Page 108 of That Island Feeling

‘Uh-uh. That’s not it. If you’re a seagull, I’m a French fry? Come on, sis.’ He mimes gagging.

In this moment, I wish he was a regular twenty-four-year-old brother who didn’t have an arsenal of romantic movies to inflate his EQ. Toby not only noticed Jack’s T-shirt, he knew it was for me.

That’s the one flicker of hope I cling to, that Jack went back to his cabin and put on the matching shirt – to wallow? To feel close to me? To come over to Moorings and talk to me?

‘Fine,’ I sigh, stealing another Malteser from Dad’s bowl and snuggling closer to him. ‘Just say that I was interested. He thinks that I’m some weakling who can’t deal with life.’

‘Ooft. Then he doesn’t know you very well, does he?’ Toby exclaims, puffing out his chest.

‘No, no, no, he does, he does.’ Now I feel the need to defend him. Argh, I hate this.

‘Well, what do you mean then?’

‘It’s only that he didn’t tell me some pretty big stuff about his life, like he thought I was a fragile shell of a person and couldn’t handle it or something?’

‘Did you ever stop to consider that maybe he was ashamed of whatever it was he was keeping from you and that’s why he didn’t tell you? Because he cared too much?’

I blink.

Maybe Toby’s right – perhaps Jack didn’t tell me about the oyster farm because he was afraid I’d see it as a failure, or see him as one.

I know what it’s like to give your all and still feel like you’re failing everyone and everything. I was so focused on how different our lives seemed that it took me too long to see how similar they actually are. There’s no great gulf between my city life and his island life; there’s just one real life, and we’re both trying our best in it.

‘That’s really insightful. Thanks, Toby.’

‘You can thank Mum and her endless tearjerkers. I might have accidently learned a thing or two from them.’

‘You loved them,’ I tease.

Toby pauses, a wistful smile on his lips. ‘I did.’

I lean over Dad to hug him. I wish we could stay like this forever, cocooning Dad in the safety of our embrace.

‘Ah, Andie?’ Toby murmurs into my shoulder. ‘Is that your soup burning?’

‘Shit!’ I pull away, but Toby beats me off the couch and hurries towards the kitchen.

‘Stay,’ he calls back to me. ‘I’ve got this, sis.’

Chapter Fifty-two

JACK

‘Let’s split up,’ I say to Keith as we reach the wharf. ‘I’ll go upstream, you check downstream.’ Keith nods and rockets off like a man on a mission. I pause for a moment, inhaling slowly to try to clear my head.

It’s 8 a.m. Mum has been missing for nine hours. Every time I’ve called her phone I’ve been met with the heart-rate-raising ‘Sorry, this phone is switched off or unavailable’ message.

This will be the seventh time I’ve taken the boat out. The last two hours have been spent alternating between cruising up and down the river, and scouring the island, questioning anyone I encounter about her whereabouts. No one had any news – not even Arthur. Beryl and Bob combed the island in their golf cart but returned empty-handed.

But then I remembered a secluded cove upstream, a spot she often visited with Hannah, and where we scattered her ashes. Perhaps the documentary had surfaced some memories that had driven her there? But why so late at night?

I can’t stop picturing her rowing through the storm, her useless hexagonal paddles snapping in the fierce wind, leaving her stranded and ripe for Woof-bait. Lost in a spiral of disturbing thoughts, I don’t notice a boat pulling up beside mine. I do a double take as my eye catches a familiar splash of red.

‘Mum!’

‘Hello, darling,’ she sings, as if she’s been on a quick errand to the mainland to collect my birthday cake.

‘Where have you been!’ I exclaim, rushing over to help her dock the boat. She tosses me the line to tie off Hannah. Once the boat is secured, I yank her onto the wharf and embrace her.

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