"So, I've been thinking." Harry announces while attempting to hack at a newly found coconut with his beloved stone knife.

I'm sat cross-legged in the sand beside him, alternating between sipping my water and trying not to break my teeth on coconut chunks.

It's been two days now - or at least two lots of sunset and sunrise - since the burials and the spooning and I haven't slept once.

"Sounds dangerous." I smirk. Harry throws a piece of coconut husk in my direction.

"I've been thinking," he tries again. "We should probably try and build a fire."

I look up at him and blink slowly; my mind buzzing with ideas. I picture flames twisting up into the cloudless sky and plumes of smoke forming a blanket over the island. I vaguely recall the many firework displays I attended on Bonfire Night as a child and how the thick, pungent smog could be seen for miles from the venue.

Miles.

"Planes and ships potentially travelling nearby might be able to see us! It's a brilliant idea!" There's an awful lot of hope in my voice and I can't seem to stop myself from getting overexcited. It's the first idea we've had that might actually help us get out of here rather than just survive.

"I was actually just thinking so we can keep warm at night and cook fish but an SOS fire works too." Harry shrugs, a smile playing on his lips as he wipes the smaller fractures of coconut on his enormous t-shirt.

"Fish?!" I can't help but exclaim. How on earth does he plan on getting hold of those? I imagine wading out into the sea and attempting to grab at the slalom movement surrounding my feet. The thought of slimy scales squirming in my grasp makes my stomach churn.

Harry looks up from his tattered coconut shell. "Yes, Sarah. Fish. They live in water. Something that we happen to be surrounded by." He drawls sarcastically.

It's my turn to throw coconut at him now. It collides with his right knee and pings off in an unknown direction.

"I was actually referring to your lack of fishing rod." I scowl and take another swig from my bottle. "But do tell me more of your extensive knowledge of aquatic animals."

"Touché on the sarcasm front." Harry notes before waving his stone 'dagger' in the air. "But this weapon has far more potential than meets the eye."

"Weapon?" I raise a single eyebrow. Winding Harry up is proving to be a wonderful distraction. "Isn't it just a pointed stone?"

He mocks pain; clutching at his chest dramatically. "Your naivety wounds me."

I guzzle two mouthfuls of water, quickly swallowing the lukewarm liquid before I can focus too long on its displeasing temperature. "But anyway, back to your plan, Bear Grylls."

"So sassy today." Harry chuckles. His knuckles are white from his grip around the stone; the skin so stretched that I'm worried it will split. "And yes, back to my mind blowing idea." He begins peeling the stringy hairs off the coconut shell and piling them up beside it. "I'm thinking this will make decent tinder. We just need to go and find some sticks and dried up dead palm leaves or something,"

I stare in disbelief as he drops everything and stands up; looming over me with an expression completely at ease. He really thinks it's this simple?

"Out of curiosity, how exactly are you going to light this fire? Rub two sticks together?" I realise that I'm not being even remotely optimistic or helpful but I can't seem to get my mind to work the way Harry's does. How can he just make a plan and decide it's going to work?

"Something along those lines." He shrugs before offering me a hand up. I'm pulled to my feet; my coconut remains and water bottle abandoned in the dipped area of sand where I had been sitting. Harry smirks but turns and heads inland, leaving me brushing the grains off of my shorts. I seem to have no choice but to follow his lead and so begin making my way back up towards the trees.

A coolness passes over me as we enter the shade of the canopy and I find myself smiling up at the sky from underneath my ridiculously oversized hat. I open my mouth to comment on the change in temperature only to find Harry no longer at eye level.

Instead he's on his knees in the sand, frantically pulling at the shrubbery and within seconds there's a brown crispy mountain piling up beside him.

"What should I do?" I ask, approaching him and his dead-leaf-stash. I can't help thinking he looks a bit like a rabid dog, relentlessly searching for its bone.

"Look for sticks, coconuts, dead leaves. Anything flammable. The more the merrier."

He's very serious about this.

"O-k." I respond slowly and make my way into the greenery that he's so desperately de-rooting. The needle-tipped grass tickles and scratches my ankles as I weave through it; nudging a pathway with my feet so that I have a better view. There's nothing to be found until I stub my toe.

"Crap!" I exclaim and begin awkwardly hopping on one foot. I can practically feel the big toe on my right foot pulsating and I'm half expecting to find it huge and glowing like in a Looney Tunes sketch.

"What on Earth are you doing?" Harry calls from behind me. I have to mutter a constant string of swear words before I can bring myself to reply.

"I think I've found a coconut." I call back, glancing over my shoulder at him where only the top of his mauve hat is visible. He doesn't congratulate me on my findings, just continues the repetitive motion of his hands with beige grains flying around him like a localised sandstorm.

I bring my focus back to the offending object at my feet. Sure enough it's distorted round, brown and hairy. A coconut. I reach down and bring it into my chest, glaring at it as I do so. If it wasn't for the fact that Harry is a developing pyromaniac or that it's a requirement for our survival/SOS call then I probably would launch it into the ocean to prevent further toe-harm.

I continue my hunt in the grass, gradually building an armful of chunks of dried, crispy palm leaves and bark. I'm a fair few metres from Harry now, I can't even see him behind me when I turn but I know that he's there; reassured by the occasional rustle, laboured breath and swear word. I suspect that he too may have sustained a toe related injury.

When I reach the water pool, I take a few moments to soak my throbbing toe and scathed ankles. Something about this area of the island is so serene. Despite my armful of dead vegetation, my feet submerged in the cool lagoon is reminiscent of many seaside holidays where being only ankle-height in the water is tolerable. I have this sudden urge to tells Jules about 'the time I went foraging' but my chest is weighed down by the realisation that I may never get to tell Jules anything ever again. I quickly make my way to the bank and climb out, gripping hold of my stash and making a beeline back in the direction I came.

I can see through the canopy overhead that the sun is lower now and the sky not as blazing as it was when we began this crazy task.

We have to build this fire.

I will tell Jules about foraging.

"Harry!" I call out as I pick up my pace. My feet skid in the sand but I keep striding ahead, shaking my head about to stop my hat from obstructing my view of the surroundings. The coconut jostles in my arms and dead leaves make a getaway. I have to stop numerous times to re-gather them, not wanting to jeopardise this fire.

I finally see the mauve hat, still crouched down the shrubbery not far from where I had left him. He's red in the face with a visible sheen of sweat across his forehead and a very impressive pile now built up in the sand beside him. There's a small collection of wood too; some thicker branches from the palm trees and what looks like a small portion of tree trunk. He's so busy that he doesn't even hear me approach.

"Harry." I say again, coming to standstill behind him and feeling somewhat embarrassed about my own findings in comparison. He looks up and squints. The wavy locks framing his face have glued themselves to his skin and are damp and darker in colour. He suddenly seems to realise it's me and grins.

"Did you even try?" He teases, gesturing to my armful and then to his own.

"I think we are already well aware of the fact that that you are better than myself at absolutely everything survival related so let's just move on to actually building the fire which, yes, you will also probably do much better than myself." I roll my eyes and Harry pulls himself to his feet.

"What can I say?" He shrugs cockily and begins piling everything up into his arms. I take some of the wood pieces off his hands and follow his lead out of the canopy area.

We make our way back into the open beach area, hurrying past the makeshift graveyard without even a fleeting glance in its direction. When we are about half way down, Harry drops everything onto the sand and I do the same, before stretching my arms out and assessing our collection.

We've actually done pretty well.

Considering neither of us has been in his horrifying situation before, we're certainly taking it by the scruff of the neck and giving it a good shaking, and although I'm not keen on being the damsel in distress, I know for a fact that without Harry - I would have crumbled by now.

I've known him mere days and I already owe him more than I can put into words.

Harry nudges my shoulder gently before dropping down and removing his stone 'weapon' from a pocket in his garish shorts. He begins cutting into the portion of trunk with a repetitive dragging motion which eventually begins to form a deep groove down the middle.

"I suppose you learnt that on the Discovery Channel too?" I ask with my hands on my hips, unable to take my eyes away from the perfect channel in the wood.

"The scouts actually." He grins but it's more of a grimace against his efforts with the trunk.

I remain silent until he seems content with his work. He slides the stone back into his pocket and rolls his shoulders back a few times as though trying to shed the knots and tension he's built up in his deep tissues. He places a handful of the coconut fibre in the newly dug groove at the very end of the chunk before reaching for one of the smaller but sturdier sticks.

"Ok." He says as if bracing himself for something. "I'm going to start scraping this stick through the groove. If all goes to plan, that coconut fluffy stuff should start smouldering. If it does, I need you to blow on it."

"Blow on it?" I repeat, eyebrows raised although fully appreciating Harry's technical jargon with the use of 'fluffy stuff'.

"Yes. Blow on it." Harry reiterates. "It'll hopefully help it catch fire."

"Right." I say blankly. "If you're sure, Grylls."

Harry rolls his eyes and gets into position with the stick. "Just do as you're told, sassy."

As promised, he begins scraping through the groove. I can tell from the bleached, stretched skin covering his knuckles and the grunts escaping from his mouth that it isn't easy. A single droplet of sweat runs down the path of Harry's nose before settling in his cupid's bow but he continues on as if his life - our lives - depend on it.

I can't help noticing that the sun has almost dropped from view now and there's a dark hue in the sky. If we're going to do this, it has to be before it's too dark to see. I drop to my knees beside him and lower my head closer to the trunk. The sound of wood scraping against wood is hair-raising but I know have to be ready for when the smouldering happens.

And it will happen.

Harry continues on for what feels like years, so long that I almost think I'm seeing things when a grey cloud billows up from the coconut fibre. I throw him an excitable glance but he remains focused; his forehead now glistening with baubles of sweat droplets.

"Now, Sarah!" He barks at me and I begin to blow as if I'm putting out the candles on a birthday cake.

I can almost imagine myself at the oak table in our kitchen-diner; the floral tablecloth and the matching napkins. I can hear my parents, Jules and Addie in a very out of tune chorus; serenading me with the iconic 'happy birthday'. I know by the mischievous look on Jules' face that she has planted one of her famous everlasting candles so I know I'll be here all day, puffing away until they're all rolling around on the tiles with laughter.

I'm almost blue in the face when orange sparks catch my eye and there's the sound of crackling. Flames suddenly twist up into the air and I launch myself backwards just as Harry piles our collection of twigs, sticks and dead leaves onto the catching fire. It's frantic but beyond thrilling and my heart is racing as the flames lick higher and higher.

I scramble to my feet, rooting myself next to Harry as we admire our creation. The warmth radiating from the flames is welcomed by my skin in the newly cooled air and I find myself edging closer, unable to tear my eyes away.

Neither of us speak, nor do we need to. Instead, Harry's fingertips bump against my own before interlocking our hands in a tight, reassuring hold.