He rubbed his hand across his face, his teeth against his gums as he looked around in a slight daze, feeling the drugs run their slow and steady course through his veins. Much better. Perhaps he'd be able to get through the morning now. Not like before, when his hands had started to shake. Now. What had he been doing?
Oh yes. Food. Food for Claire. He himself wasn't the slightest bit hungry. Breakfast was overrated, anyway. Especially when he was fairly sure he couldn't get a good cup of tea on this island.
Still, Claire would want food. Claire needed food. So did her baby. And Charlie has promised he would bring food. Perhaps it wasn't a promise, really, but... Charlie would treat it as such. He felt he was meant to look after Claire. He wanted to.
After all, she was looking after his guitar. Or was that the only reason?
He turned and looked across the beach, making out a small group of people a distance down the shore, starting towards them slowly. Maybe they had food. Maybe they had binoculars and were watching out for a boat. Maybe by the time he'd found food and brought it to Claire, there'd be a boat in sight and they could get off this bloody island. Maybe.