There’s a pause, and then we drink some more. We’re all still on edge, but the thought has burned into our minds now, that glorious idea: revenge. After all, it’s not the first time the four of us have banded against her. It’d be like stepping into old comfy shoes or returning home after a long time away; sure enough, it’d be like we never left.
As we carry on drinking, losing ourselves to the rest of the day and night, our phones drain of battery.
Esther’s is the last to go. A final dark screen that sends us all over the edge and into a determined drunken stupor.
We’re stranded on this island now, but maybe that’s a good thing after all.
Because that bitch is going to pay.
I’m just not sure which one of us is going to get to her first.
Eighteen
Esther
May 21, 2023
The hangover hits me as I sit up, making me moan and close my eyes again. The throbbing never seems to subside, crashing against my skull. Did we really drink that much? Even holding my head gives me no comfort, my vision blurring and refocusing a number of times before it settles.
Maybe this is just the after-effects of yesterday reaching me. Part of me wishes it was all just some awful fever dream, but the dry mouth and aching kidneys remind me all too well it wasn’t. I’ve really lost my job. Everyone at my work has seen me naked.
For a second I think I might throw up there and then on the bed, and I have to lean over the side and take deep breaths. There’s no telling what is going on back home. My office might have been packed up already, my stuff in little boxes in a dreadful back room somewhere waiting to be collected. Oh God, and I’d have to walk through to get them too. Past everyone whilst they look at me in horror. Actually, would they even let me in after that? I’m not sure what’s worse. Facing everyone again or being humiliated waiting in the foyer for someone to come and bring me everything.
I won’t let it happen. There will be a way to prove it was Poppy who sent the pictures. Surely they can’t get rid of me so fast.
I wonder if my parents have found out. My mother, who got me the job interview in the first place. Jesus.
The room feels hot and stifling. I need to get out of here.
As I fling the covers off, I gasp.
My stomach is red. I think I’ve been injured when I realise it’s from the red lipstick. A word, written on me. No, an insult. BITCH. When the hell did that happen? Was it Tanya? Poppy?
I try to rewind my brain for last night’s events but come up stubbornly blank. Only a few key memories stick in my mind. For a second I think I must have overslept, a first for me, but then the sunrise starts to filter through the window and I realise it’s dawn.
My hands fly to my phone, which now sits on the bedside table. The black screen reminds me that there is no charge; the crack reminds me how shattered our lives have become. Those emails come flooding back to me again, and even though it achieves nothing, I turn the phone upside down so the screen no longer faces me.
It’s very quiet. Despite how I’m feeling, I can’t imagine not going for a run. It’s like breathing for me, as natural as other people who desperately reach for caffeine in the morning. There’s a moment as I stand up when the world seems to tilt on its axis and I think I’m going to fall, grabbing the bedpost. Mercifully, it rights itself, and I take slow movements. The lipstick lies on the floor, cap missing. I shove it into a drawer, desperate not to see it. As I change into my gear, scrubbing the horrible lipstick away, I can’t even hear the ocean. It must be very calm out there this morning.
One look in the mirror tells me all I need to know about last night. Bags are heavy under my bloodshot eyes, my lips are dry and cracked, and even staring for too long gives me a headache. I tie my hair up into a messy bun and head outside, sunlight making me groan.
First: water. I walk past the other huts, all lights switched off. I think I can even hear Annabel snoring. Tanya’s door is half open, and I’m tempted to go and close it but don’t want to scare her. Outside Chloe’s hut, the Capri-Sun wrapper from the scavenger hunt is stuck under one of her boots. Why does she have one of the items too?
As I round the corner to the main lodge, I can see a puddle of sick on the decking. Nice. There was no rain last night, so it’s remained, the smell getting worse in the heat. I swirl my tongue around my mouth, conscious that I could be the culprit, but I’m clean. If morning breath and forgetting to brush my teeth last night can be considered clean. But at least I haven’t thrown up.
When I open the lodge door, there’s a smudge of something wet on my hand.
“Gross,” I say, thinking it’s vomit. I rush over to the sink and wash my hand under the tap.
It’s then that I see what I touched is red, coming off my hand down the plughole.
Blood?
I snap my hand back, but all traces are gone, and when I go to the doorframe there is the slightest of smudges now. Stained. Dark. As if in the shape of fingers wrapping around.
I lean closer and smell, but the fresh air outside interferes and I can’t be sure.
Did one of us get a nosebleed or something?
I drink gratefully from the tap, filling and refilling one of the glasses from the cupboard. My throat feels like it’s on fire and even now my hands are still shaky. We aren’t young anymore, clearly. We can’t just bounce back.
The door opens and Chloe heads inside. She looks even rougher, clutching her head.
“When the hell did we go to bed last night?” she asks, filling her own glass of water and taking a long gulp. “I feel like death. Like actual death.”
“Haven’t got a clue. Did you wake up to anything strange?”
“No. What do you mean?” She sits down at the kitchen table, and I do the same. We’re careful to keep our voices quiet, aware of Poppy in the room just next door. “How are you feeling?”
“Rough,” I say. I omit the fact I woke up with BITCH scrawled in red lipstick on my stomach. “It feels like I’ve been run over by a bus carrying cymbals. You’re up early.”
“Couldn’t sleep. I still can’t believe what happened yesterday.”
“We should have seen it coming.” This is the thought I keep coming back to. We knew things were awkward, that things were starting to turn when we did that scavenger hunt. And yet we persisted. Why? Because we wanted to prove that we weren’t that bad? Because our egos were too great to admit that Poppy might still have a problem with us?
We were fools.
Chloe indicates the door with her head. “Is she up?”
“Haven’t heard from her.”
“Maybe we should wake her up by pouring our water over her face.”
This finally makes me smile. “Don’t tempt me.”
Chloe holds her water out in front of her, considering. “I’m not joking.” As she leans forward, her face is caught in the light and I can see scratches down her neck.
“What are they?”
“What?”
“On your neck. Did something scratch you?”
She looks baffled. “Scratch me?” Her fingers touch the marks on her neck, and she realises what I’m talking about. “Huh, that’s weird. No idea. Maybe it was from the bushes on that bloody scavenger hunt.”
“Are we planning a coup?” Annabel walks in, followed by Tanya close behind.
I hold my breath at the sight of Tanya, but at the moment she seems content to ignore me, passing right by me to get herself a drink of coffee as if I don’t exist.
“Tanya,” I say, but she pretends she hasn’t heard me.
The four of sit around the kitchen table, but there’s no easy conversation to have. We know things about each other now. Annabel’s husband’s cheating not only with random strangers but with Chloe. Tanya’s drug problems. Chloe and I have lost our jobs. It feels intimate. We don’t discuss these kinds of things. Not as a group, anyway. I’m very aware that there’s more Poppy didn’t uncover, something I’m relieved about.
“Does anyone else feel like they’ve been hit by a lorry?” Annabel asks, rubbing her forehead with her fingers. “I’ve never been this bad after drinking before.”
Chloe nods. “Same here. No matter how much water I get down me, nothing is helping.”
“I wasn’t asking you,” Annabel says.
Tanya stays quiet, but from her closed eyes and pained expression I’m sure she’s feeling the same.
I need to make it up with Tanya somehow, but now isn’t the time. Same with Annabel and Chloe. If we’re going to be united in this, we need to actually be on good terms. Right now, it’s like we’re a group of mines, ready to explode at the slightest touch. We pick at toast, focused on the closed door of Poppy’s bedroom.
Half an hour goes by before Chloe stands up, impatient. “We should just go in. She doesn’t get to hide in her bedroom all day. She needs to face the consequences.”
“Chloe’s right,” Tanya says. “She’s a coward.”
We walk to the bedroom door, but hesitate.
“What if she’s just asleep?” Annabel asks. “I don’t want to spend another second in her company.”