I’m lying on the bed and holding the phone far above my face, seeing my hair has spread sexily around my head like a bleached halo. Much nicer way to join the Mile High Club than the airplane bathroom, I write underneath, knowing it’s borderline too cheeky but also knowing these occasional posts get me a lot more likes. Sure enough, there are already hundreds, along with desperate comments from sad old men about how they’d like to join me up here. As if.
After a film and another ridiculous meal with a few glasses of wine, the attendant comes round with a final drink and cake.
“We should be arriving soon,” she says to me, as I admire how tightly put together her bun is, the dewy freshness of her makeup despite being on her feet nonstop this whole time. “I hope you’ve enjoyed your flight.”
“It’s been magical,” I tell her, but as soon as the seatbelt signs come back on for landing I get that tight, nervous feeling in my stomach once more.
Three
Tanya
May 18, 2023
The brochure Poppy included with the invitations couldn’t capture the beauty of this place.
Even just standing on the mainland pier puts into perspective how much brighter and sharper everything seems to be over here. Far out across the ocean I can see the island where we’re going to stay, a small dark space on the horizon amidst all the blue. The journey from the airport has taken almost an hour, the four of us crammed in an uncomfortably hot taxi, and I spent most of it with my eyes closed trying to avoid the onset of a migraine from the stuffiness. Not to mention how rough I feel anyway. Now that I’m out, the air seems much fresher, vastly different from the fumes and pollution back in England.
Part of me still wants to go home, not wanting to face the inevitable. But another part of me wants to stay here forever, living an island life away from everything and not having to think about what’s waiting for me when I get back. It’s hard though. Every so often my heart beats in my chest like it’s trying to escape, and my hands keep shaking. Constant reminders, determined to make me crack.
At the end of the pier, standing next to a boat, a middle-aged woman raises her hand in greeting, gesturing us to come forward. She’s not quite what I imagined, picturing some gorgeous leggy athletic blonde dressed in hippie clothes with sun-kissed skin. Instead she’s rather ordinary, in floral-patterned leggings and thick boots, her mouth breaking into a wide smile and revealing wrinkles.
“Not coming to help us with our bags then,” Annabel murmurs, hitching her handbag up onto her shoulder. “So much for first-class service.”
We’re barely twenty metres from her, I want to say, and you’ve got wheels on your suitcase. But I hold my tongue, which is often the best thing to do with Annabel.
As we approach, I wonder what the woman thinks of us, four overdressed women struggling along with our cases in our high heels. I’m the most dressed down out of any of us in my big jumper, but even that feels too much, especially in this heat. Not the best idea for someone who is trying desperately not to sweat as it is, but I can’t exactly take it off now. She’s immensely more practical, and I think I catch a hint of amusement in her expression once we’re in front of her.
“You must be the hen party,” she says, and her voice is unexpected too. Seeing her up close, leathery and shiny from the sun, hair pulled back into an unflattering low ponytail, I thought she’d sound gruff, almost manly. Again she surprises me, with a soft, lilting Welsh accent. I hadn’t realised she wasn’t native. “Welcome. I hope your journey here was okay.”
“Wonderful,” Esther says. “It’s so beautiful here.”
“You never get used to it,” the woman says with a nod, allowing us another moment to take in the scenery. “I’m Robin, by the way. I’ll be getting you safely to where you’re staying.” She lifts her hand and points across to the dark shape on the horizon I’d spotted before. “That’s the island you’ll be on. Deadman’s Bay.”
The name still gives me shivers. Robin notices and sends me a small smile.
“Don’t worry, the name makes it sound spookier than it is,” she says. “It’s a historical site, first settled on by a sailor who got shipwrecked. He married a woman from the mainland and they built a house together, though it hasn’t survived. The owner’s new house, where you’ll be staying, is built on that same site. No scary deaths, I promise you.”
“You don’t own the island?” Chloe asks, finally listening after snapping a picture of the end of the pier.
Robin laughs. “I wish. Just the glorified taxi lady between the mainland and island. But the owners live in America, so I’m here running the day to day.”
Sounds like a nice job to me. I study Robin, this pleasant and polite woman who clearly used to be from Wales. Why has she moved all the way out here?
Maybe I need to stop imagining everyone is getting away from something. But I feel like I’ve been running my whole life.
She steps forward to help us out, taking each of our bags in turn and loading them onto the boat. She does it expertly; one foot on the pier, the other on the boat, no fear or imbalance as the boat shifts with the gentle tide. Once the bags are loaded, she offers a hand to each of us to help us in.
“I get horribly seasick,” Annabel says uncertainly, hovering at the edge. “How long is the journey?”
“We’ve got a good tide this afternoon,” Robin tells her. “It shouldn’t take more than half an hour, forty minutes at most. If the wind’s against us it can take double that time.”
“That long?” Annabel glances back at us, face pale. “And we’ll be all alone out there?”
“There’s an emergency phone connected by landline,” Robin says, “and if that fails there are flares that are easy to spot from here. But no one’s ever had to use them.”
Brusque, she offers her hand again. Annabel admits defeat and boards the boat, teetering in her heels until she sits down on the long seat at the back. Esther goes next without complaint, joining Annabel and even giving her hand a squeeze to comfort her.
Chloe seems eager to get going; she doesn’t even need assistance but instead steps into the boat and gets herself seated. But just as I’m about to take Robin’s hand, Chloe pipes up, as if the thought has just occurred to her.
“What if there’s a storm?”
“A storm?” Robin pauses to consider this, leaving my hand dangling. “At night there’s often thunder and lightning, but it’s nothing to worry about.”
“But would you still be able to get out to us if there was a bad one?” Chloe persists, a glint in her eye that tells me she’s just trying to scare Annabel. It’s working; Annabel is gripping Esther tight.
Robin holds her hands up in surrender. “I’d have to get some outside help if that happened, I’ll admit. If the storm was that bad. But again, that’s never happened. You’re going to be fine. This is a holiday, remember, ladies! Not a boot camp!”
I look across at the island, taking in how far away and small it seems. The sky above is clear, not a single cloud. The wind is calm.
Still. I turn my head towards the mainland, the comfort of knowing help should be immediate.
“It’s Tanya, isn’t it?”
I startle at my name. Robin is waiting for me.
“I was given an information docket with all your names,” she says by way of explanation. “Are you ready to come aboard?”
Something about that makes me uncomfortable, but I shake the thought away and take her hand.
The four of us finally settled, Robin takes to the front, the roar of the engine being woken from its doze making Annabel and even Chloe jump.
As the boat pulls out into the ocean, picking up speed, the wind pushes us backwards, the breeze much more powerful out here. I’m glad to be moving, inhaling the fresh air. My head feels heavier than Chloe’s suitcases and before we set off I was worried I was going to be the one throwing up over the side.
“I should warn you,” Robin calls over the sounds of the engine and the waves. “In about five minutes you’re going to lose any Wi-Fi connection. There’s signal on the island, but it can be patchy. I’m afraid Deadman’s Bay hasn’t reached the twenty-first century in terms of easy internet access quite yet.”
Now it’s Esther’s turn to look horrified. “No Wi-Fi? I can’t rely on mobile data getting me through the next four days.”
Chloe protests as well. “How am I meant to upload photos and videos of my holiday if there’s no internet?”
“It’s an adventure!” Robin says. “You’re here for the bride anyway.”
Chloe’s already urgently uploading to her Instagram, Esther typing away at her phone.
Here for Poppy. It’s what I tried saying to the others, but it’s strange now that it’s actually happening. All these years, and we’ll finally be face to face again.
For me, all I can think of is the girl we left behind ten years ago. It seems strange to think of her as an adult like the rest of us, living a life independent of our influence.
Has she forgiven us? Forgiven me, in particular?