Page 21 of That Island Feeling

‘Oh yeah. Sorry.’

‘Where are you now? Is that the place you booked?’

‘I’m at – ah – my friend’s house.’

‘And this friend owns a tackle box?’

Huh? Ohhh. I’ve moved back inside, and the camera is still on.

I flick the camera back to face me and peer over the screen to see a bright orange tackle box resting on the timber desk in front of me. The lid is open and the fold-out tray with floaters and sinkers is in full view, like an offering of colourful hard-boiled candies. But my attention is drawn to the assortment of items beside it – a pile of oyster shells, a few sheets of tracing paper and a glass Mason jar filled with paintbrushes.

‘Mm, yeah, I guess so,’ I say, distracted now.

I guess Jack was telling the truth about his penchant for arts and crafts. How unexpected.

‘What’s got you grinning like a Cheshire cat, Ands?’

Shit. I forgot the camera was still on. ‘Nothing,’ I say.

‘Okayyy . . .’ Toby doesn’t sound convinced. ‘Well, whatever it is, I approve. I haven’t seen you smile like that since . . .’ He pauses. ‘Since, forever.’

I know he stopped himself from saying ‘since before Mum’s funeral’.

‘Can you at least tell me if they had the doctor in to check on his head today?’ Now that he’s warmed up a bit, it’s worth trying again.

‘Yes, and as I said before, it’s fine.’

My body relaxes like a balloon deflating from a single pinprick.

‘Okay, good. Well, I’ll check in again tomorrow.’ I hang up so I don’t have to listen to his protests. It’s much better for me to know than to fill in the imaginary blanks.

Chapter Eleven

JACK

‘Charlie, mate, are you here?’

It’s 6 a.m. and I’ve just walked through the open door of Charlie Farleys.

There’s no sign of Charlie, but the lights are on, so I make my way to the back kitchen through the aisles filled with stubby-holders, magnets, mood rings and stuffed seahorses. I hesitate at the section labelled ‘Oyster Art’, which showcases a collection of shell-art mosaics and gold-rimmed shell trinket dishes.

There’s a YOU BREAK, YOU BUY notice stuck to the top shelf. Right underneath is a fluoro yellow BESTSELLERS sign, even though I’m fairly certain there’s not even been one sale. If I’m mistaken, then I’ll have to have a stern word with Charlie about pocketing my commission.

‘Charlie!’ I call out again as I pass the foggy ice-cream fridge. The last thing he needs is a jump scare from me.

‘In here!’ he bellows from the kitchen.

I duck under the counter and push open the swinging double doors, disturbing a bird that’s lurking behind them. It flaps its wings, sending a chaotic dance of feathers into the air as it squawks at me. That’s one well-fed seagull, almost the size of a human baby.

‘There’s a bird in here,’ I announce. Charlie doesn’t look up from his position, crouched at the base of the commercial refrigerator.

‘Little fucker. He’s been snatching chips straight from the fryer. I swear I saw him dip one into the aioli the other day.’

I laugh. ‘Bird troubles aside, everything okay? I dropped in to lend you a hand this morning. I know that you’ve got that river-boat pick-up at seven, and I wasn’t sure if Lena was up for an early shift?’

‘Cheers mate. Really appreciate it. I’ll text her now, she’ll be relieved not to have to drag herself, and the kids down here at the crack of dawn, especially when she’s so close to popping.’ He thumps the side of the fridge with a balled fist. ‘This darn thing keeps leaking, and I’ve got five hundred dollars’ worth of meat in here. Like I don’t have enough on my plate trying to stay afloat.’

A coil of guilt springs to life in my stomach. He’s partly in this situation because of me. Charlie Farleys used to be Pearl Island’s number two tourist spot – right after the now bankrupt River Brasserie – and now, most days, it’s dead in here. It’s why he took the river-boat gig too.

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