The Beach

'When did you last contact them?'

'I do not know… It was… That road. The road we met you.'

'Khao San.'

'I called them from there…'

'Three months ago.'

'Three months… Yes…'

We both lay back down on the hot sand. I think the mention of parents was slightly disquieting and neither of us wanted to dwell on the subject.

But I did find it interesting that I wasn't the only one to experience the amnesiac effect of the beach. I wondered where the effect came from, and whether it was to do with the beach itself or the people on it. It suddenly occurred to me that I knew nothing about the past lives of my companions, except their place of origin. I'd spent countless hours talking to Keaty, and the only thing I knew about his background was that he used to go to Sunday school. But I didn't know if he had brothers or sisters, or what his parents did, or the area of London where he grew up. We might have had a thousand shared experiences that we'd never made an effort to uncover.

The only talking topic that stretched beyond the circle of cliffs was travel. That was something we talked about a lot. Even now, I can still reel off the list of countries that my friends had visited. In a way it wasn't so surprising, considering that (apart from our ages) an interest in travel was the only thing we all had in common. And actually, travel conversation was a pretty good substitute for conversation about home. You could tell plenty about someone from the places they'd chosen to visit, and which of those places were their favourites.

Unhygienix, for example, reserved his deepest affection for Kenya, which somehow suited his taciturn nature. It was easy to imagine him on safari, quietly absorbing the vastness of the landscape around him. Keaty, livelier and more prone to enthusiastic outbursts, was much more suited to Thailand. Étienne had an unfulfilled yearning to go to Bhutan, quietly good-natured fellow that he was, and Sal often talked about Ladakh – the northern province of India, laid-back in some ways and hard-edged in others. I knew my affection for the Philippines was equally as telling: a democracy on paper, apparently well-ordered, regularly subverted by irrational chaos. A place where I'd felt instantly at home.

Amongst some of the others, Greg went for gentle Southern India, Françoise went for beautiful Indonesia, Moshe went for Borneo – which I took to be connected to the jungle-like growth of his body hair – and the two Yugoslavian girls chose their own country, appropriately nationalistic and off the wall. Daffy, I didn't need to be told, would have chosen Vietnam.

Of course, I know there's an element of pop psychology about how much you can read into people's favourite travel locations. You can choose which aspects of a nation's character you want to accept or ignore. In the case of Keaty, I chose liveliness and enthusiasm because mercenary and calculating didn't fit the bill, and in the case of Françoise I ignored dictatorship and mass murder in East Timor. But nonetheless, I have faith in the principle.

'I'm going to take the catch back,' I said, standing up.

Françoise pushed herself up on to her elbows. 'Now?'

'Unhygienix might be ready.'

'He will not be ready.'

'Well, no… but I fancy a walk. You want to come?'

'Where will you go?'

'Uh, don't know. I was thinking about heading for the waterfall or into the jungle somewhere… maybe to find that pool.'

'No, I think I will stay here. Or maybe I will swim to the corals.'

'OK.'

I walked to the buckets, and as I bent to lift them I saw my face reflected in the bloody water. I paused to study myself, almost a silhouette with two bright eyes, and then I heard Françoise padding over the beach towards me. Her dark face appeared behind my shoulders and I felt her hand on my back.

'You do not want to come to the corals?'

'No.' My fingers squeezed around the handles but I didn't straighten, knowing that if I did her hand would drop. 'I'd rather go for a walk… Are you sure you don't want to come?'

'Yes.' Her red reflection shrugged. 'It is too hot to walk today.'

I didn't reply, and a couple of seconds later I heard her footsteps padding back across the sand. When I looked around she was wading into the water. I watched her until the water reached her torso, then started the walk back to camp.

Naturism

Facing in the direction of the mainland, the jungle to the left was familiar because the carpentry detail used it for their lumber. The area was criss-crossed with paths, some of which led to Jean's garden and the waterfall, some of which led down to the beach. To the right, however, the jungle was still virgin, so this was the direction I chose to explore.

The only path that led into it stopped after fifty metres. It had originally been cleared because a freshwater pool lay further along, and Sal had thought it could be converted to a larger substitute for the shower hut. The idea was abandoned when Cassie discovered that monkeys used the pool for drinking, and now the path was only used by people who, like me, were uncomfortable with the plastic-pitcher option in the toilet. Judging from the faces I'd passed on the path, I'd say that accounted for at least three-quarters of the camp. It was used commonly enough to have acquired a nickname – the Khyber Pass – and the regular tramping of our feet kept the weeds under control.

It took me half an hour to find my way to the pool, which turned out to be a slight disappointment. As I'd picked my way through the undergrowth I'd been imagining a cool glade where I could bathe whilst watching monkeys swinging in the trees. Instead I found a muddy puddle and a cloud of flies. Flies that bit, I should add. I stayed by the pool for less than a minute of constant swatting and cursing. Then I pressed on into the jungle with the sound of primate laughter ringing in my ears.

Apart from the sharp grasses that occasionally nicked my legs, the walking wasn't taxing. Weeks without shoes had hardened the soles of my feet and left them almost numb. A few days before, I'd pulled a thorn from my heel, half a centimetre long. Its base had been covered in a crust of dirt and I guessed I'd been strolling around with it for quite some time, never feeling a thing.

The hardest part about walking was that my progress was so slow, constantly detouring around thickets and bamboo clusters, and that I was never completely sure about which direction I was heading. This didn't worry me too much, because I was sure that sooner or later I'd reach the beach or the wall of cliffs. Unfortunately my confidence also meant I didn't make an effort to remember my route, so when I came across the papaya orchard, over an hour later, I didn't have a clue as to how I could ever find it again.

I call it an orchard for want of a better word. The papayas were random in size and spacing, so they hadn't been planted. Possibly the soil in that patch was particularly suitable or the limited room on the forest floor had kept them all together. Whatever – they made a wonderful sight. Much of the fruit was ripe, bright orange and as big as marrows, and the air was filled with sweetness.

I pulled one down with an easy twist of the stalk and split it open on a tree-trunk. The fluorescent flesh tasted like melon and perfume– not, perhaps, as nice as it sounds, but pretty good all the same. Then I pulled out the joint I'd rolled before leaving the camp, found a clear area to sit, and settled down to watch smoke collect beneath the papaya leaves.

After a while, monkeys began to appear. I couldn't name their species, but they were small and brown, with long tails and oddly cat-like faces. At first they kept their distance. They didn't study me or register my presence in any way, beyond giving me a wide berth. But then a mother-monkey, with a tiny baby clinging to her stomach, ambled over and took a piece of papaya from my hand. I hadn't even been holding it out to her – I'd been saving it until I finished the joint – but clearly she had other ideas. She casually helped herself, and I was too surprised to do anything but gape.

It didn't take long before another monkey followed the mother-monkey's cue. Then another, and another. Within a couple of minutes the papaya was being pulled out of my hands as quickly as I could tear it from the fruit. My body was covered in sticky juice, my eyes were watering because I didn't have time to pull the joint from my lips, and little black fingers were pawing at me from all directions. Eventually all of them managed to get a chunk, and I was left sitting cross-legged in a sea of munching monkeys. I felt like David Attenborough.

It was the distinctive sound of falling water that finally led me out of the jungle. I heard it fifteen minutes after leaving the orchard, and then it was just a matter of zoning in on the noise.

I came out by the carved tree and immediately dived into the waterfall pool, keen to wash the sweat and papaya juice off my body. It was only when I came up that I realized I wasn't alone. Sal and Bugs were kissing, naked, in the penumbra of the spray.

'Damn,' I thought, and was about to discreetly swim back to the bank when Sal noticed me.

'Richard?'

'Hi, Sal. Sorry. I didn't see you there.'

Bugs looked at me and smirked. It seemed to me that he was saying my apology was prurient. Gauche, next to his relaxed but frank sexuality. The prick. I held his gaze, and the smile twisted into an inane sneer, the expression he should have started with.

'Don't be silly, Richard,' Sal said, detaching herself from Bugs' embrace. 'Where have you come from?'

'I went for a walk down the Khyber Pass and found a bunch of papaya trees, then ended up here.'

'Papayas? How many?'

' Oh, loads.'

'You should tell Jean, Richard. He's always interested in that sort of thing.'

I shrugged. 'Yeah, the problem is, I doubt I could find them again. It's hard to keep your bearings in there.'

Bugs revived the sneer. 'It takes practice.'

'Practice with a compass.'

Smirk. 'I spend so much time in the trees, I suppose I've got an instinct… almost animal, man…' He pushed his wet hair back with both hands. 'Maybe I'll find them tomorrow.'

'Uh-huh. Good luck.' I turned to go, adding, 'Don't get lost,' quietly.

I ducked under and swam back to the shore, surfacing only when the water was too shallow to cover me. But I hadn't escaped quite yet.

'Richard,' Sal called, as I hauled myself out. 'Hang on.'

I looked round.

'Are you heading back to the camp?'

'I was going to.'

'Well… wait.' She began to swim over, looking slightly like a turtle with her chin jutting up clear of the water. I waited until she reached me.

'Will you walk with me to the garden? I've got to go down there and Bugs has to go to the longhouse. I'd like some company, and we haven't talked for a while.'

I nodded. 'OK, sure.'

'Good.'

She smiled and went to get her clothes.

The Good News

The walking pace Sal set was slow. Sometimes she paused to look at flowers or to pull a weed from the path. Sometimes she stopped for no apparent reason, aimlessly drawing dust circles with her toes.

'Richard,' she began, 'I want to tell you how pleased we all are that you found our secret beach.'

'Thanks, Sal,' I replied, already understanding that this conversation had a point beyond a casual chat.

'Can I be blunt, Richard? When you three arrived, we were all a little worried. Perhaps you can understand why…'

'Of course.'

'But you all fitted in so well. You really entered into the spirit of what we have here, better than we could have hoped… You mustn't think we didn't appreciate you doing the Rice Run, Richard, and catching that lovely shark.'

'Oh, well.' I tried to look modest. 'The shark was a fluke.'

'Garbage, Richard. The shark gave everyone something to feel good about, and morale does get low during rainstorms. I still feel a little guilty about the way I spoke to you that miserable wet morning, but sometimes I need to be… pushy. I don't consider myself to be the leader here, but…'

'We all understand that.'

'Thank you, Richard.'

'And you are the leader really, Sal.'

'Oh, maybe in some ways I am. Reluctantly.' She laughed. 'People come to me with their problems and I try to sort them out… Keaty, for example. I know you and Keaty are close, so I presume you know about his problem.'

'He wants to leave the garden detail.'

'That's right. Such a headache. It isn't easy moving people around. Someone has to provide the space before he can move, and the fishing detail is already full… He wants the fishing detail, you know.'

'Uh-huh.'

'For months now I've been telling him it isn't possible. You see, he was about to start fishing when your little group arrived… He was terribly disappointed, Richard, but he took it very well. Others might have… I don't know… held it against you.'

'Sure. Three people turning up out of the blue, taking his job.'

'Exactly, Richard. I was so grateful to him, and so pleased when you became friends… I was only sorry I couldn't do anything to improve his situation…' A weed caught Sal's eye and she pulled it out, tutting at its stubborn grip on the dirt. 'But my hands were tied without a vacancy in the fishing detail. And now I've realized that one isn't going to appear unless I make it…'

I gulped. 'Uh, no one wants to move, I suppose. What about one of the Swedes?'

'One of the Swedes?' Sal chuckled. 'You couldn't break up their trio without a gun, and even then you'd have a job. No, they're together to the death. The three blond musketeers.'

'Moshe?'

'Mmm… I don't think I'd want him to move. He's rather good with those Yugoslavian girls.'

'Who then?' I asked, and obviously failed to keep a note of anxiousness out of my voice.

'Yes, Richard. I'm sorry, but it has to be you. I don't have a choice.'

I groaned. 'Oh no, Sal. Please, I really don't want to move. I love the fishing detail, and I'm good at it.'

'I know you are, Richard. I know. But do try to see it from my position. Keaty needs to move out of the garden, I can't separate Étienne and Françoise, Gregorio has been fishing for two years, the Yugoslavians…' Sal shook her head. 'Well, I shouldn't really tell you this, Richard, but they haven't the wit to do anything else. Jean can't bear them and they could never cope with carpentry. I regret bringing them here at all. I'm a pushover for refugees… Truly, Richard, if I had a choice

'Yeah,' I muttered.

'…And it isn't like I'm going to put you on the garden detail.'

I paused. 'You aren't?'

'God, no. I don't think I'd be able to do that after the things Keaty must have been telling you.'

A terrible thought crossed my mind. Given a choice between the garden detail and working with Bugs in carpentry, I'd have taken Jean's iron discipline any time.

'Well,' I began to say, not bothering to disguise my nervousness. 'He hasn't said that much…'

'I'm sure he's said plenty, Richard. No need to be diplomatic.'

'No, Sal, honestly…'

She waved her hand. 'It doesn't matter anyway. You won't be working on the garden detail…'

I closed my eyes, waiting for my sentence.

'…You'll be working with Jed.'

I opened my eyes again. 'Jed? '

'Yes. He wants a partner on his excursions, and he suggested you.'

'Wow,' I said, genuinely. It had never occurred to me that Jed might want someone with him. Although we'd become friendly, he still struck me as a loner.

'I know, he never seemed the team type,' Sal continued, apparently reading my mind. 'I was just as surprised. You must have made a good impression on the Rice Run.'

'…But what does Jed need help with? Doesn't he just… steal grass?'

'He does that, yes, but other things besides. He'll explain.'

'…I see.'

Sal beamed. 'Richard, I'm so glad we've sorted it all out. I've been worried about telling you this for days… Now then, all that remains is to find Keaty. Would you like to give him the good news or shall I?'

Ich bin ein Beacher

When we reached the garden, Jean told us that Keaty had already started out back to the camp, so I jogged off to catch him up and Sal stayed behind, explaining to Jean that he'd have to make do with one less worker.

I found Keaty a few hundred metres down the track, and when I told him the news he was very sympathetic, despite the fact that it was good news for him.

'I feel shit about this, Rich,' he said after I'd finished explaining. 'I didn't mean for Sal to take you off fishing, I swear.'

I nodded. 'My guess is it has more to do with Jed than you. You've been asking to leave the garden detail since I got here, and it's only now that something's happened.'

'Maybe… You're pissed off, right?'

'…Well…'

'I'm sorry.'

'No, it isn't your fault. It's just bad… luck. Or something. But not your fault.'

'Well, I hope not, Rich… And I'm sorry anyway…'

We walked in silence for a few moments, then Keaty said, 'Do you know why Jed's suddenly decided he needs help?'

'I don't even know what he needs help with. We still don't know what he does up there.'

'At least now we'll find out.'

'I will, you mean. If I were to tell you what goes on I'd have to kill you straight after.'

Keaty smiled. 'You know what? I bet you're secretly pleased about all this. I bet you're looking forward to prowling around up there.'

I shrugged. 'Ask not what your beach can do for you.'

'That's the spirit.'

'Yeah…' I paused. '…I suppose if I've got to leave the fishing detail then I'd rather I was working with Jed than anyone else.'

'Uh-huh. I wouldn't wish the garden detail on you.'

'And the other option was carpentry. For a moment I thought that's what Sal was suggesting and I nearly had a fucking heart attack. I got this sudden flash of working with Bugs all day, so when Sal said it was with Jed… I don't know… I almost had to feel relieved.'

'If you say so, Rich.'

'I think I do.'

We turned a corner on the path and saw the longhouse through the trees. There were figures around the kitchen hut, so I guessed the other fishers were back with their catch. I couldn't see any of my detail. They probably weren't back from the corals yet.

Just as we were about to enter the clearing, someone behind us called our names. We both turned round and saw Jesse jogging along the track with a bag of vegetables from the garden.

'Hey, man,' he said to Keaty, as he reached us. 'Hear you're leaving the Jar Dan.' It took me a couple of seconds to translate his Kiwi accent to jardin.

'Yep. I'm moved to the fishing.'

'I heard, you lucky bastard.' Jesse looked at me. 'Not you though, mate. You must be pissed off, losing that cushy number. You'll be sweating with us now.'

'I'm not going to the garden.'

Jesse grinned. 'Carpentry! With Jesus!'

'No. Jed.'

'Jed?'

'Uh-huh.'

'Blow me. What's all that about? Not enough weed to go round?'

'Maybe. I'll find out soon, anyway.'

'Yeah… You will.' He nodded thoughtfully, then he patted Keaty on the back. 'You'll be sorted, anyhow. Get to watch Françoise swimming all day. I could do with a bit of that.'

Keaty shot me a quick glance, which puzzled me, and said, 'Watch it, Jesse. You don't want Cassie to hear you.'

Jesse laughed. 'Too right. Skin me alive.' He winked at no one in particular, then looked into the clearing. 'So. Looks like the cooks have got food on the way. Better get the veg down there.'

'Sure,' said Keaty, and Jesse jogged off. Keaty watched him go, then turned to me. 'He's the one person I'll really miss out of the garden detail.'

'Seems like a decent guy.'

'He is. You'd like him and Cassie a lot. Especially as they aren't exactly Bugs' biggest fans.'

'Oh?'

'I used to bitch about Jean being a tough boss, but Bugs… he drives Cassie nuts.'

'I'd picked up on that before.'

'…I guess you'll miss working with your detail too.'

'Mmm.' I took a deep breath and exhaled slowly. Probably too deeply and too slowly, because I noticed Keaty giving me another curious glance. 'I'm sure I will.'

Dislocation

It was a long walk from where I entered the clearing to where Étienne, Françoise and Gregorio stood talking. I had plenty of time to think about how much the change of work detail would affect my life on the beach. Mainly I thought in rapid slide-show images, different shots of the four of us chatting and having fun: diving off our favourite fishing boulder, taking bets on who would catch the biggest fish, swimming for spears that had missed their mark or found their mark, or re-enacting throws that were comically bad. The image I lingered on the longest was, unsurprisingly, of Françoise. Françoise as an Amazon, frozen, with a spear poised above her head, concentrating fiercely on the shapes beneath the water. Even now it's a picture I can clearly recall.

It seemed to me, as I got nearer, that they must have heard the news. They paused in their conversation and all turned, watching me with quiet and serious expressions. But it was simply that they'd read the look on my face. That and my posture, and the speed I was walking. If someone walks unhurriedly towards you, head bowed, you have to know that something's up.

There was a strange moment when I reached them. They remained silent, waiting for me to speak, but I felt like I'd already been isolated from their group. It reminded me of the first morning after my fever, discovering that Étienne and Françoise had made themselves a part of the new world while I had been asleep. When no words came I frowned and put a hand on the back of my neck, then shrugged helplessly.

'What is it, Richard?' said Г‰tienne apprehensively. 'There is something the matter?'

I nodded.

'What? Tell us.'

'…I'm off the fishing detail.'

'Off?'

'Moving to another detail. Sal… She just told me.'

Françoise gasped. 'But why? How can she do that?'

'Something to do with Jed. He needs a work partner. Keaty's going to replace me.'

Gregorio shook his head. 'But wait, Richard. You do not want to move, yes?'

'I like the fishing detail…'

'Then OK. You will stay. I will find Sal and talk to her now.' Then he marched off towards the longhouse.

'Gregorio will stop this,' said Г‰tienne a few moments later. 'Do not worry, Richard. You will not have to move.'

'You will not have to move,' Françoise echoed. 'We are a good team, Richard. Of course you will stay with us.'

I nodded, pleased by my friends' display of solidarity, but at the same time I was entirely unconvinced. I knew that Sal's decision would be final, and as if to force the point home, the sound of her low voice began to drift across the clearing, telling Gregorio that this could be the only way.

Although I was feeling sorry for myself, unsure of the sudden way in which things had developed, as the day went on I felt more sorry for Keaty. After Gregorio's failure to change Sal's mind, the four of us spent the rest of the afternoon sitting in a circle, getting stoned and bitching about the way things had turned out. Keaty, however, sat by the entrance of his tent. He was apparently engrossed in his Gameboy, but he looked miserable. I think he felt responsible for everything, and it must have been depressing to feel that his new workmates were so unhappy with the circumstances of his arrival. Eventually, Keaty's obvious discomfort became intolerable. Sensing that the onus was on me, I called over to him and suggested he join us. He sheepishly put down his Nintendo and came over, immediately launching into an apology for the situation he felt he'd caused. All of us protested at once, but it did nothing to cheer him up. He also told us that he'd spoken to Sal himself, insisting that he didn't mind remaining on the garden detail, to no effect. This, at least, provided a topic of discussion that didn't make Keaty's discomfort any more acute, because it raised the underlying reason for the job switch.

'Perhaps,' Françoise said, 'there is something happening on the island. Something to do with the drug farmers.'

Keaty muttered his agreement, but Gregorio looked doubtful. 'So maybe the Thais are putting new fields on this side of the island. It would be a problem, but why would Jed need a partner? If he had ten or fifty partners, he could not stop them. There is no difference.'

'Is there ever any talking with the Thais?' Г‰tienne asked.

Gregorio shook his head. 'Daffy spoke to them when they first came, but he is the only one. He said they knew we were here already, and they were not interested in us if we did not move from the lagoon. Since then, nothing.'

'Maybe they've got pissed off with Jed nicking grass,' I suggested.

'Yes, but it is the same thing. If they are angry or not angry, what difference if Jed has a partner?'

'So what else could it be?'

Gregorio looked down at his hands, then back at me. 'I do not know, Richard… I really do not know.'

We continued chatting until late evening, but only going round in circles. Without Jed or Sal there was no way our questions could be answered, but Jed was still absent by the time we went to bed, and no one felt like talking to Sal.

It took me over two hours to get to sleep that night, and the thoughts that kept me awake were as unusual as the rest of the day had been. For the first time since arriving on the beach, I started thinking about home. Almost, in fact, wishing I could return. Not to leave the beach permanently – just to contact a few important people and let them know I was still alive and OK. My family particularly, and a few of my friends. I suppose it may have had as much to do with my earlier conversation with Françoise as with the subsequent unsettling events. The thought of parents had hovered in the back of my mind, reluctant to fall under the beach's amnesiac spell.

The Decisive Moment

'Hi,' said a voice, and I turned round. A small boy was standing in the gateway of the house behind me. He grinned and marched over the pavement. 'Would you like a drink?'

I looked at him blankly. Mister Duck was fair-haired and close to tubby as a child. It surprised me that this well-fed kid would become the scrawny figure I'd meet on the Khao San Road.

'That is you, isn't it?' I said, to make certain.

'It's me.' His chubby arms stretched out and clapped me on the shoulders. 'Would you like a drink?'

'Well…' I rubbed my throat. 'What have you got?'

'Ribena or water.'

'Ribena is good.'

'OK. Wait here.'

Mister Duck went inside the house, waddling slightly as he walked. I wondered if that was where his nickname had originally come from. A minute later he came back out, holding a cup in both hands.

'I'm afraid it's not really very cold. It takes ages for the tap to run cold.'

'That's OK.'

He gave me the cup and watched me closely while I drank.

'Is it all right? Maybe I should've put some ice in it.'

'It's very nice.'

'I can get some ice for you.'

'No.' I drained the remainder. 'It was just right.'

'Great!' He smiled radiantly. 'You want to see my room?'

Mister Duck's bedroom was a lot like mine had been – clothes in heaps, dog-eared posters on the walls, duvet scrunched up at the bottom of the mattress, battered Matchbox cars on the shelves, marbles and toy soldiers everywhere else. The main difference was that I'd shared my room with my younger brother, so the mess was doubled.

In the middle of the floor was a collapsed pile of Tintin and Asterix books.

'Shit,' I said admiringly, as I spotted them. 'That's a good collection.'

Mister Duck's eyes opened wide, then he ran to his bedroom door and peered nervously out. 'Richard,' he hissed, turning back to me with a sternly raised finger. 'You mustn't say that!'

'…Shit?'

His tiny face went bright red and he waved his arms. 'Shh! Someone will hear you!'

'But…'

'No buts!' He dropped his voice to a whisper. 'Swearing carries a two-pence fine in this house!'

'Oh… right. I won't swear any more.'

'Good,' he said gravely. 'I should ask you for some money, but you didn't know the rule, so we'll leave it at that.'

'Thanks…' I walked over to the pile of books and picked one up – Cigars of the Pharaoh. 'So you like Tintin, huh?'

'I love Tintin! Do you? I've got every Tintin book except one.'

'I've got every Tintin book except none.'

'Including The Blue Lotus?'

'Only in French.'

'Exactly! That's why I haven't got it. It really annoys me.'

'You should get someone to talk you through it. My mum went through it with me. It's pretty good.'

Mister Duck shrugged. 'My mum can't speak French.'

'Oh…'

'So which is your favourite one?'

'Hmm. Tricky question.' I thought for a couple of seconds. 'It isn't Tintin in America.'

'No. And it isn't the Castafiore Emerald.'

'No way… It might be Tintin in Tibet … or The Crab with the Golden Claws … I can't decide.'