WHAT IF HE DOESN’T GET ON THE BOAT?
‘Cleo, is that you?’
I know it sounds dramatic, but I could cry at the familiarity of Ali’s voice.
‘Yes,’ I say loudly over the wind. ‘Listen, this will probably cut out because I’m sitting on the top of a hill and the reception is shite, but I’ve got a real problem here.’
I managed to text her last night to give her a sketchy outline of the issue and probably the impression that it would be resolved within a day or so, but now I give her the full lowdown; she needs to know that my whole project here is potentially compromised. She’s commissioned me to come to Salvation to document my self-coupling experience, which is pretty damn difficult to do when you’re not actually on your own.
‘And now he won’t leave,’ I half shout. ‘He just won’t, so I think I’m going to have to.’
‘No! Cleo, you absolutely can’t. How’s that going to look to our readers? You know ninety-five per cent of reader loyalty is based on trust, once you lose it you can’t get it back. Just stay there and play chicken. He’ll walk first.’
I knew she was likely to say all of those things. ‘Mack Sullivan is as stubborn as an ox.’
‘So be as stubborn as a whole goddamn herd if you need to! Come on, Clee, where’s my most tenacious writer? Where’s the girl I know I can rely on to get the job done no matter what?’
‘Stop flattering me to get what you want, it’s unseemly.’
Her laughter is balm. I miss it. ‘Just sit tight and get the story in.’
That’s the power of Ali – she can laugh while simultaneously delivering an ultimatum.
‘What if he doesn’t get on the boat?’
‘Then he has bigger balls than we thought,’ she says. ‘Stay cool. He’ll get on that boat.’
I hang up, wishing I could move through life with even half of Ali’s certainty that things will always go her way.
Cleo
8 October
Salvation Island
YIKES! ONE DAY UNTIL THE BOAT COMES
‘Can we talk?’
I look up from my laptop when Mack breaks the silence in the lodge. It’s three in the afternoon, and we’re both inside because the wind is blowing something fierce, sheeting rain hard against the windows. In a different context, with other people, the inclement weather and the log fire would be cosy. But not here, though we have fallen into a pattern of strained civility. Would you like coffee, I’m putting the kettle on? Do you want to use the bathroom first or shall I go on in? The kind of things that don’t really qualify as talking. It’s been more a case of ignoring the elephant in the room in the hope that the other one will admit defeat. It’s Thursday now. Just one more day. ‘Sure,’ I say. ‘Let me just finish this up first.’
He closes the book he was reading. ‘What is it you’re doing?’
I flounder. I don’t want to tell him that I’m working on my next flamingo post. ‘Keeping a diary of things, I guess you could call it.’
‘Am I in it?’
I’ve decided that the only thing I can do is be honest with our readers about the hiccup. Or is he more of a burp? An American burp. I laugh inwardly as I type a note to refer to him as such in my next entry, then close my laptop.
I level eyes with him across the room. ‘You’re the annoying American who makes a fleeting appearance.’
‘Chiselled jaw?’
I pretend to check my screen and then shake my head slowly. ‘No mention of it.’
‘Remiss of you,’ he says.
‘Is that what you want to talk about?’
He has his elbows balanced on the arms of his chair, and he leans his head into his hands, pushing his fingers into his hair. It’s a gesture that makes me think he’s anxious about whatever it is he’s about to say. ‘I’ve been wondering what really brought you here.’
Oh.
‘Otter watching?’ I say, attempting to channel Ali’s light-heartedness. Besides, I have been entertained every morning by the family of otters who roll around the slippery rocks close to the lodge, a tumble of slick silver-brown fur. Otters really do sleep holding hands so they don’t lose each other, it’s not just a story. Maybe that’s where I’ve been going wrong – I should have been searching for my otter, not my flamingo.
Mack waits, watching me steadily. I’m realizing that, just like Ali, he’s one of those people who employs silence to get what they want. And that’s really frustrating because I’m one of those people who feels the need to fill silence with nervous, garbled words.