Unseen Messages(154)

Her legs spasmed around my hips, her arms slung over my shoulders. Tonight, we’d opted for quick, quiet pleasure, staying in our bark-decorated room, no energy to go to the beach or indulge in a night swim.

“Is it safe?” Estelle gasped as I withdrew and re-entered.

I didn’t know how to answer her question.

So I didn’t.

Plus, it wasn’t exactly sexy talk, but the thought of getting off our island was paramount. It tainted everything. It was an obsession we all shared.

Everyone but Coco, of course. She didn’t know any different. She ran on uncoordinated legs on the beach and swam with ungainly splashes in the ocean. Her favourite food was her namesake. Her lullaby and comfort were the island sounds.

If we left (when we left), she would struggle. We were the outlanders here, but if we somehow sailed back to society, she would be the interloper. A castaway baby with no birth certificate, no passport, no home.

My heart clenched thinking about stranding her there like we’d once been stranded here.

But that won’t happen.

She’d have us. All of us. Conner and Pippa would live with us. Our family wouldn’t change, only our current circumstances.

“Stop thinking about it, G.” Estelle’s fingers slipped through my hair, grounding me to her. “Only think of tonight. Of us.”

My chest tightened and pleasure replaced my worry.

She was my wife.

I obeyed.

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JULY

Time was never on our side.

It either flew too fast, hurtling us toward a desolate future. Or slowed to a maddening crawl, slowing our progress.

Despite our dedication to leaving, it took much longer than we’d hoped.

Our energy levels dwindled but the life raft slowly took shape through bleeding hands and broken blisters.

Estelle and Pippa helped.

They worked next to Conner and me as we tied and secured, tested and hoped.

I’d opted for a different design this time.

Just like I’d improved our house, so too did I tweak the original floatable (or not so floatable) platform.

This time, I’d done my best to tie the bamboo into the shape of a kayak. The hollow poles joined at an apex where we would sit and row with baby Coconut fastened securely in the middle, far away from the drowning sea.

Hopefully, the outrigger would be long enough to hold extra supplies, strong enough to carry the weight of stoppered water and blankets for shade, and fast enough to get us to a new home before we died of starvation.

However, instead of feeling proactive and upbeat, we struggled. The longer we worked on the boat, the more fear solidified. Our happiness turned heartless, demanding putrid payment for everything we’d enjoyed.

Our ill-nourished bodies had forced our hand. We had to leave if we wanted to breathe. But the thought of sailing away from the only place of value kept us restless and sleepless.

Conner, for his sixteen-year-old strength, had faded just like the rest of us. His muscles had slowly shrunk, and his ribs stood out like an unplayed harp beneath his skin.

Pippa was much the same. She hadn’t hit puberty yet, and her skinny, girlish body showed no hint of womanly curves or budding breasts.

Not that our bony forms stopped us from working hard and pushing each other to the brink.

If we weren’t working on the life raft, we were completing other tasks.

Estelle would cook.

Pippa would babysit.

And Conner would be up in a palm tree on look-out. We’d all become great climbers to reach the green coconuts in the fronds, and occasionally, sat in the swaying height, hoping to see rescue before we cast off and gave our lives to fate.

Our kayak was almost done.

Our time was almost up.

So why couldn’t I shake the God-awful feeling that tragedy was once again coming for us?





Chapter Fifty-Seven


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E S T E L L E

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AUGUST

THREE YEARS.

Three long, incredible, trying, amazing, awful, blissful, terrible years.

29th of August, the day of the crash, loomed closer.

At least, I thought it was August.

After my phone died, I had to keep a record of the days by scratching each sunset into our umbrella tree, counting the strikes, knowing in my heart we were all getting tired.

We’d survived so much: storms, fevers, stomach bugs, and a virus we’d all succumbed to, most likely transmitted by a mosquito.

Through it all, we raised a healthy baby into a toddler, a child into a young girl, and a boy into a capable sixteen-year-old.

Conner had changed from scrawny boy into gaunt young man. His copper hair was more russet gold from so much swimming and his skin would never again be snow-white but forever bronzed like an Arabian prince.

I pitied the female race who’d missed out on such a brilliant specimen and kind-hearted individual. It made me proud that Galloway and I had (in some small measure) a role in raising him.

And because of those qualities, and the fact that he was so loved by us all, it made what happened next even more tragic.

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SEPTEMBER

“Help! G! Stel! Help!”

Ice water splashed down my spine as Pippa tore into the house, disrupting me in the middle of changing the tatty t-shirt that’d become Coconut’s diaper. Abandoning my child, I shot upright and grabbed her quaking shoulders. “What is it? What’s happened?”