Extract
PARADISE. IT WAS the only word to describe these sun-drenched islands that Emily Clifford hoped were going to change her life. Unfortunately, she hadn’t accounted for the distance she would have to travel to find her solace.
Travel sickness wasn’t something she’d ever suffered before or she would’ve had one of her colleagues at the GP practice prescribe her something before she’d left England. If she’d been thinking clearly she might have realised that accessing one of these remote Fijian islands would take more than a taxi ride. Her first day after landing at the airport on the main island, Viti Levu, walking through the markets, and her night at a luxurious five-star resort now seemed a lifetime ago.
Today’s white-knuckle charter flight, followed by a bone-jangling cross-country drive and hours of sailing these waters, had taken their toll.
The only thing she was looking forward to more than a shower and bed was seeing Peter, her stepbrother, waiting for her. He was the reason she was even attempting this adventure. The chance to prove her ex-husband wrong about her being boring was simply a bonus.
She and Greg had been together since high school, married for ten years, but it hadn’t been enough. She hadn’t been enough.
When Peter had told her about the mission out here and how they were struggling to find medical professionals to volunteer, she’d jumped at the chance to help for a while. Not least because this fortnight away meant she’d be occupied while Greg and Little Miss Bit-on-the-Side held the wedding of the year.
Another swell of nausea rose as the boat bobbed again but this had to be better than sitting at home, crying over her wedding photographs and wondering where it had all gone wrong.
As they finally reached the far side of the island and prepared to go ashore, she could see a figure sitting cross-legged at the water’s edge. She waved manically, desperate more than ever to get off this boat and find comfort in the arms of her big brother.
With her hand shielding her eyes from the glaring sun, she squinted at her welcome party of one slowly getting to his feet. He appeared to have grown in the two years since she’d last seen him, and he was leaner than she remembered, as though someone had stretched him like golden-coloured toffee.
Eventually she had to come to terms with the fact that no amount of sand, sea and sun could cause such a physical transformation. Disappointment settled in her belly as she realised it wasn’t Peter at all. She was going to have to wait for her tea and sympathy for a bit longer.
She’d done her best to be strong over this past year and a half, holding it together as she’d moved out of her marital home and keeping a smile in place for all her patients when she’d been dying inside. For a short time she wanted to stop pretending she wasn’t crushed by the rejection and it didn’t take every ounce of strength just to get out of bed in the morning and face the world. Ten minutes of being the baby sister, crying out her pain to her big bro, would help reset the factory settings. Two weeks doing what she loved, what she was qualified to do, would remind her she was more than a redundant wife. She’d lasted this long for a shoulder to cry on so waiting a few extra minutes wouldn’t kill her. Although she couldn’t swear the pent-up anger and emotion she’d been gearing up to release wouldn’t seep out somewhere along the way.
Her bejewelled sandals and floral maxi-dress flapped through the water as she stepped ashore. In hindsight, it hadn’t been the ideal choice of travelling outfit. Her feet ached, her dress was creased and as she came face-to-face with the hunk on the beach she was pretty sure the flower in her hair was wilting. What had been an attempt to get into the holiday spirit had probably succeeded in making her appear even more ridiculous than usual, like a stereotypical tourist instead of a qualified professional hoping to fit effortlessly into society.
With his close-cropped brown hair and dressed in mid-length khaki shorts and navy T-shirt, her greeter looked more action man than island native. There was no sign of a grass skirt anywhere. Unfortunately.
‘Hi. I’m Emily.’ She held out her hand for him to shake but he bypassed the traditional greeting to head for the boat. The bit of research she’d done said they mostly spoke English here on Yasi island but perhaps she’d found the one local who didn’t.
He began unloading her luggage, muscles flexing as he hurled her case and boxes of supplies onto the white sand.
‘Bula.’ She tried again, using the one Fijian word she’d picked up on her travels so far.
The Peter impostor waved off her last link to civilisation and came back to join her.
‘Bula to you too.’ The cut-glass British accent didn’t fit with the swarthy skin but the familiar tongue and the glimpse of a smile put her mind at ease about being stranded here with an uncommunicative stranger.
‘You’re English?’
‘Yeah. From Oxford, actually. I’m Joe. Joe Braden.’ This time he did shake her hand, the firm grip showing the strength behind those muscles.
Emily shivered, regardless of the tropical heat. Clearly she’d been on her own too long when a single handshake was enough to get her excited. Not that she was ready for the dating game. In the day and age when physical attributes held more value than loyalty or commitment, she was in no rush to put herself through any more heartache.
‘Joe Braden... Why does that name ring a bell?’ They’d never met. She’d have remembered if they had.
‘I served with Peter in Afghanistan.’ The smile disappeared as quickly as it had formed.
That made sense of the military haircut and the no-nonsense attitude. She’d heard that name in conversation and she was sure there was an extra nugget of information tied to it that was just out of reach in her subconscious.
‘Where is he? No offence, but I had hoped he’d be here to meet me.’ She didn’t want to get into a conversation about their time in combat and she doubted he’d be keen to rehash the whole experience either. It had been hell for all those involved, including the families waiting anxiously at home for their safe return. Peter’s decision to leave the army and begin a life dedicated to his faith had been a relief to everyone who loved him.
‘None taken. We couldn’t be sure exactly what time to expect you and Peter had a service this evening. I volunteered for lookout duty.’ He handed her a suitcase and a holdall while he hoisted the large box onto his shoulder.
She didn’t dare ask how long he’d waited. His lips, drawn into a thin line and his apparent hurry to get moving, told her it had probably been too long. Not exactly the welcome she’d been hoping for.
Joe was already taking great strides across the beach, so Emily traipsed after him as fast as she could with a holdall hooked over one shoulder and a suitcase in the other, waddling like a colourful penguin. There was no immediate sign of human habitation nearby and she didn’t relish the thought of being left behind.
