Page 59 of That Island Feeling

The girls have left me a note on the bench.

Gone fishing. Kinda, lol. Gone fishing for hot fishermen at Tin Boat Reserve.

We didn’t take keys, so leave the door unlocked if you go out. xx

It goes against every city instinct not to lock the door, so two seconds later, I rush back in and leave the set of house keys in the spot on the floor my bap normally occupies. I send a text to let them know.

Left keys in front of doggy door. Just stick your hand in. Hope you’re having fun. x

As I pull the locked door shut, I’m struck by a puzzling realisation: Moorings has a dog door, yet there are no dogs on the island.

My Storytime prompt bleeps at me as I make my way to Hazel’s house: If you could do one thing for the rest of your life, what would it be?

We’ve answered that one before. I remember both of their responses. Dad was always willing to share his memories, but Mum needed some encouragement, only opening up when I pressed her.

‘Come on, Mum. Tell me the stories of your past. I will cherish them and learn from them, and ensure they’re remembered for eternity.’ I coached her like one of my kindergarteners, tears glistening in both of our eyes.

Her response to this one was simple: watch movies by the ocean.

Dad’s was even simpler: eat chocky Freddos.

He had always been a chocolate fiend, but his craving for it intensified as his dementia worsened. At first, we tried to restrict his chocolate intake, but he’d get so angry and agitated, throwing empty chocolate wrappers in our faces. That’s when Mum came up with the genius idea of switching to individually wrapped pieces, so he felt like he was getting more. Now, we let him eat all the chocolate he wants, smuggling in treat bags past the nurses.

I finally received a reply from Toby last night, just a brief message:

All good here. Enjoy.

I hope everything truly is fine.

I arrive at Hazel’s place and let myself in. As I enter the living room, it’s immediately apparent that something is amiss. Hazel is on the settee, positioned next to the yin–yang pearl artwork, but her body is slouched and turned away from the camera.

‘Is everything alright, Hazel?’ My gaze shifts to her hair, checking for any signs of a beauty emergency, but it looks salon-ready – and her lips are already stained rose red.

She shoots me a panicked look. ‘Oh, thank God you’re here, Andie-girl. I’m not sure that we’ve gone with the right angle for this documentary. I’m second-guessing everything! Are you sure that I shouldn’t talk more about our island’s avian residents instead? The island is home to rainbow lorikeets, sulphur-crested cockatoos, king parrots, galahs and eastern corellas . . .’ She trails off, struggling to catch her breath.

‘You don’t feel comfortable with what you shared yesterday?’ I approach her gently. ‘We can always edit those bits out.’ I’m doing my best to play catch-up here.

‘It’s just this documentary is really important.’

She looks at me, wide-eyed, and for the first time I notice how similar her eyes are to Jack’s. The green is so clear, it’s almost translucent.

I understand more than anyone the desire to capture something – or someone – so perfectly that it’s never lost to you.

‘I know,’ I tell her.

‘I take issue with centring my memories as facts.’ Hazel’s bottom lip protrudes. ‘It’s just my recollections of things; it doesn’t mean it actually happened that way.’

I smile faintly. ‘Of course. No one is after photo-accurate memories – we update our memories through the act of remembering, and our stories can be richer for it.’

That’s a concept I’ve had to come to terms with myself. You can take scissors to a traced shape and attempt to follow the lines, but each cut-out will invariably be different.

‘The wingspan of parrots. Now that’s something I can speak accurately on,’ Hazel says, determined.

I crouch on the floor next to her, sensing she needs some soft encouragement, like my students as they tentatively sound out individual letters until the full word suddenly comes together, like magic.

Retrieving my phone, I open the Storytime app. I’ve learned from my time completing the prompts with Mum and Dad that general, open-ended questions often lead to the best stories.

I choose a random prompt from the screen and read it aloud: ‘What’s the one thing you’re most proud of?’

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