At first we thought it was dead. Face down in the waves, long black hair fanned out like seaweed. 

“Is that a—” 

“—body,” I finished for my husband. 

The waves gently ushered the body onto pristine groomed sand as we sipped our margaritas from the restaurant balcony. Other couples, like us, looked on with mild concern. 

“Trespasser no doubt,” said my husband. 

I nodded. “Someone will clear that up later.” 

And then it coughed. A spluttering noise, filled with the content of seawater. 

“Alive?” I asked, my eyes straining to see. 

“No. Preposterous.” 

We watched as the body started to move, first to a crouching position, and then to its knees. A woman.

“You,” she called, seeing my face. “I’ve… a… message.”

I’d never seen a body, a real one, on the island before. It was rather confronting. 

“What does it want?” I hissed to my husband. 

“I’ll call someone to get rid of it.” He opened up his console on his palm and navigated to the island’s eradication program. 

“It’s a body,” said a perfectly-put-together woman from another table.

“What’s a body doing here?” someone else asked. 

And another disgruntled voice, from another table: “This is a private area.”

“Please…” called the woman, the body, ignoring the others and looking at me. She couldn’t have been more than twenty. She reminded me of someone. A Nancy, or a Mary. A Belinda perhaps…

“You’re not allowed here!” yelled my husband. 

“You’re not wanted,” I added. “Shoo!” But my words felt weightless, washed away by the incoming tide.

Her eyes filled with liquid before they spilled onto her cheeks. Sobbing, they called it. I touched my own eyes, filled with soft silicone, remembering the weakness they once harboured. “Do you remember—” I started to ask my husband, but I stopped. Memories were fickle things. Easy to be erased, sold or implanted. 

The whirr of blades sounded as an eradication drone approached.  

“It will be over quickly,” explained my husband. “No more riff raff.”

“Please…” said the woman again. Soft, brown eyes met mine just as the bullets racked her body. She burst into a puddle of seawater. 

“Cheers,” said my husband, raising his margarita. 

Her name was… Belinda… I think? A perfect sunset peaked in the sky beyond the waves as I looked on dry-eyed. I couldn’t cry even if I wanted to.

-

That night, as we settled into our island bure, I programmed the night mood to stormy. I wanted to hear the sound of rain on the roof, the breath of a cool wind through our windows. 

“Don’t you want balmy?” 

“Not tonight, love.”

I drew the bed sheet over me and set my internal temperature to twenty degrees.

“Maybe tomorrow we can see some whales from the balcony,” suggested my husband. 

“That’ll be nice. Let me put in the request while I remember.” 

That word. 

Remember. 

“John, do you ever think there’s something more we’re meant to remember?” 

“Something more to remember? Not likely. These years are for us, now. Can’t live on memories.” 

“Does the name… Belinda mean anything?” 

“No. Should it?” 

“It’s probably nothing.” 

The eyes of the burst woman flickered before me. 

“Night, Margaret.” 

“Night, John.”

I felt around to the side of John’s head where his charger was and plugged him into the wall socket. He was at fifteen percent, but he’d be back to a hundred percent by morning.  

I closed my eyes and listened to the storm. None of it was real, none of it at all. I’d always be safe and sound — which was just what I needed. 

-

The next morning she was back. 

John and I were having our breakfast on the restaurant deck when we saw her.

“Look, it’s Belinda again,” I said as we watched a body being brought in by the waves. 

“Belinda?” asked my husband. 

“The body, from yesterday. I think that’s her name.” 

“How do you know her name?” 

I shook my head. It felt so light. The memories must’ve taken up so much room and weighed so much. “I don’t know. It just feels right. Doesn’t it?” 

“Belinda? Can’t say. Darling, look there’s the whales.” 

And there they were, breaching the surface of the water just in front of us. A pod of humpbacks just like we’d requested. 

“Magnificent!” 

And for a moment I forgot all about Belinda sprawled on the sand below us. Instead, I ooh-ed and ahh-ed with my husband over the whales while sipping my pina colada, discussing whether we should join other couples tonight for a spot of bingo.

Eventually, Belinda sat up and made her way up the wooden stairs towards our table to stand before us, dripping salt water all over our table. 

“Waiter!” yelled John. 

“You remember me, don’t you?” said Belinda, and her arm gripped mine. Soft flesh covered in saltwater, wetting my synthetics.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about. Leave us alone!” I pulled my arm away.

“Waiter!” repeated John, growing more impatient. 

“Is this how you want to spend your retirement? On some fake island with a fake body and a fake husband?” 

John—fake? The idea was so ludicrous it made me laugh. 

One of the waiters came across. “Can I be of assistance?” 

“Please remove this… body. It… it doesn’t belong here.” 

“None of this is real!” yelled Belinda as the waiter carried her away. “Even me, Grandma. I’m not real. We miss you. We love you.” And then she burst into a pool of seawater, just like the first Belinda. 

“I’m sorry about that,” apologised the waiter as he mopped away the watery mess. “Just  a message in a body. Sometimes they make it  through to the shore. Can I refresh your drinks?” 

“Why would they do that?” 

“To pull you out of retirement, back to reality.” 

Reality? 

I dimly remembered the feel of real tears as I buried someone close to me, someone like John. The residual sensation of pain as my body, once a real one, had been riddled with arthritis. And a niggling feeling of loneliness living in a crowded polluted city. 

“Reality? Really, why would anyone want that?” 

“My thoughts exactly,” countered John. His smile looked a little crooked today, I’d have to get that looked at later. “We’ve already given so much. A toast to… retirement,” he said. 

Our glasses clinked together. 

I wiped some of the splash of Belinda off my arm.

I felt... nothing. 

Nothing at all, just like I’d paid for.