Page 74 of That Island Feeling

‘No details, Tay!’ I interrupt. ‘We’re not sixteen anymore.’

Holiday fling or not, my time in Jack’s cabin feels sacred and I’d like to keep it that way.

‘Boo.’ She pouts. ‘But, okay. I guess I have to respect that.’

‘Thank you.’ I smile, grateful. ‘Now, I was about to make a coffee. Do you want one?’

‘Please. I’m desperate for caffeine . . .’ she trails off. ‘Wait. So, what’s next?’

‘You mean today?’ I ask, refilling the kettle under the tap when I realise there’s not enough water for two cups. ‘Well, we could take some kayaks out and –’

‘No!’ Taylor cuts me off. ‘Not the damn day six itinerary, Ands. Stuff the itinerary. I mean with you and Jack.’

I shrug. ‘Oh, nothing. See how many sessions we can squeeze in over the next few days, I suppose, before I’m replaced with the next tourist . . .’

My words are light, but my heart constricts at the thought of someone else receiving Jack’s bacon-and-egg deliveries next week. Then I think of the note I left stuck on the countertop next to the hob, and grin.

I’ll take tonight’s b&e up here on the counter, Cap. x

He must have found it by now. Propositioning kitchen bench sex – who do I think I am?! At least I’m leaning into this low-stakes fun. Andie Alcott finally letting her hair down on a girls’ getaway before returning to reality, slotting back in to real life like the uninspired filling in one of my kindergartener’s soggy sandwiches. I’ve read plenty about the sandwich generation – the older, middle-aged millennials caught in the pressure chamber of caring for both their elderly parents and young children – and although I’m still a way off forty and I don’t have children of my own (just twenty-eight part-time charges), I can relate.

‘Are we sure he’s not a one-woman kind of guy?’ Taylor asks.

‘Oh God, no way. We’re definitely on the same page. Zero expectations,’ I say. ‘So, how did the rest of the night go?’ I’m eager to change the subject.

I can see no sign of tampered-with vulva masks and the kitchen is in surprisingly decent shape – some dirty plates and glasses still in the sink, but neatly stacked rather than scattered across the place.

‘They’re not bad guys, Ands. Well, except maybe Richie. Honestly, Ben has been helping me through some stuff. But the night was actually cut short by an intruder – of sorts.’

My mouth drops open. An intruder?! And Ben helping her with what?

‘A fucking lizard the size of a dragon, Ands. Came right though there,’ she explains, pointing to the dog door, which has been nailed shut with a piece of plywood. ‘Lizzie lost her shit – and ran around trying to catch the damn thing with a laundry basket. We joked about it later, “When Lizzie met Izzie”.’ Taylor chuckles. ‘That’s the lizard’s name.’

Izzie.

‘Thankfully, Tom was still around to get rid of it and fix the door, so it won’t happen again. Apparently, the dog door was installed specifically for Izzie. Did you know that Jack used to live here with Clara?’

My stomach churns like I’ve ingested something strange.

‘Ah, no, he hasn’t mentioned anything,’ I say casually, as I recover. ‘It’s not like I’m entitled to the relationship history of my holiday fuck buddy. Anyway, I never asked you where you’ve been this morning?’

‘Oh – I-I-I went to grab an early coffee,’ she stutters.

‘I thought you said you were desperate for caffeine?’

‘Ah, yeah – I mean, I tried to order one. But Charlie’s wasn’t open yet, so I ended up going for a long walk instead.’

She’s not wearing any make-up, and her hair is in a messy topknot. If she had been with Ben, surely she’d have made more effort with her appearance – this is Taylor, after all.

Deciding not to push things further, I turn back to the kettle. The water has been sitting for too long again; I’ll have to boil it for a third time. Footsteps echo from upstairs – Grace and Lizzie must be up.

‘Hey, why don’t I run over to Charlie’s and grab us all proper coffees?’ I suggest, glancing at my phone. ‘He should be open by now.’

‘Instant is fine,’ Taylor says.

‘Really? It’s seriously no trouble to duck across the island . . .’

‘Ands. You’re fussing for no reason again. We’re fine.’

---