Page 34 of Shipwrecked

There’s a reluctant murmur of agreement. I don’t join in.

“It’s late,” Seán says. “Why don’t we turn in? We can hash out the details in the morning.”

We make our way back to our lean-tos. We end up in the same formation as last night, with Jules cradled in the middle. Cillian pulls across one of the rain walls to block the heat of the fire, and it makes the lean-to feel almost like a private room.

Jules shuffles towards me until his face is tucked against my throat. I wrap my arms around him and rub his back until he falls asleep. Cillian’s head tilts towards us in the dark. I stretch my hand towards him, find his thick thigh, and pull it over us.

Chapter Thirteen

Jules

Cillian won’t let me help with the bamboo poles, so I gather vines for Mary. She turns her first net into a bag handily enough and then sets about fashioning another. I must have been running on adrenaline the first day with all I collected. After only a few lengths of vine, my headache gets too much. I don’t meet anyone’s eyes as I amble to my lean-to and stretch out, gritting my teeth against it all.

After a few minutes, Mathieu lies down next to me. His hand finds mine to squeeze. “You’re sore?” he whispers.

“Sore,” I murmur.

“I’m sorry.” The others are background noise, working on the bamboo, the vines, the bags. Yasop and Willow are throwing as much live wood as they can onto a fire on the beach, hoping someone will see the smoke signal.

“You know, I am very shy,” Mathieu says quietly.

“I know you’re a liar.”

Mathieu laughs. “It is true, I am shy. I was afraid of coming to Ireland, of not having any of my friends or family around me.”

“Why did you decide to come for Erasmus?”

“I wanted to change, and it was hard to do at home. With all my friends and family, I felt so self-conscious trying to be braver. Like I couldn’t be that in front of them. Ireland was a test to get out of my shell.”

Is Mathieu messing with me? I consider his muted, confessional tone. He’s never been anything but honest.

“You’re so bubbly and pleasant. It’s hard to believe you worry about getting out of your shell… I had no idea.”

“I admired you from the first time we met.”

Despite my headache, I open my eyes. I roll onto my side, facing Mathieu. It’s not comfortable with our lacklustre leaf litter as cushioning, but I want to see his face.

Mathieu’s hair is curly as hell in the humidity and stuck to his tanned skin by sweat. His eyes are the dark brown of the earth, warm and steady. They’re focused on me.

“You came to our classroom to invite all the Erasmus students to a gathering, even those not in our Classics class. You booked a private room in a bar with dinner and drinks and had the nightclub wristbands ready and free shots waiting for us once we arrived at the bar.” Mathieu smiles softly. “You ring people, ask for things, plan things. You always put fun events together for everyone. You’re very, very cool. I was so disappointed that you had a boyfriend, but I thought we could at least be friends.” His smile fades. “You did not seem interested in the same. I worried I was coming across badly. It makes me feel fake. Pretending I’m not nervous to talk to people.”

My heart tightens. His hand has slid away from me, and I recapture it. “That’s only because I was dating Darren. It wasn’t because I didn’t like you.”

“I mean, even as friends. It is okay,” Mathieu adds quickly. “I am glad that we finally got the opportunity to become close. I no longer feel that distance between us. Perhaps because I am starting to find my courage?” Mathieu closes the remaining distance between us. He presses a kiss to my cheek. His lips linger, breath warm on my skin.

“Mathieu.”

He cups my cheek and burrows his face between the fronds and me, pressing a kiss on the other cheek. “I am going to figure out how to make you a pillow for your neck. Rest,” he murmurs. “That is an order from Cillian. He made me promise to make sure you don’t exert yourself. He’s going to show Yasop where the water is.”

He pulls away.

“Mathieu.” I catch him. His cheek tastes of salt and sunburn. His fingers slip up my nape, cradling the back of my head. He releases an affected breath, lets me kiss his other cheek too, then sits up. I’m too sore to chase further.

His hand sinks into his pocket, and he messes with something there, fidgeting and indecisive, before he takes it out. “Mary helped me put this together.” He holds up a necklace. Stripped, thin vines cradle a crystal. “Blue quartz.”

The stone is smooth on one side, jagged on the other. It’s the colour of a clear morning sky, with veins of deep ocean blue and white breaker foam running through it. “It’s beautiful,” I say.

“Yes. It’s the colour of your eyes.”