Page 46 of Somewhere Only We Know

His eyes danced. ‘Why, thank you, but I’ve been sent to tell you that you’re not allowed in the water by yourself. It might seem like paradise, but the current is very strong; even the locals can get into trouble. You never swim alone, and you always make sure someone knows where you are.’

‘Oh. Right,’ I replied, slightly crushed and failing to hide it, as the current dragged me away from him. ‘Thanks.’

‘Hey, no problem.’ He held out a hand, which I grasped, and he tugged me towards him. ‘Anyway, it’s breakfast time. Are you hungry?’

‘Absolutely starving,’ I said with relief. ‘I could eat a horse.’

He looked down at me and grinned. ‘Anyone ever tell you you’re cute?’

‘All the damn time, Jackson,’ I said, cheekily, mimicking his voice. ‘All the damn time.’

That evening it was our induction to the turtle conservation project, and I waited with six other new volunteers beside the turtle hatchery on the beach. Underfoot, the sand was still warm, and I watched in awe as a giant sun slid below the horizon, sending flames of crimson and gold out into the sky. Light shimmered on the water and children splashed and played in the shallows nearby.

I’d spent the day swimming, exploring the village and getting to know the other volunteers. My hair was wavy and wild from the salt water, my skin tender from the unaccustomed sun. I already felt sunkissed and blissfully happy.

The man in charge of our turtle induction was called Utt. He was short and squat with bulging biceps and scars on his forearms. He gestured to us to gather closer.

‘Listen up! The rules of turtle hatchery. No talking. No smoking. No torches,’ he barked.

‘No problem, we’ll be utterly silent,’ someone at the back sniggered.

Utt scowled as we all laughed. ‘Hahaha. New joke. Very funny. Everyone inside.’

‘He hates us,’ said a voice behind me, breath soft in my ear.

Jackson. Where had he appeared from? I felt something tighten inside me, and realised I’d been hoping to bump into him again.

‘Utter hatred,’ I replied with a grin.

I followed the others up the steps and into a low-ceilinged, ramshackle hut built from mismatched planks of wood.

The space was almost entirely taken up with a raised wooden bed. It looked like a children’s homemade sandpit on stilts.

There were rows of little flags poking out of the sand with a date and a number on each one.

‘We collect turtle eggs from beach at night and bring in here to bury them again,’ Utt said, delivering his lines flatly. ‘We mark where we bury with a label. You can see when they were collected and how many eggs in each clutch. When they hatch we release them back into water at night. Until then we do not dig up, we do not disturb. Any questions?’

Hands shot up.

‘Yes?’ Utt pointed at a girl I’d met earlier, Hannah from Canada.

‘Why do you collect up the eggs instead of leaving them where they’re laid?’ she asked.

‘To protect them, of course,’ he replied, looking at her as if she was an idiot. ‘From predators, from humans, from tourists who won’t leave them alone.’

‘Sorry, sorry, sorry, I’m late. Had to call home, my grandma is ill.’ One of the tallest boys I’d ever seen came thumping up the stairs, out of breath.

‘Careful, Hugo!’ someone yelled.

‘Arghh!’ The latecomer hit his head on the ceiling at the top of the steps, lost his balance and lurched forward. He crashed into the turtle bed, snapping the wooden edge and causing sand and a clutch of eggs to pour onto the floor.

There was a beat of horrified silence.

‘Oh my God,’ I whispered under my breath. ‘This is turtle extermination not conservation.’

‘Utter nightmare,’ Jackson muttered.

‘Out!’ Utt screamed. ‘Get out, all of you.’