T R I O L E T, M A U R I T I U S | 1  a . m .

The Expedition
S.A. Partridge

David’s eyes rested lazily on Kirsty, huddled on a rock with her knees
drawn close to her chest, her oversized earphones covering her head like
panda ears. She couldn’t see him, but watched the ocean dispassionately
as it glittered against the night sky in the sheltered bay. The music thun­
dering in her ears drowned everything else out, reminding her of home.
She preferred the sea at night, rather than the postcard-blue ocean
thronging with tourists during the day. They had been in Mauritius for
four days and found it intolerably boring.
He appeared from behind a palm tree and threw a perfectly rounded
pebble into the water. It disappeared with a small splash.
She pulled the earphones down around her neck. The faint echoes
of trip-hop drifted into the night.
‘Is Dicksen with you?’ she whispered.
He shook his head and crouched down beside her. The moon re­­
flected in his eyes as he surveyed their surroundings: nothing but water,
sand and trees. He also felt trapped on the island. He had arrived six
days before Kirsty, a ghost from the city, and had taken to the turquoise
waters with the eagerness of any adolescent. Within two days he had
become brown-skinned, ruddy-cheeked and, like Kirsty, thoroughly
bored.
Dicksen had brought them together. He was a year younger than
both of them, another South African brought on holiday by his parents,
which automatically made them friends. David wouldn’t normally have