I risked a look at Mum. She was smiling again, eyes laughing. Had I imagined the rest?
Couldn’t you have found a nice man? I whispered mentally. A good man who wouldn’t have abandoned you and sucked you dry? A man with a safe pair of hands to hold your heart? Then you might still be here. I might have had you long enough to—
A safe pair of hands.
Oh.
I wasn’t sure whether I was frowning or smiling, and a nerve in my cheek worked overtime as it tried to decide which one. I was just like my mother, but it had taken me up until now to understand all that that meant. All that it could mean.
Perhaps my red suede ballet pumps hadn’t been the way to go. I know the boat driver had recommended sensible footwear, but for me this was sensible footwear. I’d heard Langwaki was a tourist hotspot, so I’d expected it to be quite cosmopolitan, but I hadn’t realised just how many islands there were in the archipelago. While some had bustling resorts, the island I was speeding through a turquoise sea towards was apparently home to only one hotel.
My hair, however, had lived up to expectations, so I wasn’t totally wrong-footed.
I soon forgot all about the frizz, though, because the scenery was stunning—full of mountainous islands covered so completely in rainforest that only a sliver of pale yellow at the water’s edge broke up their unrelenting green caps. I turned to look out of the other side of the boat, not wanting to miss a thing, and realised we must be nearing our destination. Rather than skimming past the closest island we were heading straight for it. As we rounded a jutting headland the resort came into view. I think I may have stopped breathing.
This was no ordinary hotel. It wasn’t the rough, wooden, tree-hugging backpackers’ base I’d imagined either. No, this…this was more like an exotic fairytale.
As far as I could see along the shore were wooden chalets on stilts, their legs in the water, some of them more than one storey, all with pointed red-tiled roofs. From the midst of the cluster of waterborne buildings a walkway jutted out towards us, with a larger structure on the end. The boat docked beside some steps that led up to what I now realised was a reception area, and the other passengers began to disembark.
I let them flow around me.
This was obviously a luxurious and well-established resort. Was I really in the right place? I checked the name with the boat driver and he nodded emphatically. I had no choice but to ascend the stairs and carry on my journey.
I arrived in the reception area and headed straight for the wide, glossy, dark wood reception desk. A young woman in a smart collarless red jacket smiled at me. I cleared my throat.
‘I’m looking for Adam Conrad? He builds—’
‘Ah, yes. Mr Conrad. I will arrange for someone to take you to him.’
She clapped her hands twice and a lad in the same uniform appeared from nowhere and motioned for me to follow him. I trailed along behind him, listening to his commentary in accented English on the hotel, its history, the fauna and flora of the island, and how excited everyone was about the new eco-friendly treehouse development on the resort. I just nodded vacantly as I followed him through a maze of walkways that linked the chalets and then finally led onto dry land, over the top of a silky white beach and on into the jungle into a section of the resort that wasn’t yet open to visitors.
After a few minutes we stopped at a plank bridge strung over a small ravine, which led to yet another stilted wooden chalet on the other side. But where the other chalets had been a traditional Malaysian design, this had a flowing, organic shape. Modern, yet beautiful.
My guide pointed across the bridge and nodded, then scampered away back towards the ocean.
I inhaled, then gently planted my ballet pumps on the bridge. It didn’t lurch or swing and I picked up speed. The canopy of leaves high over my head let in pale golden light. I knew the jungle was probably the same here all year round, but to me everything looked fresh and recently sprouted, ready to bud.
As I reached the chalet I saw it was merely another mini-reception area. From this point the bridges and walkways headed off into the trees in different directions. There was no polite young lady in red behind the desk this time, but a foreman in dirty work clothes.
‘I’m looking for Adam Conrad,’ I said.
He nodded, then pointed to the walkway on the far right.
‘Thank you.’ I began to walk again, and this time the planks took me upwards into the trees until I reached a platform that circled one of the larger trunks. Two further walkways sprouted from this platform. Which way now?
I looked back at the man in the hut and he made giant arm gestures, pointing me right yet again. I kept my eyes on my feet as I climbed higher, but after a handful of steps I stopped and let out a loud gasp.
The ground had dropped away beneath me. Down below I could see a stream, rushing over the rocky hillside towards the beach. There was even a small waterfall, framed with ferns. I shook my head slowly in amazement, but when I looked up even that stopped. In front of me was the most amazing thing I’d ever seen. A whole village of treehouses, dotted here and there in the jungle, some big, some small, all of them similar pleasing organic shapes, and all connected by a lattice of rope bridges, platforms and walkways. The design was asymmetrical, yet oddly harmonious.
Every pod-like chalet was set a short distance from the main walkway and could be reached by flowing wooden steps. Some had only short flights. Some curled round the trees like spiral staircases.
I spun around on my heels, taking it all in, letting the circular motion create a breeze where there was none, ruffling through my simple fifties sundress and cooling my skin.
I could hear voices, but I wasn’t sure where they were coming from. One of the treehouses close by, I thought. I set off, keeping my ears trained on the sound. Listening for Sunday morning.
I stopped when the voices were directly above me, in one of the treehouses that could be reached by a spiral staircase. A man appeared at the top of the steps and I waited until he was halfway down before I approached him.
‘Hi,’ I said, and he almost jumped three feet in the air. I suppose he wasn’t used to seeing frizzy-haired women in white sundresses wandering round the jungle. ‘I’m looking for Adam Conrad.’ He replied in broken English and pointed up the winding staircase. I smiled my thanks and climbed up.
The main room of the treehouse was stunning. Even though this part of the resort was still officially under construction, it was obviously very close to completion, because it was fully furnished and decorated. In the centre of the room was a large bed, covered in crisp white linen, surrounded by a dark-stained wood and cane frame. The walls were also white, and though such a stark colour scheme should have looked bare, the golden-green light from the jungle outside spilled in through a large opening at the far end, making the room seemed fresh and clean and inviting.
My ballet pumps made hardly any noise as I crossed into the centre of the room, looking all around.
‘Adam?’ I only whispered his name, overcome by a sudden attack of nerves. I had no idea how he’d react to my arrival on his territory. If I’d been him I wouldn’t have wanted anything to do with me.
For a moment all I could hear was the fluttering of the sheer white curtains that half covered an open space on the far side of the room, but then I heard a creaking noise outside, and as I looked more closely I realised there was a balcony built onto the edge of the room, joining it with the jungle outside, making it seem as if one flowed into the other.
And then I saw him. Adam. Standing by a wooden railing, gazing out into the unending foliage. I walked up to the threshold until I was half in, half-out of the room, my suede-clad feet silent on the polished wooden floor. But as I stepped out onto the balcony I let my foot slap down, announcing my presence.
Adam spun