Page 22

Chapter Twenty-Two

A bigail slumped beside the fire and with each fresh application of makeup she allowed her mind to drift from the present. Returning to her own world for a moment, she imagined laughing with her friends over a glass of wine and welcomed the brief deception.

It took her a moment to work out it was Thursday. She normally played tennis on a Thursday. She thought about her friends running around the court, working up a sweat. But where she sat right now, even though it was in the shade, was probably the hottest place she’d ever been.

Never again am I going to complain about the heat.

A loud crash interrupted her thoughts and she turned to the wreck in time to see one of the plane’s seats fall out the back. Curious, she headed toward it and jumped when a second seat tumbled from the cabin.

“What are you doing?”

“What does it look like? I’m tearing out the seats.”

“But why?”

“You’ll see.”

She shrugged and returned to the fire, sitting with her back to the plane. Mackenzie’s heavy footfalls sounded behind her and seconds later he arrived at her side dragging a chair behind him. He fixed the chair on its base and sat on it with his feet toward the fire. “Aah.” A smile lit up his face.

“Clever.”

He jumped up and offered her the seat. “Your throne, madam.”.

She slipped into the seat and sighed. It was absolute luxury after the case of beans. “It’s wonderful.”

He dragged another seat over to the opposite side of the fire and sat facing her. The heat wave across the fire distorted his image, and despite his now almost complete beard she couldn’t miss his look of satisfaction.

Maybe today will be good after all.

With a third seat in place, Mackenzie again disappeared into the back of the plane. After a multitude of groaning and loud popping noises, he walked toward her looping a strand of blue wire over his arm. “A clothesline.”

“Great. If we actually had water to wash the clothes.”

“Mmm, you’re right.” He paused mid stride. “I have another idea.”

Studying an area beyond the clearing he eventually seemed happy with his choice and wrapped the wire around three triangulated trees. Abigail was intrigued by his smug grin but didn’t ask.

Revisiting the plane, he returned with a package that he unzipped, and with one swift movement a large colourful sheet billowed out.

“A parachute! Where did you find it?”

“Under a seat.”

He gathered the material and draped it over the string with measured precision. The result was a triangular room the size of a large toilet cubicle.

“Ta da!” He swept his hand toward it.

“That’s great. What is it?”

“It’s a change room. Now you can get dressed in peace.”

She brushed her hands over her filthy slacks. “That’s a lovely idea. Thank you.”

“And there’s these.” He held up a life jacket. “We can blow them up for pillows.”

He inflated the jacket and once he seemed happy with its size handed it to her. She placed it behind her head and wriggled it into place. “Fantastic. So, what’s next?”

His eyes lit up. “I’m going to get something from the back half of the plane. Are you okay here?” He indicated to Charlie who hadn’t moved since they loaded him with Panadol.

“I’ll be fine.”

He marched into the thick bushes and quickly vanished from view. She turned back to the fire.

Other than the occasional hiss or pop from the burning logs, the silence was complete. She struggled with the lack of noise, even found it disturbing. It contributed to her loneliness.

With nothing to occupy her mind, it was difficult not to think about home. Her thoughts drifted to Krystal.

Oh god! I don’t know who she’d be staying with.

She didn’t even know who Krystal’s friends were. Her daughter was determined to remain secretive, and Abigail regretted she’d always been too busy to worry about her anyway.

Abigail’s usual week consisted of numerous social functions—the polo club, shopping, coffee with girlfriends, beauty treatments and her nail technician. She looked at her nails. It’d been two weeks since she last saw Helen and the damage showed. Her usually pristine nails were chipped beyond repair.

Helen will have a fit when I come in.

But if there was one thing Helen was good for, other than the perfect manicure, it was gossip. And Abigail would definitely have some decent gossip for her when she got back. Though Abigail never could decide if Helen did it blithely, or if she just enjoyed the consequences of spreading gossip.

Unfortunately, the last piece of gossip Abigail heard from Helen involved Spencer and one of Abigail’s best friends, Rachel. Of course, Helen had no idea who the man was that she was talking about. But as soon as she mentioned that the man gave Rachel weird trinkets, Abigail knew it was Spencer.

Spencer was always bringing her back ghastly pieces of jewellery from his jungle adventures. She looked around at the gnarled, disorderly branches surrounding her and huffed. Spencer never did understand why she despised them.

A rustling in the bushes made her jump and she turned as Mackenzie stepped into the clearing with a stainless-steel toilet on his shoulder. His face blazed red.

She couldn’t help but laugh. “What are you doing with that?”

“What do you think? No reason why we can’t have a decent toilet.”

Abigail agreed. The dull throb in her abdomen increased in intensity each day and it was only a matter of time before she’d need to address that little situation. She really was grateful. “What can I do?”

“Well, first of all, we’ll need to dig a hole.”

Abigail groaned. Her hands still throbbed from yesterday’s digging.

“Don’t panic. It doesn’t have to be too big. We’ll move it around every couple of days.”

“Jesus! What are you talking about? You make it sound like you’ve given up hope of being rescued.”

“Fine. I won’t bother with the toilet.” Tossing it off his shoulder, it fell with a dull thud.

Frustration washed over her. “I’m sorry. Please. I need it.” She couldn’t believe she was begging. “I need the toilet.”

“Say pretty please.”

She frowned, confused.

“Say pretty please.” Putting his hands on his hips, he cocked his head at her.

“You want me to say pretty please?”

“Yes.”

Grrr, he’s enjoying this. “Pretty please,” she mumbled.

“Well, only because you asked so nicely.”

“You’re impossible.” She grinned.

He laughed. “Actually, it’s you that’s impossible.”

He walked toward her and held out a hand. “Come on, help me find that sheet of tin we used yesterday. I tossed it into the trees.”

His rough hand was nothing like Spencer’s manicured hands, and yet somehow Mackenzie’s palm felt softer in her grip.

They chose an area just beyond the tree line, and working together they constructed the toilet, which Mackenzie cocooned in another parachute for privacy.

They celebrated their teamwork with baked beans and a cup of coffee.

It surprised her how much she enjoyed the work.

But was it the work she enjoyed?

Or was it working with Mackenzie?

The answer was both, and it was equally confusing and wonderful.