Page 11 of That Island Feeling

‘Video please.’

‘Wah-wah, wrong answer unfortunately. This is a photos-only situ.’ He gestures to his flip phone before pointing it in the direction of the bird.

‘Wow. Stone age much?’

His lips twitch. ‘Island age. What’s your number and I’ll text it to you.’

‘Ah, the oldest trick in the book.’ Heat rises off my skin as my decommissioned flirtation reflex kicks back into gear.

‘You know it.’ He grins. ‘Unless you’d prefer me to send your definitely pixelated photo via carrier parrot?’

I poke out my tongue. ‘Send the bird once you realise I’ve given you a fake number.’

As I give him my number (the right one) a flash of rainbow colour catches my eye. At first I think it’s another parrot, but when I look up, I see a man decked out in fluorescent Lycra pushing his bike down the beach towards us.

‘The first river boat must have docked. I better make tracks,’ Jack says.

‘You’re not driving the boat today?’

He shakes his head. ‘Nope. I was just helping Charlie out for the day yesterday. He juggles the shop with the island boat, and now he has antenatal appointments on top of that. His wife, Lena, is expecting in a few weeks.’

So the captain isn’t even a captain!

‘But I’ve still got to get to work, so I’ll update you on the boys’ new living situation as soon as I can. You’re also welcome to give me a holler if you’d like to see a half-decent bird. The best birdwatching is done from my paddleboard.’

I’m curious about what he does for work if it’s not driving the river boat, but he doesn’t offer up any more information, so I don’t ask. I can’t think of many occupations where you don’t need to wear shoes. I suppose we are on an island.

‘Thanks, but we’re more of a wine and charcuterie board kind of group,’ I decline in mild panic.

‘My invitation isn’t for the group, Andie. It’s for you.’

Chapter Seven

JACK

Humans are foul. Especially humans on holidays. It’s like they forget the basics of cleanliness. Coffee stains on sheets, crumbs on sheets – other things on sheets.

By the time I finish turning over the rooms at Clam Cove Resort, all I crave is a long, hot shower. This morning’s encounter with Andie feels like a distant memory. But one thing remains clear in my mind: I made her a promise, and I intend to keep it.

As soon as I enter my cabin, instead of heading straight for the shower, I sit down at my tiny desk. I fire up my laptop, punch in my Airbnb login, then pause, staring at the screen.

‘So what do you think, girl? Are we doing this?’

I direct my question to the chubby lizard sitting outside the door, eagerly awaiting her banana slices. Izzie stares back at me, slender head poised, almond-shaped eyes glazed, perhaps, with the faintest flicker of curiosity. Eastern water dragons aren’t known for their amazing life advice, so the glint is probably more one of primal hunger: why the fuck is my afternoon tea taking so long?

‘Alright, alright. Sorry to keep you waiting, Your Highness.’

I sigh as I push back my desk chair and slide open the glass door.

Izzie scampers inside, spikes shimmering in the afternoon sun as she gracefully navigates her way across the room to her ceramic water bowl in the corner of the kitchen. I peel a banana, breaking half of it into small chunks, and crouch down to handfeed her. Izzie’s tongue delicately takes the morsels like she hasn’t been hunting insects all day. Then I set the rest down on the plate next to her water and, as she happily munches away, I return to my computer and scan my inbox for a reply to my late-night emails from Clara or Tom. What a surprise, I grumble to myself when I find nothing, and switch tabs to review the draft Airbnb listing for Keith’s place. It’s been ready for ages, filled with all of the ‘riverside oasis’ buzz-words, but I can never bring myself to make it live. I was holding out hope Keith would return permanently to the island, but his place has sat empty for long enough, and I’m out of options. The bucks’ group needs a place to stay – one that isn’t Clam Cove Resort.

I take a deep breath, mentally squaring up, and click the publish button. Then I quickly block out the next six nights on the booking calendar. Before shutting down my computer, I refresh my email one last time.

My inbox chimes with a new message. Finally! A reply from Clara. The truth is, I didn’t necessarily need to hear back from her or Tom to move forward with my plan, but I want to know what they have to say for themselves about their childish behaviour.

Sender: Clara Devine

Recipient: Jack Cooper

---