Chapter 38

THE REPLACEMENT SIMcame in the post. New phone, since my old one was at the bottom of the South Pacific. But the same number. I’d had enough people frantically trying to contact me via friends of friends that I knew I needed to reactivate my old number to reassure them that I was okay.

I was alone when it came, in our—my—flat. It was still strange being there without Nico. I still found myself looking for him when I turned over in bed, my breath still caught in my throat when I came through the front door, about to call out to him, Honey, I’m home!

It was a Saturday, and not so long after we got back from Jakarta—my mum and dad had finally gone home, reassured that I was eating, and sleeping, after a fashion at least, and wasn’t about to slip through their fingers once again. But my hands were still gaunt and sunburnt, still covered with cuts and acid burns that were only partially healed. I remember looking down at them as I tore open the envelope and cut my thumb on the flap—thinking about how much it hurt, and how ironic it was to mind about a stupid paper cut, when we’d all been through so much.

I opened up my phone with a paper clip, slipped in the SIM, and then waited as the texts came through. Dozens… and dozens… and dozens of them, ramping up as word of the shipwreck had filtered back to the UK, and friends began hearing of my disappearance.

Most of the people had found me via email or through my mum, and as I scrolled down the list, I unmarked the ones I knew I didn’t have to respond to and sent a quick “hi, I’m back—I’ll be in touch as soon as I can” to the people who might not have heard. The worst ones were Nico’s friends—knowing that I was going to have to break the awful news to them again and again. It was like going back in time. Back to a time when everything was okay.

And then, finally, I reached the very last text of all… or maybe the very first, though it was last on the list. Judging by the date stamp, it must have been sent just a few hours after I switched my old phone off and put it in Baz’s safe, and it had presumably been sitting on the server ever since, waiting for my SIM to reconnect.

It was a text from Nico.

At first I didn’t understand. His phone had been inside the locker along with mine—I had seen Baz put it there. How had he managed to text me? And why, when he of all people would have realized that I couldn’t answer it?

And then I realized—he must have been given his phone back when he got on board the Over Easy for that final journey. And he had sent this, so that it would be the first thing I read when I picked up my own phone, when I too was kicked off the island.

It wasn’t just one text. It was several, in fact, one after the other. A little number thirteen hovered by the preview of the most recent one.

Thirteen texts. That sounded like he’d had a lot to say. A lot.

My finger hovered over his name, my stomach shifting uneasily, wondering whether I had the courage to open this thread now, with everything so raw. I kept remembering Nico’s bitterness that last night on the island, his wild accusations, you sabotaged me… what game are you playing?

But I couldn’t leave the chain there, unread, tormenting me. I had to face whatever he’d wanted to say, and whatever his last words were, they couldn’t be worse than the ones ringing in my head. And the beginning, the bit I could see in the preview, didn’t look too bad. “hey lil,” it began, in Nico’s characteristic unpunctuated stream of consciousness, “well im back on the boa—”

That was where the preview cut out.

I took a deep breath. I clicked.

hey lil. well im back on the boat and had a chance to cool off and fuck im sorry. i was a dick

worse than a dick

i guess if ur reading this youve been kicked out too. or maybe youve won!!!! i hope u know i didnt mean any of that stuff i said when i left. i was just angry. and maybe scared too. i felt like this show was my last chance and i let myself down. both of us down. because heres the thing—you didnt. you came thru like you always do. because ur amazing and clever and a good person and

fuck pressed send by mistake. i dont know what else. i just know i dont deserve you and ive been feeling it for a while. you deserve someone whos gonna work hard and give u kids and all the stuff i dont know if i really want. i love u lil and i feel like you love me too but i dont know. maybe its time for me to let u go

fuck i shojldnt have text that sorry im drunk. ive had a lot of bear

*beet

*beer

a lot to drink

i love u and i hope you win. i hop you get the whole prize pot nad you do something amazing. life changing

i know u will

u deserve it

i love you

ps I hope you beat connor. baz says he dated his neice or someting and hes kind of a shit

I don’t know how long I sat there, staring at the screen. I only knew that there were tears rolling down my face, and that when my phone beeped again with an incoming text, the screen lit up like a candle, illuminating the room with a ghostly glow.

I wiped my eyes and scrolled back to the top of the list, where a text from an unknown number sat in my inbox.

Hey, the text said. It’s me. Santana. Testing your new number. Old number I mean. Stupid question but… are you going to be ok?

I closed my eyes. Took a deep breath. Tried to figure out what to say.

Then I simply typed, yes.

And pressed send.