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Dylan dropped down into one of the mismatched wooden chairs and accepted a cold Red Stripe from Lottie before she plonked a huge, goldfish bowl of a cocktail glass in front of Millie, its rim dipped in green-dyed sugar crystals and sporting an umbrella, a slice of lime and a scatter of mint leaves.
‘One Purple Parrot Mojito! Enjoy.’
Millie took a tentative sip, allowing the flavours to dance on her tongue before swallowing. Within seconds the alcohol burned at her throat and she gasped at its strength, just about managing not to succumb to a fit of coughing.
Dylan chuckled. ‘I’d take it easy with that magician’s potion, Millie. It’s made with fifty-per-cent-proof rum. I don’t know where Andrew sources that stuff but it’s lethal.’
Dylan ran his fingers through his tufted hair, the colour of summer honey, and scratched at his short sandy beard. He leaned back on his chair’s legs and tipped the remnants of his beer in his mouth, his tee-shirt rising upwards to display an impressive six-pack above his frayed denim shorts. Millie noticed his biceps were firm too, no doubt gained by lugging heavy diving equipment and dragging boats up and down the beach, not from boring, repetitive sessions spent at an indoor gym. Tiny wisps of fair hair curled up his tanned forearms and sent a surprise spasm of pleasure down her spine.
‘How long have you lived in Soufrière, Dylan?’ Millie asked, chancing another taste of her cocktail. She was enjoying his easy company, the diametric opposite of the snippy conversations she was forced to endure with Zach. It was like being with Robinson Crusoe’s brother. The leather thong tied around his neck held a polished shark tooth and a silver charm she couldn’t make out. Colourful string bracelets encircled his wrists and his skin glowed with the golden hue of someone who spends most of their day in the sunshine.
‘Came to St Lucia on a gap year after uni ten years ago. The ex-pat community here is a crockpot of beach bums, rat-race escapees, bankrupts, and love cheats. This paradise winds its way under your skin and into your heart without you noticing. Couldn’t bear to go back to rain-soaked Manchester, so I stayed. Already had my PADI licence and Dad re-mortgaged his house so I could buy the Shack. I owe him big time!’
‘What does your dad think of St Lucia? He must be proud you’ve made such a success of the business.’ Millie saw a cloud float across Dylan’s pale blue eyes for the first time.
‘He’s never made the trip out. I’ve pleaded, cajoled, threatened. Even bought the guy a return ticket last summer but he gave it to my mate Carl.’
Dylan snagged another Red Stripe from Lottie as she passed their table. She slapped his hand away but her eyes held such deep affection it was obvious to even the casual onlooker that she adored him. The girl radiated youthful expectation. Life had not yet had sufficient opportunity to squeeze the optimism lodged within.
‘Since Mum died he’s refused to step out of his comfort zone, or do anything really, except go to work and pay the bills. She’s been gone ten years but still he won’t entertain meeting anyone for a drink, even as friends. He’s as handsome as I am,’ continued Dylan with a mischievous wink. ‘So he’s definitely not short of offers, but he still loves Mum.’
‘He’s promised to come out this summer, hasn’t he?’ said Zach. ‘To name the boat.’
‘Dad put up the cash to buy us a new dive boat, too.’ Dylan pointed with the neck of his beer bottle to the sleek white boat moored at the wooden jetty outside the diving school. Millie could just about make out the vessel’s name –Nigella’s Navette. ‘We named it after Mum, so he can’t refuse to launch it with a bottle of bubbly in her honour, can he? I’m not holding my breath, though.’
Dylan tipped his chair back onto all fours again, banged down his empty bottle on the table and jumped to his feet.
‘Great to meet you, Millie. Catch you later, Zach,’ and he fist-bumped his friend before sauntering off down the main street, Lottie’s eyes scorching a hole in his back.
‘Another mojito, Millie?’
‘Gosh, no way! I can hardly see straight as it is. Thanks, though.’
‘What about an Andy’s Blast? It’s made with the flesh from the cocoa pods grown on the hills surrounding Soufrière – delicious. You’ve got to try one. I won’t take no for an answer.’
Lottie trotted off to the bar to juggle the spirits. She took such care in the drink’s preparation it was as though the resulting creation was going to bestow the taster with magical powers.
‘Talking of cocoa pods…’ Millie said, her eyes meeting Zach’s as he sipped his Red Stripe and cracked open the freshly grilled lobster Lottie had delivered for them to share – it was the freshest seafood she had ever tasted. ‘I collected a cocoa pod last night and left it with the others on those wooden crates by the back door intending to dissect it this morning, but they’ve all disappeared. Did you move them? Or has Claudia got an arrangement with someone to buy them or take them away?’
Millie immediately wished she hadn’t brought the subject up. A dark shadow stalked across Zach’s expression and his jaw tightened as he clenched his teeth in annoyance.
‘No. I didn’t move them, and Claudia has not agreed to sell them to anyone either. Why would she when she’s worked so hard on improving the cocoa plantation since she and Tim bought it? She cleared the weeds, planted new saplings, even harvested a crop and roasted the beans in the oven behind the garage. Believe me, Claudia and Tim can wax lyrical if you let them about the superior taste of their own product. You should hear them talk about the flavours – “top notes of dry burgundy”, “ripe yellow fruits mingled with rich olive oil” – it’s as if they’re French wine connoisseurs! I don’t understand why the pods are disappearing – they’re of little value. You’re right, it’s a mystery, and one I intend to get to the bottom of.’
‘Hey! Millie! Good to see you made it. And you’ve brought Zach with you. Hi, Zach.’ Henri offered his palm to Zach and the two men shook hands warmly.
‘Actually, I’m not staying. Got a few things to sort out.’
‘No problem. Catch you later.’
Millie watched Zach weave his way through the bar and back out to where he had left his quad bike. She had no regrets about having to walk home, but she did wonder why Zach hadn’t said goodbye. Clearly, his mind was fixed on something else.
‘Hi, Henri. Good to see you. Okay, Millie, here’s your very first Andy’s Blast. Take it from me – it won’t be your last,’ declared Lottie, setting a bright blue cocktail down on the table in front of Millie. ‘What do you think?’
Millie took a tentative sip and what an explosion of joy on her taste buds! She drained the glass in no time and ordered a second, and then a third, each drink improving in flavour and texture as the afternoon wore on. Henri’s friends, Leon and Travis, joined them and the conversation flowed smoothly, covering a range of topics from the serious to the downright ridiculous. Occasionally, Lottie came to sit with them for a drink, as her colleague Jake had materialised by then. Millie only vaguely recalled being guided towards Henri’s little red Fiat hours later when the street outside had morphed into an open-air party.
‘Guess the Purple Parrot is going to be your local watering hole whilst you’re here in Soufrière, eh?’
‘Mmm,’ murmured Millie, tripping over the kerb and falling into the passenger seat headfirst, then giggling uncontrollably as Henri drove up the hill to drop her outside her home above the garage.
