The atmosphere in the hotel complex veered between apprehension and overexcitement, reminding Lucy of those dreadful weeks of pre-Christmas inertia when the whole of life seems to be on hold till the dreaded event is over. Hotel guests, in a pointless panic far too soon, cancelled excursions they’d planned, as if while they were out across the island, looking round a batik workshop or sugar plantation, or birdwatching in the rainforest, the hurricane would swoop down from nowhere and slam mercilessly into action, destroying everything in its path. As rooms were cleaned that morning, staff had left large black bin liners on everyone’s pillows, along with instructions to seal their packed suitcases inside them to keep them waterproof during the storm. Guests picked the bags up, opened their doors and wandered into the corridors with them, looking for someone to share comment and speculation with. Some grumbled that the bags weren’t big enough, others that they needed at least six. Plum said nothing, for she was privately amazed that fully grown humans could make such a fuss about a bit of black plastic, as if they’d never seen anything like it before.
