The Island. C.L. Taylor
poo in the corner of the ball pit at soft play. OK, so we were all three at the time, but the memory of the warm squelch as I put my hand in it is indelibly burnt into my brain. The walking tour of the Scottish Isles when we were all twelve was pretty grim too. It never stopped raining and I slipped and twisted my ankle when we were still an hour away from the car. Almost every year since we were born there’s been an enforced group holiday and now here we are, in Thailand, a disparate group of teenagers forced to socialize with each other because our parents happened to go to the same antenatal group over seventeen years ago. Our friendships have changed over the years. As five- and six-year-olds Honor and I were about as close as two little kids could be. We tried to include Meg in our games but she was more interested in trying to muscle in on the games Milo, her twin brother, was playing with Jeffers and Danny. As pre-teens Meg gravitated back to me and Honor and there was a distinct girls versus boys dynamic. That all changed when hormones kicked in and Honor and Danny got together and me and Milo… well, I’m not sure how to describe that. We danced around each other, I guess. Sometimes I fancied him and he didn’t fancy me. Sometimes it was the other way round. It’s not that we’ve got a ‘thing’. It’s more of a ‘non-thing’. But it’s not just friendship, not like me and Danny or Jeffers.
Don’t get me wrong, Thailand is amazing. The people are so smiley and friendly, the food is delicious, the streets are buzzing and vibrant and the scenery is breathtaking. Yes, it’s hot and humid but, hello, I’d rather be dripping with sweat over here than dripping with rain in England. No, Thailand’s not the problem, nor is the amazing complex we’re staying in. The fact is I can’t do holidays like this anymore. The others don’t know how to act around me and I’ve forgotten who I used to be. I can’t relax. I’ve forgotten how to banter, and if I catch myself laughing, I immediately feel guilty. I might be seventeen but I feel like I’m a hundred years old.
‘Miss Harper?’ I jolt as Milo appears behind me. I was so caught up in watching Danny trying, and failing, to lift Honor above his head that I didn’t notice him slip away from the table he was sitting at with Meg. She’s changed since we hit our teens. She used to be competitive, loud and outspoken. These days, if she does speak, it’s usually to say something snarky.
‘Mr Katsaro?’ I shove my hands beneath the table and smile, tightly, up at Milo as my heart hammers in my chest. Like his sister he’s got jet black hair but, while Meg’s tumbles over her shoulders in dark corkscrews, Milo’s is shaved around the sides and wavy on top. Their surname means ‘curly’ in Greek and their whole family has gorgeous hair.
‘I’m going to the bar.’ He reaches a hand towards me and, for one heart-stopping second, I think he’s going to touch me. Instead he places his hand on the back of my chair and rests his weight against it. He glances towards my glass, most of my mojito mocktail long gone. ‘Do you need a top-up?’
I glance across the pool, to Meg, sitting in her seat, hunched forward, her elbows on her knees, watching us. If Milo was interested in me, which these days he’s not, she wouldn’t approve and who could blame her? Who needs my kind of screw-up in their life? If you need me, I’ll turn my back. If you want to talk, I’ll run. And if you love me…
Something lurches inside me – like a bruise being pressed – and I twist the tender skin on the underside of my forearm until the feeling fades. I might not be a psychopath but I’ve got my own ways of switching off negative thoughts. My aim is to be in complete control of my emotions. I’m not there yet but one day I will be.
‘No thanks.’ I look back at Milo. ‘I’m going to bed in a bit.’
Something in his gaze shifts. Did he just look disappointed or did I completely imagine that?
‘Are you going to the bar?’ Danny shouts to Milo from the pool as he launches Honor into the air. She shrieks for all of two seconds then plops back into the water with a splash. ‘I’ll come with you. I want a snack.’ He pauses, waiting for Honor to resurface. ‘Want anything to drink?’ he asks her.
She runs her hands through her hair, slicking it back from her face. ‘Lemonade, please.’
‘You don’t want a cocktail? This barman’s not fussed about ID.’
‘Nah. I’m good.’
As Danny swims to the side and heaves himself out of the water Milo drifts over to him. I watch as they saunter over to the bamboo bar that’s surrounded by palm trees. When I look back at the pool, Honor has swum to the side nearest me. The top half of her body is out of the water, her blonde hair slicked back and her arms folded on the tiles.
‘Are you OK?’ she asks.
I stiffen. I can deal with people being kind on WhatsApp and social media but, in person, any kind of sympathy makes me want to cry. Thankfully no one’s pushed me to open up. Other than a few awkward ‘I’m really sorry, Jessie’ comments on the day we arrived, no one’s mentioned the reason my family didn’t go on the group holiday to Norfolk last year. And I’d rather it stayed that way.
‘Fine. Hot, isn’t it?’
Honor takes the hint and changes the subject. ‘Is Milo getting you a drink?’
‘No. I said I didn’t want one.’
‘Oh right.’ She shrugs lightly. ‘I’m not sure why I asked Danny to get me one. I’m not even thirsty.’
Danny’s always doing nice things for her. In the three days we’ve been here he’s rushed up to their room to get things for her at least half a dozen times, given her countless shoulder rubs and, when she didn’t like her fried snapper at lunch, he swapped with his own meal, even though he’s not keen on fish.
Honor sighs loudly, prompting me to ask her what’s up. She ignores the question and eases herself effortlessly out of the water and sits on the edge. ‘Are you looking forward to going to the island tomorrow?’
I shudder, despite the heat. ‘Not really, are you?’
She shrugs. ‘Seven days with no 4G, no WiFi, no clean clothes and no soft beds. It’s either going to be hell, or the best thing we’ve ever done.’ She gestures across the pool to Jefferson whose got his face buried in a book. ‘Bear Grylls over there is crapping himself with excitement.’
I can’t help but laugh. Jefferson Payne, the youngest of the group by nine days, has been obsessed with camping, hunting and foraging for the last few years. He’s small and wiry with oversized glasses but, in his head, he’s some kind of action hero. If the WhatsApp group chats are anything to go by he spends every night after school whittling knife handles out of bits of wood and plaiting huge lengths of cord into bracelets. I’m not judging – how he spends his time is his own business – but it is a bit weird that a kid who lives in a three-bedroom house in north London and goes to private school is so obsessed with prepping for the end of the world.
I’m not sure if it’s the prepper stuff or something else but he’s changed since the last time I saw him. He was always the most reserved kid in our group, but he’s got a real loner vibe going on now. We’ve chatted a couple of times since we arrived – small talk mostly – and I got the distinct vibe that he’d rather be anywhere than hanging out with us.
If our parents have noticed that we’ve all outgrown these group holidays, they’ve chosen to ignore it. They all seem as chilled and relaxed as they normally are. Well, maybe not my parents, not this year.
‘I mean, it’s only a week,’ Honor says, ‘and the guide will be doing all the hard work building us a shelter and stuff. It’s not like we need to be fashioning spears out of bits of wood and killing fish for dinner.’
‘I’m packing Pringles,’ I say. ‘Seriously, sod all the sensible stuff we’re supposed to take with us. I’m filling my bag with—’
I’m interrupted by the slap, slap, slap of flip-flops as two lads – one about our age with a nose ring and the other a couple of years older with closely cropped hair – appear from between the palm trees and saunter towards us. Honor turns to look, flipping