The Day Of The Wave Read Online Free PDF Page A

following me down the corridor, struggling with the sack more than ever. He trips over his flip flop for a second and I try not to smile as he curses. I know better than to push him when he's feeling like shit. 
    'I need sleep,' he announces, needlessly. 
    'Fine, sleep,' I say. I know he could sleep all day. I also know he'll text Sasi first, not the Belgian girl. I saw him get a text from her earlier. Even when they're arguing they're in touch twenty-four-seven. It's been months since she broke up with him and found herself a new boyfriend and he's done everything in his power to make her jealous of his steady stream of farangs without ever appearing jealous himself. It's kind of exhausting to witness.
    I stop outside my room, fish for the key in my board shorts. I swipe the door and kick the box inside but when I turn back, Sonthi's abandoned the sack and I can hear the door to his room closing down the hall. 'Goodnight then!' I yell at him. It's not even eleven-thirty a.m. 
    I drag the sack inside and fling myself on the bed, reach beside me for the TV remote but my phone buzzes in my other pocket. I know without even looking at it that it's Kalaya and something in my stomach lurches, killing my appetite all over again. The jolt of it flings me back to Khao San Road, following that girl this morning. I forgot about her the moment we met with Prak and had to deal with the equipment, but her gleaming hair and milky white legs, the way she walked; it all rushes back now like a... well.  
    I pull out my cell, look at the yellow emoji face Kalaya's sent me on iMessage. It's blowing a kiss. I think of her smart mouth on mine, her hair billowing out under the fan like a waterfall in reverse, her legs wrapped around my waist. I think of my lips on her sweat-soaked skin as she pushes down on me with one hand clawing at the mosquito nets. 
    I have to think of Kalaya. 
     

ISLA

    I get the impression Chinda may have confused our humble little Sweet Eats Magazine with something with the swaying power of The New York Times but I've already decided she's going to get the very best write up I can give her. She pays everything five-star attention, I have to give her that. And her food is amazing. 
    'You eat fast,' she says now, watching me fork another mouthful of potato into my mouth. I can't tell if that's a compliment or not. 'I bring you Gang Ped Yang in minute, yes? We wait one minute.'
    'OK.'
    Chinda looks behind her towards the restaurant door, like she's been doing not-so-subtly since I got here at six-fifty-five. It hasn't escaped my attention that while she set the table places for two, she hasn't eaten anything with me. 'Did you invite someone else?' I ask her. 
    She smiles with perfectly painted red lips and nods, then shakes her head. I don't know what that means, but considering it's already seven-thirty-five and I've eaten my way through at least a fifth of her cookbook already, I'd say if anyone else was coming they're not only bloody rude but they're going to have to go hungry.
    The same waiter as this morning walks over with a cocktail on a tray. 'Rum and pineapple with mint, miss Iss-laa,' he says, leaning over with the tray. I run my napkin over my mouth and take it. I won't drink it, obviously.
    'This is so lovely of you, I can't thank you enough,' say anyway and Chinda's eyes grow wide in anxious anticipation again as she watches me put the cocktail down, aligned with my dessert spoon. 'Are these in the book?'
    'Page one-nine-seven,' she answers with an ebullient nod of the head. She pushes the cookbook towards me on the correct page and I study it courteously, pretending to take a sip while she's only half looking. I don't want to be rude.
    Another waiter steps up; this one with a small plate of what I think must be the Gang Ped Yang. 'Grilled duck leg with Thai aubergine and lychee in Thai red curry sauce, miss Iss-laa,' he says, as Chinda leafs quickly through the book again for the recipe. I'm surprised