Page 100 of That Island Feeling

‘We’ll have to wait until daylight to know for sure, but I reckon five hundred-odd.’

‘Shit.’ I collapse down next to him. ‘Right when they were ready for harvest, too.’

‘Yup,’ Keith says, staring out into the distance. ‘Fucking bastards.’ The stricken look on his face tells me he’s already done the sums.

‘At least that’s not all of them,’ I try to reassure him, slinging an arm around his shoulder.

‘Good as,’ he says.

He’s not wrong. If it is five hundred nets, that’s over half our stock.

Guilt seeps through my warming skin. Still, I don’t mention that I saw a suss-looking boat here late yesterday. I could have stopped them, or at the very least written down their rego. I can’t believe this is happening.

By the following week, the first reports of oyster poisoning surface, originating from an upmarket seafood restaurant in Sydney. The contaminated oysters are pearls. Next comes the Holibob article.

I’m with Keith, scrubbing our salvaged stock, when he receives the call. I watch as his expression pales.

‘We’re being shut down,’ he whispers, the phone slipping from his grasp and clattering to the floor.

Chapter Forty-six

ANDIE

‘Hello! How are you?’ A lady with a brilliant blue rinse walking a long-haired poodle addresses Dad.

With every lovely human who greets us as we stroll along the ocean path, it feels like a silent bullet is shot into my heart.

They’re only doing as instructed, I think, glancing down at my sunny yellow T-shirt printed with the words: My beautiful dad has dementia. Please say hello to him.

Mum’s tee mirrors mine: My beautiful husband has dementia. Please say hello to him.

Little do these innocent people know that she won’t be with us much longer, either.

‘How long have you known?’ I ask her.

‘Hello! How are you?’ We’re interrupted again, this time by a young couple, a baby strapped to the guy’s chest. If I ever have kids it’s doubtful either of my parents will be around to meet them.

Dad says a cheerful hello back.

‘That I’m terminal?’ she says, as though she’s asking me to confirm the temperature outside.

‘Yes, Mum. That you’re terminal.’

Waves crash on the shore, and someone up ahead loses the top scoop of their ice-cream cone. It immediately starts to melt on the hot pavement, and when we reach it, I wheel Dad around the sticky puddle.

‘For a few months. I haven’t wanted to worry you.’

‘And to give you time to get Dad sorted in the nursing home, I suppose.’

‘Well, yes. It will be easier on everyone, Andie. I know you wanted to keep him in the house – but for what? You were already running yourself ragged, and that’s with me here. Have you given any more thought to going back to your film studies?’

‘Not yet,’ I say as she links her arm in mine, and all I can focus on is how bony it feels. How small and shrunken she is against me.

‘Well, I won’t push it. You know my opinion about that, but let’s just enjoy the time we have left together. Up for a movie tonight?’

‘Of course.’

‘Fabulous. Shall we watch Beaches?’

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