Page 3 of Shipwrecked

“Double brilliant,” Willow says, eyeing the sign for the toilet.

“I sent out the arrangements by email, but I’m going to go through the itinerary with you here. Want to take a seat?”

I sit on the cushioned bench, and Mathieu slides into the spot next to me. Darren sits on his other side. The rest of the group settle, Charles and Yasop side by side, Mary and Willow fussing with her shorts.

“Now you look like you’ve peed yourself,” Willow says.

Mary tosses the cloth away. “I give up.” They slump down together.

“Two minutes in the sun and you’ll be all good,” Seán reassures her. “Now then, plans. Today we’re going straight to Isle Arun, which is a small western island. They’ve got a private resort where we’re going to scuba dive, snorkel and jet ski. We’ve got rooms booked there for the night.”

Yasop raises his hand. “Teacher, my email said something about a nightclub.”

Seán nods at me. “Jules called the nightclub ahead of time and requested they do something special to liven it up for the night.”

“Neon painting night,” I jump in. “Best work of art and artist get free drinks.”

Charles stretches to wrap his arm around Mary. “I’ll be your canvas, just tell me how much skin you want.”

“I’ll be a much better canvas.” Willow also wraps her arms around Mary. “Don’t you think?” She meets Charles’s gaze, a challenging glint in her eye.

Mathieu leans towards me. “You can just call up nightclubs and request events like that?”

“You don’t know if you don’t ask.”

“Wow.” Mathieu chuckles. “You have pretty balls—you are pretty ballsy!” He buries his face in his hands, mumbling something that sounds like the French equivalent of “kill me now”. “English is a terrible, terrible language,” he mutters with a little more coherence.

“I wouldn’t say you’re wrong,” I reply. “But maybe I’m biased since it’s my body.”

Mathieu’s groan cuts off. His hands slide down. “O-oh? In, oh, what would you consider ‘pretty’?” His cheeks flush red.

“Waxed and bleached so they’re pale? That sounds wrong. I mean, I’m pale, so I wanted to match so I…” Mathieu is staring at me with wide, wide eyes. “You asked.”

A laugh poorly disguised as a cough draws my attention the other way. Cillian is on the bench next to me, pursing his lips.

I glare. “Shouldn’t you be driving?”

“Arthur’s got the wheel,” he says, rather huskily. The corners of his eyes are crinkled in amusement.

I’m redder than Mathieu.

Blast this entire trip.

“If I can get everyone’s focus back on me.” Seán pauses to let us end our conversations. I’m grateful for the interruption. When I face forwards, that muscle in Darren’s jaw is fluttering again. Seeing as he’s no longer my boyfriend, I don’t trouble myself with trying to improve his mood.

“Parasailing is tomorrow—afternoon, or later, depending on how everyone’s feeling in the morning—and I’ll go over all the safety checks for that then. For now, you need to know where the life jackets are. Take a look around. They’re bright orange, some outside, some inside, and hard to miss. There are life rings outside. Again, bright orange. There and there. Our satellite phone is under Jules in a watertight case. Any questions?”

Nobody has any, so I raise my hand. “Teacher, I’d like an espresso martini.”

Seán’s grin is wolfish. “Coming right up.”

Chapter Two

Cillian

We anchor just off the reef in Isle Arun’s sheltered bay. The resort is the central point of a little town pressed right up against the beach. The island is big enough to have all the amenities a tour group could want, and low-key enough to have them all available. There’s a mountain in the island’s centre, covered in so much lush green it feels like Ireland, except rather than rowan and ash and oak you have wild fig and almond trees.

Everyone’s on deck in trunks and bikinis, picking snorkels and fins from a large tub. As groups go, this one’s proving easier to wrangle than the others I’ve helped Seán take out. Initially, I thought they were all being nice and respectful because Seán is their friend, but watching them, I realise the true reason my job of keeping an eye on everything is going so smoothly: someone’s already doing it.