Having hung around breakfast far too long and then installing my parents at the bar to indulge in an early morning glass of bubbles, the party-pooper-of-the-day, aka me, decided to go and remove myself from any risk of public humiliation by my mother and just sit on the private sundeck outside my room. Bungalow-villa-room-thing. It was basically just a room with a private patio and some silly little fence leading onto the path down the beach. Very fancy. Mum and Dad next door, and a couple on the other side who were already out on their deckchairs, baking in the morning sun.
I shuddered, my medical head back in action, imagining all the doom and gloom. I wasn’t about to sit in the sun and fry my skin into oblivion. Not like the…
Crap. There was someone fast asleep on my little deck, thankfully in the shade, apart from one foot that was glowing alarmingly red in the sun. The sole of a male foot.
I had to stop and double-check that it was definitely my room-villa-thing. That I hadn’t got lost and missed a turn. Nope. This was… Yes.
There was someone asleep on my deckchair with a towel over their head.
My towel. Probably. The one I had left outside to dry. On my private deck. Like…my space. That I had… Crap.
Okay. Deep breath. Professional mode on.
I was in the middle of the Indian Ocean, no police force around. Did this island have security? Could I ring reception and ask them to remove the obviously lost intruder on my deckchair?
Nah. I was a grown-up; surely someone had just got drunk and confused.
Which is why I got down on my haunches and carefully lifted the edge of the towel.
“Hey,” I said softly.
Bad move. Incredibly bad move. Because here came a hand flying as the dude on the deckchair jerked into life and flailed helplessly under the towel, making me lose my balance and fall straight onto my arse. And now the second deckchair was sliding into the flowerbed with me attached, and here was…Ringlet-man, standing up and then wailing in pain as his reddened foot hit the patio slabs. Jumping up and down and staring at me in shock. And pain. And… Fuck.
“Sorry!” came out of my mouth as I tried to get myself up…and away. He was going to fall over any second, so I did what any respectable human would have done. I grabbed his arm and tried to steady him.
“Did your mum get you up to this?” he snarled, then whined pathetically as he once again tried to stand on his foot.
“Sit,” I said sternly.
He just glared at me, still standing there on his good foot, hanging on to me for support.
“Okay.”
I said that more to calm myself than to calm him; tears were forming in his eyes.
Pain. That foot looked horrible, and how long had he been lying there?
“Let’s get you inside.”
“The fuck?” he screeched. Okay. Unhinged. Confused?
“Mate, you’ve burnt the sole of your foot to a crisp, and I need to put something cooling on it right now. Wanna destroy your foot? Be my guest, or you let me get you inside, pop some painkillers in you and sort an icepack?”
Icepack? Not the thing for burns, what the hell was coming out of my mouth? I was a bit frazzled. So was he.
“Okay?” Another high-pitched whine as he tried to take a step.
“We have to go round… Hang on. I’ll go open the door and get you in. You’re, like, covered in sand.”
A correct observation, now that I had calmed down…for one second. This was me stepping out of my awkward self and into my medical alter ego, devoid of personal involvement; he was just a patient in need. This, I could do. Hence I sprinted round to the back of the room-villa-thing, which housed the front door, and let myself in, grabbed a towel, and slid the patio doors open, where he was still hobbling on his good foot and looking like he was crying.
I didn’t blame him. He’d done that foot in badly, and lucky for him? I’d been there once or twice, Doctor of Medicine or not. I had my first aid kit and my squidgy bottle of burn gel and latex gloves at the ready, but I quickly changed my tactic.
“Shower,” I demanded, and just like that? With zero concern for lifting techniques or manual handling guidelines, I yanked him into my arms and carried him inside.
Like a fucking princess. Who the hell was I, and what had I done with Noah Fairweather?
The whole situation was absurd, yet terrifyingly real as I put him down on the toilet seat, lifting his foot up and flicking the shower on, ice cold, with my elbow. I almost tipped him off the seat when I reached out for the showerhead, but it was the cold water hitting his foot that made him slide off, now howling and trying to hang on to the toilet roll holder.
