Chapter Text
Day One: Arrival
“Bags!” The man yells over the crowd of tourists loitering anxiously on the jetty.
Beatrice is standing at the back of the group, sweat collecting under the strap of her sling bag, her carry-on sized suitcase beside her. She watches as her fellow travellers shuffle their weight between their feet but no one moves forward. She tightens her grip on the handle of her bag.
“Bags!” This time when the man speaks, Beatrice picks up a hint of exasperation in his voice.
The man is standing at the far end of the jetty, at the top of the cement staircase that leads into the water. The olive green waves below them clap against the structure, its collection of empty cups, cans, and plastic bags drifting listlessly along.
Before he can make another appeal, a harried woman comes strutting onto the jetty. Beatrice recognises her as the same one who conducted the mainland half of the check-in for the resort. With her clipboard of names, she waves to get the attention of the crowd.
“11am ferry!” She calls. “Please come forward with your bags!”
Beatrice steps forward with the majority of the herd. The man sighs, relieved that he doesn’t have to keep shouting, and jogs down the stairs to wait for them by the small boat tied to the dock.
When Beatrice was planning her trip and saw that the resort is only accessible by ferry, she had pictured a large, multi-storeyed boat with rows of seats that wouldn’t look too far out of place in a church hall. What she is faced with instead is akin to a speedboat with padded benches and a bright blue canvas canopy.
There is another man already sitting in the boat, his back to them, in the driver’s seat. The man who had been calling for bags stands at the back of it, one foot bobbing up and down on the stern of the boat, the other planted firmly on the jetty as if keeping the boat from drifting away prematurely.
Beatrice watches her fellow passengers gingerly make their way down the handrail-less steps as if they, too, were being tossed about by the water. They take it in turns to hand over their luggage, which gets loaded into the front section of the boat by the driver, before awkwardly clambering onto the ferry themselves. Beatrice tries to plan the best course of action – picturing the most efficient (and least embarrassing) way to board in her mind as she prepares for her turn.
As she approaches the front of the line, Beatrice feels her stomach lurch uncomfortably. She can’t believe she had let Camila and Lilith talk her into this solo trip. She passes her brand new suitcase to the man, trying her best to make it look light, and says a silent prayer that it doesn’t get splashed with too much seawater. With precision, she steps onto the boat and makes a grab for the metal frame that the canvas roof is stretched over. It’s as if the boat has its own gravity, the way it moves under her and she is grateful she has enough upper body strength to keep her upright before she ducks down and clambers onto the next open seat.
She throws a furtive look around at the others, expecting to see a smirk or a sneer at her lack of gracefulness, but it seems as though most everyone else is in their own world. There are a group of guys wearing reflective sunglasses at the front, making small talk with the driver. There’s a family with two teenage kids already discussing what they would like to do when they arrive at the island. There’s a couple who are sitting very close together, the man’s hand planted possessively on the girl’s thigh. Beatrice tries not to make a face.
As the last of the group fills out the rest of the seats, Beatrice finds herself pulling out her phone from her sling just to have something to do with her hands. Out of habit, she opens the mail app and drags her thumb downwards across the screen to refresh her inbox. It buffers momentarily before snapping back up and informing her “unable to retrieve new messages.”
Right.
She puts her phone away.
The whole point of this island getaway is to get away from her life. Beatrice had just wrapped what was perhaps the biggest project of her advertising career. It had gone better than she could have ever hoped. The client had been over the moon. Beatrice had expected to feel a surge of accomplishment, triumph – at least relief. But when she sent the closing email and final report, she felt nothing.
When Lilith came home to Beatrice doomscrolling on the couch in the dark, an empty tub of ice-cream beside her, she and Camila staged an intervention, insisting that their best friend take time away from work to “go touch some grass.”
Beatrice isn’t one to take her leave days, preferring to work through them and collect the monetary compensation in exchange for her time, but after the absolute haranguing she had received from her friends about her, admittedly, non-existent work-life balance, she decided that it would be easier to just go than to fight them on this. The island portion of her trip is five days and four nights – long enough to evidence that she’s trying, not so long as to make her feel like she’s been marooned.
Once everyone is on the boat, the boat man loosens and retracts the rope tethering them to the mainland. She swallows. There’s no going back now. The driver (captain?) starts the motor and pulls away from the jetty.
As they begin to move across the water, the boat man pulls life vests from a pile on the side and motions for everyone to put one on. Beatrice is disappointed to discover that hers is a little damp, but she doesn’t want to draw attention to herself or kick up a fuss and just tries to sit in a position that limits how much the wet part can touch her skin.
A positive of making this journey on a small boat like this is that it can go much faster than the barge-like ferry that she had been expecting. The roaring motor propels the group across the surface of the water and Beatrice muses that this is what it must feel like to be a smooth stone being skipped across a lake. After a few moments of adjusting to the undulating motion it makes as it hits each wave and the hair whipping violently around her face, Beatrice begins to enjoy herself.
She counts herself lucky to be seated on the far side of her bench where she has an unobstructed view of the sea. The sky's the perfect shade of blue, clear and bright, decorated with a cheerful smattering of white clouds. The water is dark, white foam adorning the tip of each crest. Lilith, an enthusiastic scuba diver, had been adamant that this is the best time of year for a trip like this. In only a couple of weeks, the water would be too murky to see through, the currents too strong to swim against.
As she looks out across the water, Beatrice catches herself looking for the perfect shot for a travel ad. She shakes her head. She’s supposed to be getting away from work.
The boat continues to skim across the water and Beatrice notices that the water is changing colour. The muddy brown waves near the jetty had made way for a deep blue as they rocketed away from civilisation. As she continues to observe, the water begins to get even bluer. Beatrice has seen clear blue waters like this on websites and brochures, but it never really occurred to her that the ocean could look like this without a little assistance from a photo editor. Her fellow passengers appear to be having the same revelation as many of them start pulling out their phones and action cameras to snap photos.
When the ferry finally slows to a stop at the end of a floating platform, Beatrice’s heart leaps into her throat. The beachfront is packed with little huts advertising ‘FRESH PRAWN’ and ‘CLAM CLAM CLAM’. The actual strip of yellow beach looks sickly, like it hasn’t been tended to in ages. This is not what the resort had looked like on the website. Her eyes dart around the boat to see if anyone else looks confused.
“Sand Dollar Inn!” The boat man announces.
This isn’t her destination.
The couple, still intertwined, raise their hands. The boat man crosses the boat, climbing nimbly over its passengers, to get their bags as they struggle to remove their life jackets and disembark the ferry. Unlike the solid concrete of the jetty before, the platform to the Sand Dollar Inn is made of plastic containers woven together. While it is quite amusing to watch the two stumble drunkenly towards the shore, Beatrice hopes that her resort at least has some sort of railing to hold onto.
Their boat makes just a couple more stops before pulling up to what Beatrice recognises as her resort. It’s just as well because the rocking motion and the exhaust fumes of the little boat are starting to get to her; there is a little too much saliva in her mouth and she feels lightheaded.
Fortunately, this dock is as concrete as the one attached to the mainland and the alighting process is straightforward. There is an employee waiting for their group who helps to load the suitcases on a narrow cart attached to an ATV. He indicates where the reception area is and informs everyone that he will meet them there to assist with check-in. Before anyone can ask any questions, he hops on the ATV and drives away.
Beatrice follows behind him, quick as she can, to be one of the first guests at the desk. She’s not the most patient person, even on a good day, and her overall state of discomfort is certainly not helping. It turns out, however, that her fellows aren’t much competition at all as they stop to peer over the sides of the dock to examine the marine life visible through the clear blue waters underfoot. The kids are even on their hands and knees, tiny index fingers pointing excitedly as schools of fish swarm the chunks of bread being thrown by their parents.
As she speedwalks along the sandy stone path to the reception area, Beatrice takes note of the sports centre. There’s a stand up paddle board displayed out front with an arrow pointing in each direction: “snorkelling” on the left, “scuba” on the right. Beatrice is a little intimidated by the silver tanks of oxygen, their indecipherable dials winking at her from the scuba side. She would be so out of her depth if she opted to scuba dive. Sticking with snorkelling was the right choice.
Beatrice is the first of her group to the reception area. It’s a simple setup: a large gazebo-like structure with an L-shaped desk behind which the staff are seated. There are a few benches and wooden seats where some people are waiting and two large ceiling fans rotating lazily as if they were also on holiday. Beatrice passes the collection of bags from her ferry ride all arranged in neat rows.
“Hello,” Beatrice greets the woman behind the desk, her eyes drifting to the name tag pinned to her uniform. It says “Emi”. Underneath it she has another badge that says “Trainee.”
“Good morning, madam,” Emi smiles. “I hope you had a smooth ride over.”
Beatrice’s stomach turns. She forces a smile of her own.
“Yes, thank you.”
“May I have your passport and booking number?”
“Of course.”
Beatrice hands over her documents and rests her hands, fingers interlocked, on the reception desk as she waits for Emi to look her up in the system. Emi takes her time, typing slowly, as if afraid to make a mistake. She reminds Beatrice of the woman who works at the front desk of her office building.
“Alright, Miss Beatrice,” Emi says after some time. “You’re all set here. I see in our system that you have requested a room with a sea view.”
“Yes,” Beatrice affirms.
“Our housekeeping team needs a little more time for us to make that happen for you. If you’d like a room right away I could reassign you–”
“I’ll wait,” Beatrice says quickly. She had been looking forward to watching the sun go down over the water from the comfort of a hotel bed.
“Very well,” Emi smiles kindly. “In that case, you will be in cabin fourteen.” She slides a small stack of papers across the desk. “Here is a map and some information about the resort. This is for your luggage. Just attach it to the handle and our team will valet it to your room as soon as it’s ready.”
“Thank you,” Beatrice smiles again, and this time it’s sincere.
“Please feel free to explore the resort in the meantime and please help yourself to a complimentary welcome beverage.” Emi points with her thumb to a large glass dispenser sitting on a little table. There is a small collection of glasses next to it.
“A drink sounds lovely,” Beatrice says as she gathers her things and tucks them into her travel pouch.
Emi smiles again. “We will let you know when your room is ready.”
Before going over to the drink table, Beatrice goes to attach the tag to her luggage as she had been instructed to. She loops it around the handle, taking care to ensure the side with the handwritten “14” is clearly visible. Her fellow ferry-riders are arriving now, using raised voices to call for passports and booking numbers and although Beatrice is not a huge fan of leaving her bags unattended, she takes this as her cue to clear the area.
The glass dispenser – full of its caramel-coloured liquid, lemon slices, and ice – is sweating in the heat. Beatrice smell checks the glass she picks up before lifting the handle of the spigot and filling it up. Upon bringing the cup to her lips, Beatrice is delighted to discover that it is some sort of sweetened tea, the acidity of the lemon immediately quelling some of the discomfort in her stomach.
For the first time since setting foot on the island, Beatrice allows herself to appraise the spectacular view. She takes a few steps closer to the beach and looks through the tourists milling about with their brightly coloured towels draped around their shoulders. The white sand against the blue waves would make the perfect postcard. When she looks farther out, she sees other boats resting on the water, relaxed and at home. Past the little boats is the faint outline of another island. She wonders if it’s one of the ones they had stopped at on their journey over.
One of the drawbacks of travelling during peak season is that the resort is teeming with lovey-dovey couples and families on holiday. She knew this was a possibility when she booked the trip. Her plan is to keep to herself – to give the rowdy holidayers a wide berth so she can enjoy a semblance of solitude. She can already spot the quieter areas where she looks forward to curling up with a book or her mp3 player.
But now, she is still in her travel clothes, the strap of her sling bag digging into her shoulder – the sunscreen from this morning already wearing thin, so she stays in the shade of the nearby trees. As she sips on her drink, Beatrice watches a young family play in the shallow part of the water, splashing each other and squealing in delight as they try not to get hit with a faceful of seawater. She notices the older kid holding a snorkel mask and makes a mental note to ask reception about the snorkelling package she’d purchased. The kerfuffle with her room had caused it to slip her mind.
Even with the assistance of the cold drink and the protection of the shade of the tree, the midday sun and humidity are making Beatrice feel like a steamed bun. Remembering the slow spinning fans in the lobby, she decides that they’re her best bet at not overheating. At this point, most of the people she arrived with have shuffled off – leaving open seats for Beatrice to enjoy by herself.
As she approaches, she notices a brunette woman she hadn’t seen before gesticulating emphatically at the staff. Beatrice is a good few feet behind her but it doesn’t take much effort to overhear this conversation.
“What do you mean there’s no WiFi?” The woman is gripping her phone so tightly that Beatrice thinks she can see the whites of her knuckles even from this distance.
“Ma’am,” Emi sputters. “I’m sorry, there’s no WiFi on the island–”
“What’s this then?” The woman thrusts her phone forward, jabbing the screen with her index finger. “Coral. Cove. Resort. WiFi.”
“It’s only for the office to use during check-in, ma’am, and for emergencies–” Emi tries to explain.
“So you do have WiFi!” The woman declares, triumphant, folding her arms across her chest.
At this moment, Emi looks over the irate woman’s shoulder and makes eye contact with Beatrice who tries to mask her disgust with an expression of empathy. Who the hell does this lady think she is?
“Madam,” Emi’s supervisor takes over. “We cannot leave the WiFi running all the time, it requires too much power and puts too much strain on the generator.”
“Well, you should tell people that before they get here,” the woman snaps defensively.
“It’s posted prominently on our website,” Emi’s supervisor says with a smile. Beatrice shudders at her eerily calm customer service voice.
The woman seethes in silence before throwing her hands up and muttering “Fuck. Fine.” loud enough for everyone to hear. She turns on her heel and swipes a welcome drink as she storms off to return to the swamp she must have come from, the oversized linen shirt she has on over her bikini billowing dramatically behind her.
What an unpleasant person.
Beatrice takes the long way to the desk to give Emi and her manager time to recover from the interaction before approaching.
“Me again,” she offers an apologetic smile. She’s had her fair share of being on the receiving end of irrationally angry clients.
“Miss Beatrice!” Emi exclaims, her voice still shaky. “You’re just in time. I was just about to come tell you that your room is ready.”
“Perfect timing, then,” Beatrice winks.
Emi lets out a nervous laugh before turning around to face the pin board of room keys. She lifts the key labelled “14” and brings it back around to Beatrice.
“Just head that way,” she points with an open hand. “Your cabin will be on your left.”
“Thank you, Emi,” Beatrice says. She begins to walk away before remembering she has another question to ask. “Oh, about my snorkel package.”
“Yes?” Emi nods for Beatrice to continue.
“What time does the tour begin tomorrow?”
“10am.”
“Perfect,” Beatrice replies. “Thank you.”
Beatrice spots her cabin easily. Her carbon fibre suitcase has beaten her there and is positioned by the door as if quite eager to go inside. She jogs up the wooden steps and nudges the bag toward the door with her knee. She uses the key to unlock the door and is careful to kick the sand off her shoes before stepping into the room.
She goes to tug open the curtains, throwing the rest of the room into relief. It’s a modest picture: two single beds separated by a small nightstand; there is a grey couch pushed up against the wall, a large painting of a pink seashell hanging above it. Beatrice toggles the switches by the door until she finds the one that starts the ceiling fan. The bathroom is simple – just a toilet, sink, and shower, with clean white towels hanging from the rack. It’s not much, but it’s enough to take care of her basic needs. She’s relieved to see the switch labelled “water heater”.
She chooses the bed closer to the bathroom, and out of the view of the window, for sleeping, so allows herself to sink onto the other one while still wearing her outside clothes. There is a tightness under her shoulder blades that has followed her off her very long plane ride and her legs are tingling as if they are too full of blood. She’d seen that lunch service goes until 2pm so thinks she might have a bit of time to rest her eyes before grabbing a bite.
A grumble in her stomach wakes her. She checks her phone.
“Five thirty,” she croaks to the empty room. “Great.”
Beatrice has to blink a couple of times to reorient herself. Coral Cove Resort. Right. She can’t help but think that if she wasn’t on vacation, this is around the time her team would start to leave the office. Beatrice usually stays past seven to make the most of the company provided dinner. Thinking about dinner makes her stomach rumble again.
She lumbers over to the mini-fridge, hoping for an overpriced chocolate bar or a packet of nuts or crisps and is a little disappointed to only find two small bottles of drinking water. She cracks one open and downs it, surprised by how thirsty she seems to be.
A quick consultation of one of the brochures she was handed at check in tells her that the dinner buffet starts at six, so she uses the time between now and then to get out of her travel clothes and into something more resort-appropriate. The shower is hot and steamy and the strong water pressure offers her some relief from the knots in her back. She feels like a new person when she emerges from the bathroom, towelling off far away from the still open window. When she slips into some loose shorts and a lightweight cotton tee, it finally clicks for her that she is on holiday.
She feels light as she makes her way to dinner, setting her things (her phone, room key, and the empty water bottle from the room) on a small table before leaving to help herself to a hot plate of food. She eats slowly, savouring the sweetness of the honey chicken and the fragrant rice. Looking around at the other guests, Beatrice can’t help but smile. Everyone seems so present, hair damp, cheeks reddened by too much time in the sun, phones left face down on the table. She glances at her own phone. Tapping the screen reveals she has no new notifications. She doesn’t even have a mobile signal. Instead of the icon of the bars at the top corner of her screen, it says ‘SOS’. She might as well have brought out an analog clock.
Speaking of mobile signal – a quick glance around the dining room is enough to tell her that that horrid brunette woman from earlier hasn’t crawled her way out of her bog yet.
Perhaps this will be fun after all.