Sunburn (Shakespeare's Sister)

THEY’D BARELY STEPPED ONTO THE ROAD when the Islander Express bus rattled away from Millie and Jack, discharging a wolfish cloud of exhaust fumes speckled with dust as it sped along the coast.

“The fuck?” said Jack, staring aghast at the disappearing vehicle as it whizzed away. He dropped the couple’s tote bag by his feet, which stood in a pair of powder blue Givenchy sliders. After checking that his Oliver Peoples sunglasses were safely hooked over the neck of his tee, he regarded the light coating of greyness that the bus had vented onto his #UltraWhities (as Millie liked to hashtag Jack’s combo of his the Bear tee-shirt and Tom Ford swimshorts on her Instagram.)

“What is this shit,” he asked Millie, shouting the last word in the incredulous way he favoured when dealt a minor blow. “Wanker. Wanker.”

Millie rolled her eyes away from her boyfriend and to the Pacific Ocean as it lapped against the shore. Already she was planning her selfie; was pretty sure her eyes and the ocean’s hue were mixed in the same palette, at the greener end of the turquoise spectrum.

Shut up, Jack! she thought. The dust hadn’t got her. Though she confessed internally, things would be different if they had.

But, still. They hadn’t. So, what hat? With the exception of her powder blue sliders (Gucci, however) from her head down, Millie was Victoria Beckham, both inside and out—she wore the great designer’s swimsuit (in ultima orange, a collaboration with Reebok) under a deckchair striped VB sleeveless dress. Her VB tote bag, which Jack had just dropped on the road, held two hatting options; a Selfridges straw boater, and a box-fresh, white Under Armour cap. She weighed her options and quite rightly, she chose the boater. This was wise; she had decided during the Ibiza disaster of 2019 that sunglasses were a no-no. The tanning troubles that her pair of Polos had caused her that week still haunted her; was a nightmare that their undisputed coolness couldn’t quite offset.

Jack had bent both knees and was fanning the dust from his sliders with delicate sweeps of his hands. The danger was that he would sweep too hard and tarnish them. Millie suppressed a giggle as she watched him work. He looked up with a scowl; had heard the pffft-pffft noise she’d made when stifling her little snicker. His eyes were at the bluer end of the turquoise spectrum. One of the reasons they fitted together so well, she’d often thought. She was glad they’d made the effort to visit the Pacific ocean. It complemented their irises’ colour scheme so much more kindly than the Atlantic’s harsher blues.

As if reading her mind, Jack smiled. He had recognised this was a #MillieMoment. Millie smiled at him, delighted. There may have been no film crew filming it, and her idea for a drone that followed you everywhere, taking snapshots when it sensed happiness was still in its conceptive stage, but this was a #MM she’d replay over and again. A one-off that she was happy to stow in her memory, unshared, unrecorded.

Jack shook his hazelnut-black hair a little, making the locks at the back of his head toss. Those at the front were restrained (loosely, with the laconic force a big and powerful uncle would need to hold back a tiny nephew) by a black Alice band.

He smiled again and showed teeth. Most of Jack’s teeth were natural and white, but a few had been veneered. Millie smiled back with her teeth, which were all natural and white, but had needed a year of invisible (NOT!) braces in order for her smile to match the contours and opacity of Jack’s.

“Think this’ll do, won’t it,” Jack purred, flicking his eyes to the endless ocean. Its beauty transfixed him for a spell, during which Millie was quiet. He decided that she was likely about to take his picture; she liked catching him off-guard, staring at something captivating that wasn’t another woman. He held his gaze for a few seconds, then decided Millie had been too quiet too long, that she was not documenting his awe.

He had almost seamlessly tanned legs—the private, sun bed-tanned area was redder than the rest of him—though he was adamant it would all knit together by the time they flew home to Hertfordshire, a week to the day. Hers, they had both agreed, were quite perfect.

“Let’s find a spot,” said Millie.

“I need the toilet first,” answered Jack, nodding back at the tin hut they’d been dropped thirty or feet away from. They regarded the structure. It was rusting and windowless. It had a single opening, with no door. Above the opening, a stickman and a stickwoman had been painted on in orange brushstrokes, to signal the hut’s usage. They dared not sniff the air.

“God, it looks pretty grim,” said Millie, wrinkling her nose.

“But there might be soap,” Jack responded. “Don’t want to go and then not have soap. That’d be, like, extra grim.”

Millie nodded her head sagely. Jack was right. And though she didn’t need the toilet, per se, it was a fine idea to try to go now, before they settled on the beach.

They walked to the hut, Jack carrying the bag.

“Wait here,” he instructed Millie, as he set the bag down, ducking his head and poking it into the darkness.

“Erm, I need to go too, now?” Millie retorted.

Jack was running his hand daintily along the inner wall of the hut. “Doubt there’ll be two . . . Ah, hang on!” He had felt something light against his wrist. He pulled it, and a sickly yellow light crept across the hut’s innards.

Millie peered in. “See, two toilets! A boys’, and a girls’!”

Two stalls were in each opposing corner of the hut, each had a saloon door that would hide an occupant’s torso, +/- head, depending on what they were doing. Between the stalls was a long stretch of fabricated metal, with a pair of basins sunken around its middle; a single tap above each sink.

“Can’t see any soap,” Jack moaned. “No mirror,” Millie complained.

“It’s okay,” Jack said, bravely. “Just hold the bag and I’ll—”

“No way am I going to the loo on my own in there!” Said Millie, aghast. “It’s horrible.” Both had picked up on the smell now.

“But, the bag,” said Jack, urgently. “Can’t take it in, our water’s in it! It’ll get tainted by the . . . dirty germs.”

“Poo germs, eww,” said Millie. “Fine, let’s just leave the bag outside, we’ve not seen a single person or car while we’ve been here.”

Jack hmmed. “Well, okay. Long as we’re quick. I’m going to put me phone in too. Give me yours?” Still thinking about poo germs, Millie handed him her phone.

Jack picked up the bag, dashed across the road and hung it by the straps to a strange-looking, wizened and leafless tree.

Millie gave him a disapproving look. Jack threw up his arms. “What!? Don’t want it getting dusty.”

They went to the toilet, washed their hands, exited the hut.

The tote bag was gone.

*

After several of screaming, arguing, and staring at the various horizons, they silently walked along the beach, keeping close enough to the road to hurriedly hail down anyone who might pass by. They walked in the direction that the bus had sped into after depositing them. But they saw no people, no vehicles. Just the occasional seabird and more of the strange, leafless trees, none of which held anything for them.

“I’m thirsty,” said Millie, breaking the silence.

“I’m burning,” Jack added.

Millie looked over to Jack, concerned. “My god! You are! Am I?”

Jack looked at Millie’s arms. “Yes,” he stated sadly. He felt her pain.

“There’ll be something in a moment,” Millie said, brightly. “A shop, a house. Something.”

“Looked pretty empty on the map, until the next town,” said Jack, remembering the pamphlet. “That’s, like, the appeal?”

Millie’s lower lip wobbled.

“I’m thirsty,” she repeated.

Jack was thirsty, too, but was determined to be the fixer. It was a thief’s fault that their bag was gone, certainly not his. He imagined what a #MillieMoment it would be. He nudged Millie, waited for her to look at him, and then said, “I got this.”

Millie smiled, too. They held hands and continued.

A minute later, Jack saw the woman on the beach.

“Jack, you legend,” said Jack, nudging Millie, pointing out the woman. She was sitting about thirty feet from the ocean, several times that distance from the road. “C’mon, Mill. She’s bound to have a phone, at least.”

*

“She’s huge,” whispered Millie, as they walked across the sand. It had soon become apparent that their prospective rescuer was a very large woman indeed.

“She is,” Jack replied.

“Where’s her car?” Millie asked. “I mean, how did she get here?”

Jack shrugged. “Probably getting the bus back.”

“But it’s not for hours, Jack!” whined Millie. And we don’t even know what time it is!”

“It’s okay, Mill,” said Jack, soothingly as he could, though he was a little annoyed: he had spotted the fat woman. He was therefore responsible for their imminent rescue! She was bound to have water and know the time. She would probably even take a picture of them!

Millie was thinking the same. She would ask the woman to send the pictures to her email. If she was more photogenic than she appeared—which was unlikely, she looked fatter the closer they came and was even paler than the sand their powder blue sliders walked over—they could even try for a three’er selfie! #OurGuardianAngel.

By now, the woman had seen Jack and Millie; was waving to them. Beckoning them closer. There was something beside her. A large white tub with a pump-action nozzle extruding from its top.

“Her mouth is weird,” whispered Jack.

Millie was thinking this too; the woman’s mouth was uneven, open, rather dark inside. No discernible teeth. But it was time to work her charm, increase the story’s appeal. Millie waved at the woman and said, “Hi-iii.” She glanced over to Jack to see he had a winning, reassuringly blank smile frozen on his face. #CharmBusters!

“You two look a little lost, hey, yes?” said the woman. She sounds Australian, Jack thought. South African, thought Millie. Her blonde hair was plastered like seaweed from her scalp down to her lower back. She wore a one-piece bathing suit, dirty white in colour. She is wet from head to toe; must have been swimming. Her doughy white skin has numerous folds. Her large, round face tried its best to smile kindly.

As they got closer they saw that the woman had a white polythene bag, filled with something, on her other side. The handles of the bag trembled in the light sea breeze.

Jack speaks up. “We were just, like, in the . . . toilet hut.” He looked to Millie for support. Millie closed her eyes, nodded earnestly and smiled sadly.

“And when we came, like, out . . . our stuff was taken!?”

The woman’s features fell.

“Oh, hey, no,” she says. “Do you know who took it?”

Jack frowns. “Well, no. We’ve not seen, like, a single person since we’ve been here! We wondered if you had . . .?”

“Seen anyone?” says the woman, slowly. “Let me think.”

She furrowed her brow and looked down at her shadow. She made no effort to stand up. Jack and Millie swapped a look, then nimbly descended so they were on their sides, adjacent to the woman. Like her, they propped themselves up on their elbows.

“I fancy I saw a bike, recently, hey, yes.” said the woman as she opened her eyes. Her irises were yellow. “And it went, Zzzzzzzzzzz.” She prodded a huge index finger into the sand, and drew a long line with it while repeating the Zzzzzzzzzzz.

Jack’s eyes lit up. “Oh really? Wow, did you see the person riding it? Did they have, like, a stripy bag?”

“Yes! Was it stripy?” added Millie, her eyes wide.

The woman smiled sadly. “My eyes aren’t so good. Detail, such detail? No. But yes, I saw the bike. Hey, yes.”

Before she could do another creepy Zzzzzzzzzzzz, Jack said, “Sounds like a moped, Mill. What a fucker.”

“My phone!” wailed Millie. “My phone!” countered Jack. The woman looked at the couple with renewed concern. “Oh, you poor ones. No phone now? Hey, no.”

“We wondered . . . do you have yours? Could we borrow it? We need to, like, cancel our phones.”

This was Millie, speaking in her most courteous tone. The woman regarded them sadly.

“Hey, no. I’m not one for the phones. Hey, no. But I have better. Water, and lotion, you look dry and red and . . .”

Millie and Jack glared at each other, exasperated. Nothing was more important than their phones. This whale-like lady couldn’t understand.

“So, you don’t know the time,” stated Jack. He could see no sign of a watch on the woman’s enormous wrists. Couldn’t imagine a watchstrap wide enough.

“Time on the beach is forever, hey yes,” replied the woman. She spread her great arms and gestured about the beach, the ocean, a cluster of ragged sea stacks in the distance. Millie and Jack followed the gesturing with their turquoise eyes and saw only disappointment. How could they capture themselves in such a photogenic scene without their phones?

Their hearts sank. The woman continued, “And, my brother is collecting me later. Before the sun sets, hey yes.”

To Millie, this was potentially a slight improvement on their predicament. “How long . . . would he be able to help us? If, like, no one else has come along?”

“Hey yes, he will help you. We will look after you, hey yes. I am sure.”

“How long will . . .”

“The sun, watch the sun, hey yes. As soon as it disappears into the water, he will be here. Hey, yes.”

“Okay,” said Jack. “Okay.”

“Children, you are so red. Please . . .” The woman smiled her big black smile and pointed to the white container.

“ . . . take lotion. Or you will burn, hey, yes.”

Jack and Millie looked at one another, careful not to make eye contact. They knew they were burning but didn’t want to share this knowledge, to admit it.

Millie smiled sweetly, mouthed thanks and leant in until she was about to grip the nozzle pump. She gasped. A long, black hair was wrapped around the pump, a distinct tangle of which had caught up in a clotted lump of lotion emanating from the underside of the nozzle. She felt a lurch of nausea in the back of her throat. Millie looked to the woman, who gave no sign that she was aware of the hair. Jack, she saw when she turned to him, had also seen it. Which was why he was now staring off to the side and avoiding her eye.

With the heel of her left hand, Millie delicately pumped a slug of the lotion into her right, trying not to look at or think of the hair—which only made her think of it more. Imagined it coming alive, sidling up her hand and arm and into her mouth, before sliding down her throat.

Before she was actually sick, she twisted and stirred the lotion into her arms and face. “All yours, Jack,” she whispered in a hollow voice. Jack turned her way and followed suit. But only after accidentally-on-purpose knocking the container over so it landed nozzle-first into the sand. “Oops!” he said, smirking. He made a meal of righting the tub, and when he did was delighted to find the offending hair was gone.

“Thanks!” he said, proudly. He avoided Millie’s glare.

“I’m so happy to help you,” said the woman. The young couple nodded. Both found it hard to meet her eyes. As well as the strange, yellow irises, she had skin tags dotted liberally around each eye, and patches of eczema on her forehead.

“Hey, yes,” added the woman. “And, you must drink, hey yes.” With a high-pitched groan, the woman turned to her polythene bag and pulled out an unlabelled, two-litre bottle, its clear contents sloshing about. “Just water, nothing else. Hey, no.” She unscrewed the lid, held out the water. Her fingers were long and much more slender than the rest of her by comparison. But they were bone white, and featureless; no wrinkles, no blemishes, nothing.

“Jack,” said Millie pointedly. He’d avoided close contact with the gross hair, but he was definitely going to take the lead on the water.

Jack gulped, held out his hand. The water bottle was surprisingly icy cold to the touch, which gave him a start. But also felt good, relieving.

The bottle was almost full. Condensation streaked his fingers and he needed both hands to take a steady grip, tip back his neck, and pour the water in his mouth. He put the thought of the woman’s fat, white lips around the bottle’s lip out of his mind.

The water was deliciously cold, reprieving the scorched drought in his throat. He felt its cool kiss right down to his stomach. After a few lengthy gulps, he lowered the bottle, thanked the woman while smiling brightly, and held it out to Millie. She regarded it unsurely. Jack waggled it, said, “Mill, you need to drink,” in his most annoying voice, and after a moment, Millie glumly resigned herself to taking a drink. She sipped a few mouthfuls with her eyes shut, then gave the bottle back to Jack.

“Babe, you’ve barely had any . . .”

“I’m fine.”

“But you need to . . .”

“I’m fine.”

That was that, Jack knew. He handed the bottle back to the woman, who screwed its lid back on. “Better, hey yes? Why, look at the sun. You have time to look around a while, my brother, he is a way away yet, not here so soon, hey, no.”

“Good idea,” said Millie, curtly, getting to her feet. “C’mon Jack.”

Without waiting, Millie kicked off her sliders and strode to the water, keeping her arms crossed. Jack jumped up and followed.

“Think I’m going to be sick,” hissed Millie to him when he caught her up. “Why, the water was, like, fine,” said Jack.

“The hair! Her! And the lotion, it just feels so . . . gross.”

Once she had mentioned it, Jack noticed the lotion was a little over-greasy, too. Slightly itchy.

“And the water was ice-cold?!” was Millie’s next complaint.

Jack spluttered a laugh. “That’s a good thing? It’s so hot here?”

Millie stopped, turned to him. “But she’s been here a while. How can it possibly be so cold?”

A thought-cloud stormed Jack’s face. He shrugged. “Maybe she freezes a bottle of water before she goes out!”

“Maybe,” said Millie, doubtfully.

“And maybe she has those, like, plastic, ice pack things in her bag,” added Jack. He felt wise, and once again, heroic.

Millie was still unsure, but felt partially appeased by Jack’s wisdom.

“Fine. I’ll have some more in a bit. Let’s go for a paddle.”

Jack kicked off his sliders and patted Millie’s bottom. “Awesome!”

“Hey!” said Millie, smiling despite herself.

“Hey-yes or hey-no?” asked Jack, devilishly.

“Oh. My. God! What was that?” said Millie, giggling now.

“These . . . island people? Must be a thing they have.”

“I’ve literally not heard a single other person say hey, no or hey, yes all the time we’ve been here!”

“Well now you have,” said Jack. He dashed past Millie, stepped into the surf. “Wow! Mill! It’s pretty nice!”

Millie followed Jack in, and they paddled along, this time in the direction from where the bus had come, earlier.

“Mmm, it is nice,” she agreed. “But let’s not go too far. Sun set, remember?”

They turned to look together at the orange semi-circle way out on the ocean. It had certainly started to fall.

Jack cast a look back at the woman. She seemed to be looking at them. Jack waved, and the woman lifted a pudgy hand and its slender fingers in response.

“She must weigh . . . Fifty stone?” He ventured.

“Forty, maybe,” said Millie. “Hey, dare you to swim to the sea . . . stack? Is that what they are?” She pointed to a black rock the size of their garden shed jutting from the water, about fifty feet from the shore.

Jack was already prepared to; had whipped off his tee. “Take amazing care of these,” he said, handing Millie his The Bear t-shirt, and placing his sunglasses on top. Millie nodded solemnly while looking at Jack’s tiny brown nipples. She understood.

“Be like, careful, though!” she said as Jack waded out to knee-depth. He nodded without turning around, then with a careless smile, ran through the water until it was up to his thighs then dove into a small wave.

Millie screamed. Jack was really out there. She admired his arms and legs as he swam. The redness would go down tonight, surely. She was already praying that hers would. She considered draping the the Bear tee around her shoulders to help repel the sun’s relentless rays but knew Jack would go mad if she did, and got the weird, greasy lotion on it. She was kind of surprised that he was willing to actually swim in the wild waters of the ocean in them! Before she could deal with the rising anger that she couldn't take Jack's in-swim photo—#TheWaterboy!— she heard a droning buzz coming from the opposite direction. Zzzzzzzzzz.

She turned to see the moped careering along the road, a striped tote bag wrapped by its handles around the moped’s handlebars. She let out a sharp scream and started to dash towards the Zzzzzzzzzz.

*

Jack was tired. He had felt supremely strong for the first few strokes, had imagined his bronzed, honed muscles contrasting with the designer whiteness of his shorts. In this thought, his sunburned redness was non-existent. The water snapped Jack from his reverie: it was colder and darker. His arms were heavy. Through his splutters and the gentle waves, he looked to the sea stack. He was barely halfway there.

*

The moped had drawn level with the woman; was zipping across the sand to her great form. Millie adjusted her direction to follow suit and ran like the wind to the woman. A slight, topless man was the moped's rider, He was as pale as the woman, yet almost skeletal. The woman laid resolutely still as if motorised bikes zooming at her at high speed, kicking up a mini sandstorm in its wake was an everyday occurrence.

Whatever, she thought. All that mattered was that her phone was in the bag.

The man pulled up alongside the woman, unslung the tote, and let it go. As Millie got there, the rider turned, flashed a black smile, and zoomed off to the road.

“What the fuck . . . do you know him?” said Millie, out of breath, staggering to the bag.

“I’ve never seen him before, hey, no,” the woman answered, truthfully. She looked a little sad, but physically, emotionally, almost completely unmoved.

Millie tutted sharply, sank to her knees, rummaged through the bag. After a terrifying second, she located her—and Jack’s—phones. She squealed with delight and beamed at the woman.

“You look so happy, hey, yes,” the woman said, earnestly.

Well duh, thought Millie.

“Where is Jack?” asked the woman.

“Oh, he’s . . . what the fuck?!” Millie’s eyebrows knitted together. “My password doesn’t work!” She felt incredibly hot and angry.

“Oh my dear, you’re burning, sweet,” said the woman, reaching out to Millie’s sunburned left arm. Millie shrugged away, avoided her touch. But she caught a glimpse of her arm, then inspected her right arm. They were burning, badly.

“I know,” Millie said. “But, the sun is like, almost down?” The woman didn’t turn her head to look. She knew.

Enraged by her phone’s failure to recognise her password, her fingerprint, or her face, Millie wanted to cry. She tried Jack’s phone, knowing his password. It unlocked, and his screensaver—the two of them cheek to cheek in an Ibizan Italian restaurant—smiled out at her. She scowled back.

“Why does his work?”

She felt a cold, wet gloopiness on her arms and looked up, shocked: The woman had somehow moved nearer and was applying the greasy lotion to her arms. Millie fought off the urge to stand and run; it felt relieving. She let the woman continue, and obeyed when she whispered to her to, “Turn around, hey, yes?”

Before she knew what she was doing Millie took the bottle of water the woman was proffering to her, while her other slender fingers were working the cool lotion into the back of her neck. It sizzled on her shoulders.

Millie took a few long, thirsty gulps, and was flicking through Jack’s photos when she passed out. She was about to ask the woman how she knew her boyfriend's name, when she went. The last thing she heard before the warm fuzzy blackness took her was, "Hey, yes, he would have reset your password."

*

Jack was no more than a few feet from the sea stack knew he was going to drown. He simply had no power in his arms or legs, and his stomach was burning with acid, with fire, with pain so terrible he felt it may kill him before the ocean could. He couldn’t stop swallowing seawater, and when he tried to spit it out globules of blood accompanied it. He put all his remaining power into reaching for a head rock at this side of the stack, then began to fall unconscious. The last thing he saw was a male who shared the same doughy skin and enormous size as the woman swimming towards him from the other side of the sea stack.

*

Millie woke up to find herself looking sideways towards the water. Her view was partially obstructed by her arm, which had become detached from the rest of her body. A huge, wet weight was draped across her side, and flobs of blood were spitting over her hair, sliding down her face.

“Please just pass my . . . phone?” she said to the woman, as she feasted on her hip muscle. “I need to reset the password.”

*

THE GREAT SIBLINGS stood close together in the shallows of the Pacific as the sun set. The water was darkened by the encroaching, sunless night, and by a huge cloud of Jack and Millie's blood. Parts of the young couple bobbled about their vast torsos. Their heads stood side by side on the sea stack. The brother playfully lobbed a hock of meat at his sister. She looked over at him for the first time in thirty years.

They were so young.

We are so old.

And I am older than you, brother.

And ageing every day.

Who was the rider? The Zzzzzzzzzzz man?

The same man from everywhere we've fed. The one who brought the lotion.

It stripped the skin from them. The man . . . I didn't recognise him.

That's because you're old. Your eyes are sore. Soon, they'll be perfect.

It's time. Come on, Shakespeare. Before their brains dry.

The siblings swam to the heads, added them to the others that were now visible through their translucent skin. She took Millie, her brother took Jack. They watched as the young couples' eyes opened and regarded the other and the monstrous beings that had absorbed them into the jellylike substance under their skin. They saw the dozens of others, children and young people of all races, staring out, their eyes deadened to the horrors of life.

END

This story is from the same world as The Backtraps.