After a group effort of ‘Hey Jude’, we all pay up and call it a night. It’s not late, but the rain is plummeting down and Linh is fixing the blankets with extra pegs to hold them in place. I give Linh a hug goodbye and tell her to stay safe tonight. She laughs this off, ever so blasé about the forceful wind outside. The toddler is wrapped up inside his sturdy buggy and a team effort ensues; we link one another in a long line to get back to the Garden Villa guest house. Nobody bothers to try their umbrella. The wind ushers us and we have no choice but to run along with it.

22

Once inside the reception area, I feel somewhat safe.

The walls are sturdy, and the noise considerably less.

The Dutch family bid us a good night and I’m reminded that I’m a good singer. I give a stupid curtsey and they respond by giving me a clap, before closing the door to their room. I wrinkle my nose, cringing at myself.

I’d never sung in front of Jack before. Not properly.

‘I’m gonna check some emails,’ Justin says, referring to the two desktop computers in the small lobby area behind reception. ‘Hate doing that sorta shit on my phone.’

‘I hear you,’ I say. ‘God, we sound so old!’

‘Tonight was fun.’

I agree. It was.

Getting to my room, however, isn’t. The wind on this side of the building is battering the doors to the rooms and I stagger, eyes closed tight, holding onto the wall. It doesn’t bother me as much as earlier, whether due to the alcohol or just growing accustomed, but the pleasant warmth I was feeling moments ago has vanished, quite aptly gone with the wind. I chance a quick peek down and see the swimming pool. It’s basic, rectangular and floodlit, many leaves and a couple of chairs floating on the water. The surrounding palm trees are bent double.

Once inside my room, I slouch onto a sofa and flick off my flip-flops. I try connecting to the free Wi-Fi to scroll through my phone for nothing in particular.

That’s no surprise:

The WiFi cannot connect.

Could be a login error. Could be the weather. I call reception from the room phone.

No luck – the line is down. Unless I go back to reception there’s no way I’ll get online, and as if I’m leaving this room again tonight. As if. The front door trembles within its frame. A whistle, harsh and unfriendly, intrudes through the keyhole.

I turn on the telly.