Chapter 33

It’s the fifth day of their seven-day honeymoon and Eve and Dom lie on top of the bedclothes, naked, spread-eagled, holding hands, watching the rotating ceiling fan as its cool breeze wafts across their sticky bodies. If they lift their chins a fraction they can see out through the half-open slatted-timber doors to an ocean view, framed by a splash of frothy purple bougainvillea and the elegantly drooping frond of a palm tree.

Right now they are honeymooners in an Instagram post. They are tanned, they have just had sex, Eve’s hair looks great, the sky is pink and the setting sun has turned the water rose gold. Eve loves rose gold. Her phone case is rose gold! She didn’t know it was an option for the sea.

Sadly, this view is also only temporary. It comes and goes with the tide. It’s a life lesson about their wedding vows: good times and bad, good times and bad, over and over.

In the next hour, a giant parking lot of slimy black rocks and clumps of brown seaweed like piles of rubbish will slowly be revealed. Eventually, their view will resemble a nuclear waste site. Eve has never seen a nuclear waste site, but it seems an apt description.

This was the distressing sight that greeted them when they first arrived on the island: tired, cranky, grumpy, and married.

The night they’d arrived in Sydney, when they’d finally gone to bed in the “deluxe room” at their fancy hotel, all they had done was sleep. The uncomfortable lingerie was a total waste of money. They had zero physical contact. They slept like literal corpses. When they woke up all the sheets were still tucked in! They had to be up unbelievably early for their next flight, which had not seemed a big deal when Eve planned their itinerary but turned out to be a very big deal when their phone alarms went off. They didn’t even have time for the free hotel breakfast.

It’s okay about the sex. Eve looked it up. Loads of people are too tired for sex on their wedding night. It’s practically a trend.

They are staying on Emerald Island, a newly renovated “affordable luxury” island resort in the Whitsundays. The previous resort was top end but went bankrupt and then got decimated in a cyclone. It’s funny to think that rich celebrities who were once guests wouldn’t be seen dead here now. But Eve and Dom get to walk on the very same sand for a fraction of the price—suckers.

Eve found it on a list of “great value packages for budget-conscious honeymooners.” She booked a “standard view beach cabin.”

After they checked in, a resort worker with a freaky resemblance to their friend Riley drove them in a buggy to their cabin and carried in their bags. Panicked, Eve whispered to Dom, “Do we tip him?” Dom shrugged, aghast. Dom’s dad always insists you never tip anyone for anything in Australia because “we pay our workers a proper wage,” but Dom’s dad is not always a reliable source. (He sends texts like: Hope you feel better soon, LOL, Dad. )

After the Riley look-alike brought in their bags, he opened the wooden doors with a flourish and said, “Beautiful view, eh?”

Eve and Dom were stunned. Eve actually gasped in horror. Was he gaslighting them? Eve assumed it was climate change. Therefore, her mother’s fault. Her mother’s generation had done nothing about climate change. Or was it Eve’s fault because she’d chosen the cheapest room? This was a “standard view.” Get what you pay for.

She was the first to speak.

She said, “Thank you.” She doesn’t know why she said that: like, thank you for this terrible view. Then she gave him a ten-dollar note, which was the only cash she had in her wallet, and he looked amazed, which seemed to indicate that Dom’s dad was correct, and she kind of felt like asking if she could have it back, please, she made a mistake.

Brownish rose petals were laid out in the shape of a wobbly heart on the bed and a small round table in the corner of the room contained a dusty bottle of room-temperature sparkling wine with a red $4.99 price tag on the back and a fruit platter, over which hovered a happy cloud of fruit flies.

“Think someone forgot the plastic wrap.” The guy flapped at the fruit flies with Eve’s ten-dollar note.

Eve took off her shoes and said, “Oh!” because the carpet oozed between her toes like damp cold forest moss, which was icky. It’s only nice when forest moss feels like forest moss.

“That’d be the steam cleaning,” Riley look-alike explained. “Last guests must have made a mess. Enjoy!”

Once they knew he was definitely out of earshot they couldn’t stop laughing. The terrible view, the buzzing fruit flies, the icky carpet. “We could be on a reality show,” said Dom. “ Honeymoons from Hell. ”

They had to flatten themselves against the walls to walk around the sides of the gigantic bed, but once they got in, the bed was actually amazing with crunchy-crisp but satin-smooth sheets. Who knew sheets could feel that good? They writhed about like dogs on carpets. They lay on opposite sides and called out “ Helloooo ” to each other over the mountain ranges of fluffy snow-white pillows, followed by fake fading echoes: “Hello, hello , hello .”

Then they rolled into the middle of the bed and had sex, and because it was the first time since their wedding it felt laden with significance and they even stared romantically into each other’s eyes like they were in a movie, proving the intensity of their love to their audience. Eve got the giggles first. Afterward they slept for hours.

Eve woke to the sound of Dom saying, “Babe. Wake up. Look what happened.”

And there, like a miracle, was the stunning ocean view exactly as the pictures had promised. It didn’t even need a filter, it was that beautiful, and the fact that the beauty came and went with the tide made it even more special.

Also, the carpet dried and no longer felt like forest moss.

They chucked the fruit in the bin.

Since then their honeymoon has been magnificent. Exactly like a real honeymoon. Eve knows it technically is a real honeymoon but it’s weird to think she and Dom are the literal honeymooners. They’ve had sex seven and a half times, they’ve been snorkeling (they saw a turtle), they’ve been paddleboarding (they were both really good at it, they’re so compatible!), they’ve had happy hour cocktails with all the other cheapskate honeymooners—some of whom are fun and will maybe be their friends forever—they’ve hiked the trails around the island and this morning they had the “signature couples massage,” which was included as part of their package. They both found it painful but didn’t like to complain, and now they know they don’t like massages and will never do that again, so that’s good.

Dom has also given Eve a few personal training sessions because he qualified as a personal trainer six months ago and he’s building up his business and has awesome ideas for a fitness app. He already has lots of regular clients. He’s popular with middle-aged mums because if they say, “It hurts, Dom!” he says, “Oh, well, have a rest, catch your breath,” and they sit on the grass and tell him about their children and how they hurt their feelings and never stop looking at their phones, and Dom says, “Don’t worry, they’ll grow out of it.”

Eve is worried the ladies are not going to see results if they just sit on the grass. She thinks he needs to be more boot-camp-ish and she’s been trying to get him to practice yelling at her, but he can’t do it, he’s too nice. She tests him by moaning, “I can’t do any more push-ups, Dom!” and every single time he lets her stop no matter how many times she explains he’s meant to shout, “YES YOU CAN! WE NEVER SAY THE WORD ‘CAN’T’ AT DOM’S BOOT CAMP!”

“You know what I think we should do now?” says Dom. He looks at her with a mischievous, almost guilty expression.

Eve rolls onto her side to face him. “What?”

“Something really bad,” he says. His eyes shine. “Something wild.”

Eve feels sick. She knows exactly what he’s going to say. He wants to try the choking thing. She knew it was coming. He’s already bored. This beautiful honeymoon is an illusion, just like that rose-gold sea.

“I think,” he says, “we should eat that Twirl from the minibar.”

He leaps from the bed, his penis bouncing joyfully. “We’re doing it, Eve, nobody can stop us.”

Yesterday they’d talked about how, on the few occasions they’d stayed at hotels as children, their parents had made such a HUGE deal about never ever touching the minibar, like it might self-combust if they did.

“I mean, it’s expensive, but it’s not that expensive!” Dom studies the minibar price list.

He comes back to the bed with a chocolate bar and a bag of chips.

“I’m going to tell your dad,” says Eve.

“I’d never hear the end of it,” says Dom.

The chocolate tastes wildly good, probably because it’s forbidden fruit, although it’s not fruit. This is apparently why affairs are so good because the sex is forbidden, but Eve can’t imagine ever wanting to sleep with anyone else, except a celebrity, of course.

Dom licks melted chocolate from his fingers and says, “What did you think I was going to suggest? You looked scared.”

“Oh,” says Eve. “No. It’s stupid. It’s just that I started thinking, on the plane, about choking. Or whatever the technical term is—”

“Autoasphyxiation. You want that?” Dom straightens up. Alert. Does he look alarmed or excited?

“No,” says Eve. “I’m sorry. Liv and Riley are into it. I just don’t think it would be…fun.”

“Oh, thank fuck.” Dom flops backward on the bed. “I don’t get it.”

“I don’t get it either!” says Eve.

“I’m into breathing,” they both say at the same time, and they spin their heads to look at each other with wide eyes and then they laugh and laugh, until Eve snorts, which always makes them both laugh even more.

They are such nerds. They are totally compatible nerds.

Eve starts to shiver, so they get back under the duvet and sit upright with their backs against the wall.

After a moment Dom says, “Were you thinking about choking before or after the psychic lady?”

“Before,” says Eve. “Definitely before. It was nothing to do with her.”

She opens the bag of chips and offers it to him.

“You’re not worried about what she said?” Dom takes a chip.

“ Worried? Of course I’m not,” says Eve. “I do not think you’re going to murder me, Dom.”

She puts a potato chip on her tongue and lets the flavors seep into her taste buds. “Although I hope she’s right about you and you live until you’re ninety-three and die of respiratory whatever.”

“Respiratory tract infection,” says Dom. “But I’ll be in jail, right, for killing you? So I’d rather die young.”

“All psychics are fake,” says Eve. “Remember what happened with my parents?”

“Your dad paid off someone?” Dom frowns, trying to remember the story. They know all of each other’s stories. Or she thinks they do, anyway.

“Yes, he bribed a tarot card reader to tell my mum he was the man of her dreams on their second date!”

Her dad always told it as a funny story, which it is not, because he was definitely not the man of Eve’s mother’s dreams, and when he told her the truth after they got married, Eve’s mum felt “deceived,” and they had a big fight, and then he kept right on deceiving her with not one but two other women, and now Eve’s mum has “trust issues” as well as perimenopause.

“Still, that’s just one corrupt psychic,” points out Dom.

“They’re all scammers,” Eve says with absolute confidence. “Anyway, remember a lot of those passengers thought she was just a bit loony tunes, not a psychic at all.”

Remembering the conversations around the baggage carousel makes her think of Dr. Barbara Bailey telling her to drink lots of water. Eve finds the liter bottle she’s kept on the floor next to the bed, due to the lack of a bedside table, and uses both hands to glug back as much water as she can manage.

As she drinks she glances at Dom. He is looking ahead with a vacant expression, munching on chips. She thinks, Uh-oh.

She drops the water bottle on the bed between her legs and swallows a burp. “Are you worried about what the lady said?”

Dom doesn’t look at her. “I wasn’t worried, but last night, in the middle of the night, I woke up and remembered something—and now I can’t stop thinking about it.”

Eve wipes the back of her hand across her mouth. “You remembered you want to kill me?”

“No.” He’s not laughing at her joke. Not even a little bit. He still doesn’t look at her. “I don’t want to freak you out.”

“Tell me.”

“Well, you remember what happened when we stayed at that Huon Valley caravan park with Liv and Riley, and we were drinking all that red wine and then—do you remember? What I did?”

“What?” Eve can’t think. The caravan was musty. Liv couldn’t stop sneezing. The red wine was disgusting. She and Dom aren’t big drinkers. There was an argument of some sort. Over something stupid. It might have been the moon landing. Had Eve maybe been telling them about Junie’s conspiracy theories? They all had headaches the next day.

Dom looks at her intently. He has the most beautiful brown eyes. She wants a baby boy with that exact color and style of eyes. She might actually have a baby soon. Why not? Babies are so cute, although she’ll train hers not to cry like that one on the plane. Her mother will lose her mind if Eve gets pregnant before she has a “career,” which adds to the appeal.

Dom says, “Remember?”

Suddenly she gets it. “Oh, Dom, no, no, wait, babe, that was funny ! That doesn’t mean anything! You don’t need to worry about that!”

Dom folds the top of the chip bag into a firm straight line.

He says, “I am kind of worried about it.”

“ Dom. ”

He says, “I don’t think it’s funny. It’s not funny at all.”