are happily divorced,’ said Steve. ‘Jase, as you know, is about to sign his life away. Pete and Chris are single and looking for action.’
Only the groom-to-be was in a relationship. Oh God.
‘As best man it’s down to me to make sure we all get the most out of this week,’ continued Steve. ‘What has Seagrass Island got to offer six red-blooded men in their prime?’
‘Plenty of trail-clearing if you want it,’ said Rick. His grin looked false. ‘Lee will have told you about our conservation project.’
Steve swigged his beer. ‘Nice try mate. I run my own landscaping business so I do enough of that back home. I was thinking more of hands-on action with the lay-deez if you know what I mean.’
‘Brandon, who works on Seagrass Island – he knows Tortola well and has helped us plan several trips you’ll enjoy. A bar crawl. The best nightclub in the British Virgin Islands. During the day there’s a dolphin spotting trip and snorkelling for those of you up for that. Or you can relax on our very own beach with waiter service. Lovely Nia – Brandon’s wife,’ I hastily added, ‘makes the best rum cocktails.’
A couple of the men turned to listen.
‘There’s fishing as well,’ said Rick. ‘And a tour of Seagrass Conservation for those who want it…’
‘I wouldn’t mind a photo with your monkey we’ve heard about,’ said Steve. ‘A photo of me with that on my shoulder is bound to be a hit when I’m trying to woo the ladies.’
A wave of protective feelings rushed over me. A glazed smile crossed Rick’s face. Chatty was sociable for sure, but a gentle creature. Any meeting with these party people would have to be handled carefully.
I sidled over to Rick as the group spotted a shoal of large fish under the surface and took photos, challenging themselves to see who could identify them first once they picked up an internet signal.
‘The key is going to be to keep this group busy,’ I said.
Rick took his eye off the horizon for a second. ‘Still sure you want to be involved?’
