Page 59 of Shipwrecked

“No.”

“You are. I’ll do the other leg later,” Cillian says. “Promise.” He fetches his knife from our lean-to as Willow grabs a bottle of water.

I spring up, circling the fire that doesn’t need tending, and scan the food and utensils, already itching to leave the camp now that I know neither Cillian nor Jules will be in it. “Can I cook something filling for lunch?” I ask before they leave. “Or are we rationing?”

“I wouldn’t mind something substantial,” Willow says. “And we’re all doing physical activities right now…” She looks at Cillian. I do too.

“That should be fine,” he agrees. “But let me double-check with Seán first.”

They head off. I pace, racking my brain about what to do. Eventually, I plump up our pillows, straighten the blanket and search my bags for something that might cheer up Jules. Darren’s lean-to catches my eye. His old one, if he gets the one he’s building today finished.

There’s a stone near my foot. I toss it at the shelter, imagining it hitting him in his stupid brain.

“Can’t talk to anyone attractive,” I mutter under my breath. “Makes sense, I suppose. He’s way out of your league, jealous idiot.” After I’ve had a dozen imaginary arguments with Darren about what a terrible boyfriend he was, I turn my attention back to Jules.

I don’t think railing about how terrible Darren is will make him feel better. No, I will apologise for how I reacted to the news—though I think I responded aptly—and ask for forgiveness.

Chapter Twenty-Two

Jules

“Was I an idiot for staying with Darren?” I ask.

Mary is lashing bamboo poles together on her lap, and Charles is clearing away growth. Their chosen spot is a good length down the beach, far enough away that they’ll have privacy, but not so far that they’ll have a huge trek for meals. Charles scouted out a natural break in the treeline so they have some protection from the wind, too.

I set down the latest armful of bamboo stalks—I’ve been carrying pitifully tiny armfuls because of my shoulders—and kneel next to Mary, waiting for an answer.

“You’re not an idiot,” Mary says. “I’m sorry that he’s coming at you like this, Jules. We’ll say something if he tries to make more comments. Won’t we, Charles?”

Charles calls out an affirmative.

“I mean, before now. Our relationship. We were together for two years.” After walking this far, my emotions have cooled enough to recognise that Cillian and Mathieu weren’t trying to have a go at me. I think it was the opposite. They were angry for me.

“Will you give my eulogy?”

Charles curses. He doubles over, cupping his thumb. “Eulogy?” he demands.

Mary sets aside what she’s doing. “We’re not dying here. I know it’s scary that we haven’t been found yet, but we’re going to be okay. I promise.”

“Sorry, I don’t mean—I know we’re going to be okay. When I was pulled off the yacht, I thought I was going to die. That Darren would be the one giving my eulogy, and he’d say a load of horrible things about me. It’s been bothering me a lot.” I worry the inside of my cheek between my teeth. “I was hoping that you’d do my eulogy instead?”

Charles sits on the other side of Mary. He looks confused.

“I don’t have any family left,” I explain. It isn’t something I talk about, and I can’t recall if I’ve ever said this to anyone in our group besides Mary. She doesn’t have family either. The parent email I compiled for everyone to send on was forwarded to Charles’s family on her behalf.

“I’m sorry.” Charles places his hand on Mary’s thigh. “Mary could make you a cool urn if you want to be cremated.”

“Charles,” she hisses.

Startled, I laugh. I set Mary off, and she laughs too. Soon we’re both gasping for air and struggling to breathe. I clutch my stomach, groaning.

“After you bought her that book on Ancient Greek pottery, she spent months figuring out how to do it in the studio. You like classics, don’t you? She could do your favourite myth on an urn in that style.”

My laughter subsides. Mary looks at Charles with love in her eyes. I might be looking at him the same way. Before this trip, Charles had been more “Mary’s boyfriend” and “Darren’s teammate” than someone I thought of as an individual. I never realised how cool he is.

“I just poured my heart into the myth of Echo and Narcissus, so that one? But maybe a myth about tragic vanity isn’t what I want on the vessel I’ll be buried in.” I think about it. “I’ll know what it means.”

“I was a sounding board for your practice presentation,” Mary says. “I’ll know what it means too. I can do that, but I’ll get Willow’s help for the eulogy. She’s a far better writer, and she’d help organise my thoughts. We’ll make sure it’s a good one.”