Page 52 of That Island Feeling

Jack doesn’t respond immediately.

‘Hot chocolate?’ he eventually asks softly, pulling a thermos from the picnic basket.

I swallow my emotion.

Holiday hook-up rule number two: Don’t cry.

‘Yum. Yes, please.’

REAL LIFE

Three Weeks Before

Chapter Twenty-two

ANDIE

Idrive to the beach with tears streaming down my face. The sheet of water blurs the green traffic lights so that they resemble the fuzzy lines of leaves in the trees my students draw.

It was the smallest thing that set me off; an email from a parent asking if I had any ideas of family activities they could do during the school holidays – they’d been to the park, the museum, the movies, the beach. Then I thought of our last family trip to the beach, and I panicked when I couldn’t remember the colour of my mother’s jumper. Every time my mind reached for it, the memory would spin away like the rainbow reels of a slot machine: red, orange, yellow, green, blue. Then I couldn’t remember the type of pants she was wearing, her shoes, her smell. Her eyes and nose disappeared, and her face melted into a blob, like the soft wax of a candle.

And that’s how grief goes. Frequently unpredictable, never linear, and always in circles. Around and around it goes, until you’re tied in knots. At least I have somewhere to go; a place to untangle.

The car park is relatively empty for such a hot day, but it’s also almost 7 p.m. I leave my car and allow the warm, salty breeze to push me up the hill to our bench. My fingers trace the words on the plaque – For Lily x – before I take a seat.

For a few minutes, I stare out at the blue stretching endlessly to the turning horizon, focusing on my breath. In and out. In and out. Then, I close my eyes, just the way she taught me, and try conjuring up that island feeling – the sounds and smells of the ocean – to take me to her.

Suddenly, I’m on Pearl Island – the sun on my back, feet buried in the sand, birds wheeling overhead and waves crashing on the shore. I squint as I try to make out the figures walking up the beach towards me; it’s Dad, with Mum’s pillow tucked under one arm, and there she is on his other side. I zoom in, but as I close focus, her features get fuzzier, not clearer. I try again. But each time, just as I think I’m about to be rewarded with her warm smile and tinkly laugh, the image goes black.

It’s like one of those frustrating claw machine games that are impossible to win. The metal picker closing over the prize but incapable of holding it tight.

I open my eyes, gasping for air, like I’ve just resurfaced from the deep. I’m back in the real world, on the cold, hard bench. There’s a fresh chill to the air as the light begins to fade.

I want to scream, but instead, I reach for my phone and open the Storytime app. I scroll and scroll, my hands as unsteady as a toddler’s legs. Everything is a jumble. I know there’s no footage of Pearl Island here, but at least there’s that recording of her talking about Pearl Island. Anger creeps in as my fingers scramble over the screen. How did she expect me to find her in some feeling I’ve never even experienced myself? Why not simply tell me to watch one of our favourite movies; I could pop on When Harry Met Sally and be magically transported to her.

Oh my God, her jumper was blue! Was it blue? Or maybe it was yellow? The rush of relief is fleeting. Shit, shit, shit. Why didn’t I film our last beach excursion?

I’m still combing through the Storytime clips when my phone starts buzzing in my hands.

‘Andie?’ Taylor sobs as I answer.

‘Tay! What’s wrong?’

I sit up straighter on the bench.

‘Oh, just the usual . . . the divorce is due to be finalised this week. It’s really taking it out of me, Ands, and I think I need to –’

‘Stop right there,’ I interrupt, suddenly struck with an inspired idea – one that not only has the potential to revive Taylor, and our friendship, but also to help me reconnect with Mum. Two seabirds, one stone. ‘What you need is a good holiday! Something to take your mind off things.’

‘Ah, I don’t know if that’s –’

‘I won’t hear another word about it! We’re taking you away,’ I announce.

‘But I don’t –’

‘I know the perfect place.’

Chapter Twenty-three

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