The Last Resort(30)
‘That thing I threw – to distract the snake? It was a bone. A small one, about seven centimetres long. With joints.’
‘What kind of animal . . . ?’ Her voice trails off. She already knows.
James shakes his head. ‘It wasn’t from an animal. I can’t be 100 per cent sure, but I’m pretty certain it was a finger.’
‘A human finger?’
‘Well, yes. Unless it was a chimpanzee, which is even less likely.’
Amelia tries to work this through in her head. The thought of human remains scattered around the island is odd, of course, but is it any more than that? ‘They could’ve been here for years,’ she says. ‘Maybe an old burial site was disturbed while they were setting things up for us to come here.’
James frowns. ‘What have they set up for us, exactly? The whole place seems pretty untouched. The bones were on the edge of the track. It’s not like there was an area nearby that looked like an old burial site.’
‘You don’t know what was here before. You don’t know anything about this place. None of us do.’ As she says it, a splinter of a memory pricks at her. An island she went to, long ago. Where was it? She massages her temples, as if trying to encourage the memory to resurface. She’s been to lots of islands for her work. She’s been told countless tales by the locals about the places she’s visited. Sometimes she can’t remember who said what and where, and there have been plenty of talks about burial practices in countries where people have very little money but plenty of land. In some of the African plains, there are more burial sites than villages. She blinks, and the splinter forces itself in deeper, the memory embedded inside, along with countless others. If it’s relevant, it will work its way out sooner or later.
‘OK,’ James says, with a small sigh. He’s obviously decided not to push it. Perhaps it’s best not to think about other possibilities why there might be human remains on an island that none of them know the location of.
All the talk of snakes and bones has been a welcome distraction. Amelia barely noticed the burning in her thighs as they descended the final part of the hill into the bay, and now they’ve arrived at the beach, and the sun has crept around to find them. The sea sparkles like sprinkled gem stones, greens and blues and yellow and white. The sand is soft under her feet after the hard-packed mud of the path with stones and roots pushing through. She leans down and unties her boots, then pulls them off, followed by her socks. Her feet are hot and sticky, lined from where the socks have wrinkled and dug into her flesh. The warm sand between her toes is a welcome relief, and she flexes and curls them, letting the sand trickle through. ‘Now this is more like it,’ she says. James follows her lead, and then the others – with Tiggy helping Scott get the boot off his injured foot.
Then they are all smiling and relaxed – and the bar is there, waiting for them. Amelia had thought there might be a barman. Maybe Harvey. But there is no one.
‘Self-service, is it?’ Lucy says, catching up with her. ‘I used to work in the students’ union for a while, when I was doing my journalism degree—’
‘You actually got trained to write that crap, did you?’ Tiggy says, the sneer evident in her voice.
‘Now, now, ladies,’ Scott says. ‘Keep your claws in for a bit longer, will you? At least until we get a drink.’
Amelia doesn’t know what Tiggy is referring to, but decides not to ask. ‘Well, if you fancy serving us, Lucy, that’d be great.’
‘Or we can take turns,’ James says.
Lucy ignores all of them and keeps walking towards the bar. When she gets there, she lifts up the section that serves as the door and slips inside. She bends down and disappears behind the bar, then reappears, grinning. ‘They’ve got everything in here. But there’s already a load of stuff made up in the fridge. And our names are on them.’
‘Did you actually say what drink you wanted?’ James says.
Amelia shakes her head. ‘Although one of the instructions back at the start said think of it, didn’t it? I did do that.’
‘Me too,’ Tiggy says. ‘I thought of a bottomless Kir Royale, like they do in the Mambo Club in Mayfair. Made with Bolly, of course.’
‘Expensive tastes, eh? I thought of a pina colada,’ Scott says, with a small shrug. ‘Not had one in years.’
‘You didn’t think that, Scott,’ Lucy says. ‘You said it loud and clear.’
He rolls his eyes. ‘Whatever.’
‘What about you, Brenda?’ Lucy asks.
‘White wine spritzer,’ she says. ‘I know, not very exciting. It’s my summer drink. It automatically slotted into my head as soon as the question was put to us. If I was asked again now, I’d probably go for something stronger.’ She winces, and Amelia notices her scratching her leg.
Maybe James was right about her being bitten. As though he’s read Amelia’s thoughts, he says, ‘Brenda, are you sure you’re OK? You’ve looked a bit uncomfortable since we brought you back, and I’m worried you’re not telling us the whole truth about that snake . . . I might be wrong, but if it’s the type I think it is, the venom could be pretty potent. Maybe we should get you some help, just in case . . .’
His sentence trails off as Brenda glares at him. ‘I told you already. I’m fine.’