Page 78 of Stuck in Paradise with You

‘Play fiiiiiiiiiight!!!’ Noah yells.

Then Toby is yelling too and they’re charging toward the wrestlers, leaping into the fight. Then the four boys – two probably more mature mentally despite being younger in age than the others – are all piled up and shouting and laughing and I swear, I still have no clue what this whole hullaballoo is about.

Somehow, between the madness of it all, Luke is looking at me and I’m looking back at him and I think, maybe, he’s apologizing.

His apology could be for one thing or a thousand. I have no idea.

All I’m left feeling is… sad.

Why is life never straight forward?

As if Planet Earth herself wants to let me in on something, there’s a roar outside that cuts through all the noise inside. There’s a crash and a bang of the magnitude I’ve never heard so close. Through the thin slatted windows that sit high in the wall on one side of the basement, the sky has grown darker. Thick grey clouds interspersed with darts of color and debris. The sound of corrugated iron screeching, scraping, coming loose is the worst symphony I’ve ever had the misfortune to hear.

The men and boys all pause in their brawling positions on the floor, until Toby clings to his dad and says, ‘I don’t like it.’

‘It’s okay, buddy, nothing can hurt us down here. It’s just wind,’ Joe reassures him. I wish his words could reassure me too.

I follow Luke and Henry to a side table up against the one wall with windows and tentatively climb on top of it alongside them, hoping it’s made well enough to withstand the weight of three adult –meh, two and a half– humans. As I peer through the thin, wide window, I can’t believe what I’m seeing is real. The sea’s waves are menacingly huge – significantly higher than when we were making our way back to Charithonia in the boatyesterday. They’re washing onto the shore so far that most of the beach is underwater.

Palm trees are swaying from left to right at such angles, they defy gravity, their branches thrashing against one another. There’s so much debris in the air – leaves, tree branches, metal, plastic, God knows what else – that the sky looks as busy as a trash heap.

Is that a flying door?

The island is going to be destroyed.

I look back at the faces in the room, at the kids cuddling their parents. Suddenly, the fight between Joe and Luke, whatever it was about, the animosity between Luke and me, it fades into the background of what really matters and that is keeping the people in this space safe.

‘Should we close the shutters?’ I ask.

‘I think that’s sensible,’ Henry says. ‘She’s only going to get worse until the eye of the storm is around us.’

‘Isabel is a bizarrely pretty name for something so grumpy,’ Jenny says behind us. I have to agree and I’m about to say as much when the lights in the basement flicker, then, together with the television, they go out. Right at the same time, the shutters close over all the windows.

‘It’s a default setting when the electricity goes out,’ someone, maybe Kevin, says.

I can’t tell because the space is in complete darkness and my eyes are struggling to adjust. Feeling unsteady on my feet, I reach a hand out to the wall and I’m about to crouch down to get off the tabletop when two big hands are on my sides.

I do recognize the next voice I hear. Even if I hadn’t, I would have known it was Luke who is steadying me, simply from the way he holds me. I lean into him and he lifts me down from the table to the floor but doesn’t let me go. Our torsos are touching, my hands are on his biceps, his scent is all around me and I don’tneed light to know he’s looking at me, that he’s also been thrust back into a memory of last night.

The fire between us, the familiarity of every stroke, each nip and nibble, the tenderness of his teeth against my skin, the softness of his lips against mine. Despite the cries of children in the room, I feel as if I can hear the beating of his heart, the fast, rhythmic beating that’s in tune with mine.

When there’s a loud click and the lights come back on, for the briefest of moments, we’re still alone in the room, the bad stuff forgotten for the second it takes me to proverbially step back onto the brighter side of sanity.

Luke asks me, ‘Are you okay?’

I nod because that’s all I feel capable of. The room becomes louder as I fully tune in to the distress of the kids, the soothing and shushing of their families in response, the booms, the crashes, and the thunderous roar of the wind outside.

‘What can I do to help?’ I ask Ella, who’s holding Toby against her chest and stroking his hair.

‘The lights are back now, sweetie, you’re fine,’ she’s saying on repeat. ‘Distractions,’ she says to me.

I look around the space. ‘Distractions, got it!’ My eyes land on a large toy chest, so I make a beeline for it. Inside, there’s a wealth of boxed games. Some I recognize, others I don’t. I do remember the one with four hippos and a stash of marbles, so I take that one out. ‘Who would like to play this with me?’

The response isn’t immediate but eventually, Noah and Toby head my way and I set up the game on the coffee table.

‘Ah, I used to love this one,’ Luke says, also coming to sit on the floor with us. ‘Can I be the blue hippo?’

‘No,’ Toby says emphatically. ‘You can be yellow, Uncle Luke. Aunty Carrie, you can be green.’

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