Page 31 of That Island Feeling

‘Well that just leaves you, Taylor,’ I say brightly, stepping back before the blazing heat consumes me. ‘And what we’re all actually here for,’ I remind the group.

‘I’d like to do something a bit different,’ Taylor pipes up, as Mitch’s photo flutters down next to her bare feet.

Her features darken, her eyes gleaming as trembling hands reach down to the shadowy ground. I’m half expecting her to produce an effigy of Mitch, but instead, she retrieves the tequila bottle and, without hesitating, pours the liquid directly onto the fire.

A large whoosh sounds as the alcohol ignites and angry flames rush towards the sky, expanding rapidly into a sphere into a – wait, that’s a fucking fireball!

I sprint towards the double doors to grab the bucket of water that, had I known about this plan in the first place, would have already been waiting.

‘When was it decided that we wanted to be part of The Craft coven?’ I joke, even though my heart is still racing, and my legs feel like jelly. ‘I must have missed that PowerPoint.’ Since I was the owner of all the PowerPoints concerning this trip, I knew that one didn’t exist.

The fire has been extinguished and we’re back inside, swathed in cosy throw blankets on the couch, as if we’ve just been rescued from the sinking Titanic. Who knows how things could have turned out if I hadn’t been so fast to act? It took the Titanic two hours and forty minutes to sink after hitting the iceberg; it was probably even quicker for a house to burn to the ground from the first spark. And it wasn’t our belongings that I thought of first – it was Jack. His affection for Hannah, the owner of Moorings who I’ve now learned was Hazel’s best friend, as well as his responsibility for the house, was evident. I couldn’t very well repay the kindness he’s shown us by returning the key to a pile of burned rubble instead of a house.

‘Ha! I’ll have to tell Maeve that her tepee method was too effective,’ Grace laughs.

‘I think it was Taylor’s tequila that did it,’ Lizzie giggles, snuggling into Taylor’s side.

I don’t understand how they think this is a laughing matter?

‘Let’s not ignore the fact one of us could have been seriously injured,’ I snap. ‘You do realise there’s no hospital on the island.’

Taylor rolls her eyes. ‘You don’t think you’re overreacting, Ands?’

Heat creeps up my neck. Am I? I’m so used to being on guard – watching Toby from such a young age, and later, monitoring every new sign or symptom that indicated Mum or Dad’s diseases had progressed. I’m surprised Lizzie doesn’t seem rattled; her mum mode has clearly switched over to holiday mode.

‘What was your plan with the tequila anyway?’ I ask, partly to change the subject and partly to understand what on earth was going through her mind with that death wish.

‘Obviously she wanted to ensure the bonfire reached the hellish levels Mitch deserves,’ Grace says. Taylor suddenly seems overly interested in the thread count of the blanket.

I fight the impulse to interrogate her further. Time to regroup. ‘Why don’t we have a quiet night in and finally watch one of our movies?’ I ask, already getting up off the couch.

No sooner do I switch on the television than a sudden, high-pitched crack from upstairs makes us jump, and the screen, then the house, goes dark.

‘Should we call someone?’ Lizzie asks from somewhere over near the kitchen. At least I think it’s her. Once the initial panic settled, I discovered our group’s combined secret power – even in the midst of a power outage, we don’t falter from our regular roles. Short of locating a basement and a fuse box, I had slipped into problem-solving mode, while Lizzie and Grace had scattered to the kitchen to get us ‘sustenance’ in the form of wine, and Taylor remained tucked on the couch.

‘So, no one has reception?’ I confirm, glancing down at my phone to see the blinking SOS symbol.

A bird squawks loudly outside, its piercing cry reverberating inside. In the darkness, the wilderness looms larger than ever – the croaking frogs, the chorus of cicadas and the rustle of trees shaking in the ferocious winds that likely caused the blackout in the first place. It’s like the world has turned on itself.

‘Anyone? Taylor?’

The bright glow of her phone screen looks like E.T.’s gleaming fingertip.

‘Huh?’ She looks up in a daze, as if only now realising we’ve been sitting in the pitch-black for the past fifteen minutes. ‘Let me check,’ she says finally.

‘What were you doing?’ I snap.

‘Looking at pictures from my wedding day.’

‘Oh.’ My hard edges instantly soften.

The break-up bonfire would have stirred up some deep emotions.

It wasn’t Taylor’s idea to get a divorce – it was Mitch’s. Taylor has always been adamant there wasn’t a third party involved, but we all had our doubts. Regardless of what went down, Mitch is public enemy number one.

‘Nope. No bars either,’ Taylor says.

‘This is giving very Tomorrow, When the War Began vibes,’ Lizzie says, her voice drawing closer as her shadowy figure floats across the room, the distinct shape of a wine bottle tucked under her arm.

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