Page 19 of Shipwrecked

I give Jules a warning look when I start building, which he ignores. I meet Mathieu’s eyes instead. He bear-hugs Jules and walks him back to Mary. “Sit before Cillian loses his temper.”

“I can help.”

“You are not allowed,” Mathieu says firmly. “I will tie you to the tree with the vines you collected if you don’t sit still.”

Jules sinks to the ground next to Mary. He watches Mathieu and me work, glaring like a sulking child. I turn my back to hide my smile. Mathieu sees and huffs his own private amusement, knocking his forearm against mine in a friendly manner.

“He’s so cute,” Mathieu whispers. Louder, he asks, “Are we building a hut?”

I choose to address the second question rather than the first remark.

“A series of lean-tos will work best. It’s easier to get stability in smaller structures than in big ones. I’ll show you how to do the frames. After that, we’ll get the fronds woven together, kind of like a basket, to keep us dry.”

Mathieu holds the frame in place while I lash it together with vines. Jules found soft ones that bend rather than crack like bark, which is fantastic, though cutting them is a huge pain. With only a sharp rock, what should be a simple snip becomes a labour-intensive job. My arms remember the battering I took yesterday. When I finally have a decent, solid frame, my back is objecting too.

“We’ll need…three?” Mathieu guesses.

“Three,” I confirm.

“How do you attach these?” He fetches a handful of fronds, catching Jules’s glare as he passes him. “So cute,” Mathieu whispers to me.

“They’ll sit like this.” I show Mathieu, who immediately proves himself as adept at knitting together big banana leaves as he is at climbing.

“You’re good at this,” I say.

“I’ve crocheted with my grandmother every weekend since I turned five. I’m good with my hands.”

When Seán comes back with everyone, the rest of the work goes quicker. Good thing too. The light is fading fast. My hands cramp from using rocks to cut, and from the way the others shake out their fingers, I can tell they’re feeling the same. I wonder if my knife is still on the yacht.

Seán watches us, frowning, but his shoulder’s too messed up to help. Once, when Seán and I were on a mountaineering course, a trainee fell and dislocated his shoulder. A qualified field nurse put it back into place right then and there. The immediate pain went out of it, but the guy’s shoulder swelled up and bruised.

Seán’s shoulder looks like that. As if he’s dislocated and relocated the joint. I wish I had more than his mutilated windbreaker for a sling.

We’re stuffing fronds onto the sandy ground beneath the lean-tos when the downpour starts, bringing with it the beginning of what I’m sure will be a long, dark night. The shelters are beneath the canopy and angled away from the open-skied beach, but I know from the force of the rain that they’re not going to keep us dry.

Charles carries Mary into a lean-to. Willow and Yasop dart inside another. Mathieu takes Jules by the wrists and pulls him to the third. Darren joins them. He tries to sit on the far side of Mathieu, and Jules tries to move over to let him, but Mathieu locks his arm around Jules’s waist and keeps him in the middle. I’m too far away to hear what is said, but Darren settles on the far side of Jules. Neither Jules nor Darren looks pleased.

“We’re going to see if we can find some kindling before it gets dark,” Seán says, raising his voice to be heard over the force of the rain. We head a good length down the beach before ducking into a small gap in the undergrowth and taking shelter. We lean against the same tree, our shoulders pushed together. I let my head rest on the trunk and sag, hoping there are no snakes hidden among the vines clinging to the bark. I’m too tired to check. I’ve wanted to catch my breath since that first gust of wind hit the sails.

“I told Irvin I’d let him know later what day to expect me back.” Seán breaks the silence. “I remembered just now. I didn’t say we’d be back tomorrow.”

“That blip turned into a monster. The coast guard will be checking if any ships were out on the water.”

“What if it was all localised? And nobody even realises that there was a squall?”

I don’t think it’s likely given how mental the weather was. “Worst-case scenario, Irvin waits a week before calling the hotel to check if we’re still there, and when we’re not, he’ll call the coast guard, give them your yacht information and our planned route. And if you haven’t noticed, we’ve got a handy landmark telling everyone where we are.”

Seán’s breathing, which had grown shallow, evens out. “Right. Yacht’s right there.”

“And what else is out there?”

Seán sags. “Emergency beacon.”

“Exactly. We just have to worry about food and water,” I say. Jules’s pale skin flashes behind my eyes. “And a fire. It’s too cold in this rain and wind.”

“Jules doesn’t look good.”

“No, he doesn’t,” I agree. “I’m pretty sure he’s got whiplash. Given how spotty his memory is, likely a concussion too.” Pain twists his mouth every time he moves, and Jules won’t sit still.