Page 2 of The Forbidden Fling

Carla wasted no time speeding out of the cluster of taxis, pulling red, oversized sunglasses from the dashboard even though the sun was nowhere to be seen. Remembering the broken ones in her bag, Faye sighed. She should’ve brought spares.

A quiet settled, the radio a low murmur of chattering voices as the wind raged outside, rocking the car. Carla tapped her painted fingernails on the steering wheel, tutting as the stream of traffic refused to let her merge onto the autoestrada.

Faye chewed her lip. If she wanted to make friends on this trip and prove she could be a functioning human, she needed to practise her conversational skills. But… words. It was so painfully English to discuss the weather, but it was a classic dialogue opener.

“Windy today, isn’t it?” Faye cringed hearing the words leave her lips. Interacting with people shouldn’t be so difficult.

Carla nodded, keeping her eyes on the road. “Yes, the storm is getting worse.”

Faye had read about the storm early this morning when she couldn’t sleep. The worst of it wasn’t supposed to arrive until tomorrow, when she’d already settled safely on the island. But Faye’s luck wasn’t worth betting on. She’d never imagined living with a stoma, becoming a recluse under thirty, and running away to a volcanic island. But here she was.

“Ah, poor bugger,” Carla commented as a woman’s umbrella turned inside out, dragging her down the street. Leaves swirled around her, the rain pelting her face.

Faye couldn’t help the questioning glance at the use of the colloquial English, and Carla laughed. “I like English phrases,” she explained, eyes locked on the scene outside the window. The woman tried and failed to bend the broken metal ribs back into place, hitting herself in the nose. “Cheap as chips. Piece of cake. The boss always teaches me.” Carla turned to Faye. “Do you know any more?”

“Hmm.” Put on the spot, every word in the English language left Faye’s brain. Then her dad, Lukas, popped into her mind. His Italian background meant he loved English phrases too, and he had a favourite. “Do you know ‘the dog’s bollocks’?” she asked.

Maybe not the best example to teach a stranger, Faye.

But before she could scramble to say something else, Carla chuckled. “What?” She grinned as she inched the van forward through traffic. “What does it mean?” The worsening weather drew dark clouds over them, and the wind rocked the van with a whistle.

“It means really good. Like…” Faye pulled a half-eaten bar of chocolate from her rucksack and held it up. “This chocolate is the dog’s bollocks. It’s the best.”

“Not made of dog, right?” Carla eyed her, waiting for Faye to confirm.

Faye laughed, relaxing a little. “No. No dogs were harmed. Don’t worry.”

“Can I try?”

She had promised her dads to say yes to more things, but sharing her chocolate was sharing her heart. Like the mimic octopus camouflages itself into a jellyfish or a venomous sea-snake, Faye had to fit in, she supposed, so she begrudgingly let Carla snap off the top chunk.

“Mmm.” Carla nodded her approval. “The dog’s bollocks.”

Faye popped a square into her mouth too, pleased at her progress. Even if she had to sacrifice her chocolate.

“I like you.” Carla pointed at her. “What more can you teach me?”

* * *

Two hours later, Carla pulled the minibus up to the port, only to find it closed. They’d been on a wild goose chase—Carla liked that saying too—due to falling trees blocking the roads. Faye had hoped to leave the worst of the weather behind them, but judging by the roll of thunder and the violent waves splashing the dock, it was just getting started.

She hadn’t prepared for this. She laid a hand over her abdomen, subtly gauging her bag’s fullness. The last thing she wanted was to leak all over Carla’s car. Then shit would hit the fan. Literally.

Carla tsked, eyeing the orange tape blocking the entrance with distaste. “Looks like we’re not getting to the island tonight.”

Oh no. Another clap of thunder ricocheted across the sky. With it, Faye imagined an explosion coming from her stomach, coating the inside of Carla’s car and killing them both.

Her breathing quickened, pressure building in her chest. What was she thinking, coming here? She was hundreds of miles away from home, from her dads. She couldn’t handle this by herself. She couldn’t handle anything. A dizzying wave passed over her as her lungs squeezed. Tightened.

Suddenly, she was back between the thin sheets of her hospital bed. She groaned, confused by the monotonous beeps. The sharp bite of needles under her skin. Feeding tubes growing off her arms like roots. A new pain throbbed in her abdomen. She blinked her heavy eyelids open to find her dads’ sympathetic faces lit by the obnoxiously white clinical lights.

“Shush, flower. It’s okay.” David cupped his warm hands over hers, his lip quivering, glasses perched at the end of his nose. “You’re going to be fine. You had to have emergency surgery.”

Surgery?

She turned to Lukas, hoping to find the punchline on the curl of his lips as they let her in on the joke. But as she breathed in the stench of hospital disinfectant, a sharp stab of pain almost made her vomit, and he hurried away to fetch a nurse from the station.

Faye flinched as a hand touched her shoulder. She blinked, and the white walls of the hospital dissolved before her, replaced by Carla’s concerned dark eyes. The howl of the wind outside blew away the lingering memory, but her chest still heaved with panic.