Page 83 of That Island Feeling

I wonder if she’s been transported back to the same moments I have – scenes of seared lobster, footsies, and grilled bacon-and-egg sandwiches.

‘Proper dinner-dinner,’ I confirm, pausing. ‘Followed by a late-night snack.’

It’s close to an hour’s journey up the river to Crescent Island. I stopped in to see Beryl earlier to purchase water and a fistful of Chupa Chups (rounding up my payment to make up for last time), so we’re all set for boat snacks.

We head off in the opposite direction to the oyster farm, and as Andie moves around the boat, sucking on her lollipop, I point out different sights – the dense mangrove canopies and the secret rock carvings Keith showed me.

As we near our destination, the tide starts to recede, so I try to avoid the unglamorous view of the mucky salt marshes.

Andie’s facing the wind, seemingly lost in the moment. I know the feeling well – the sensation of weightlessness and freedom that comes from being on the water. Her hair is caught in a wild dance – all tangled and messy. She calls it her ‘poodle hair’, part of her self-deprecation schtick, but she can’t convince me it’s not adorable.

A few strands get stuck to her lip gloss, and she turns to face me, giggling as she reaches the rudder and wraps her arms around me. Her glossy lips brush against my neck, and I try to keep my focus on the water.

‘I hear you ordered one Love Boat package,’ I announce, fully embracing my role as Cap, complete with headwear – as requested by Andie.

A short while later, I dock at The Oyster House’s wharf. Tom has left the door of the working shed open for me, so I slip inside and grab our supplies.

I’m not sure if Andie has figured out where we are yet, but she asks minimal questions as we swap her dress and shawl for waders. I like that she seems to trust me – something I’ve come to understand isn’t her default.

‘Am I catching my own dinner?’ she asks as we stride out to the oyster lease, stopping when the water is knee-deep.

‘Maybe,’ I reply coyly, waggling my eyebrows.

‘Oh, oysters!’ she exclaims as she catches sight of the faded OYSTER FARM sign. ‘So this is why you have me dressed like a Minion?’

‘Ha. Yes. What did you think we were doing?’

‘I don’t know,’ she admits, scrunching her face. ‘Can we eat the oysters here? Or are we looking for pearls?’

‘Well, it never hurts to look for pearls too,’ I say. ‘But our main goal is definitely dinner. Fortunately, the oysters are still edible up here – they’re rocks, not pearls.’

The sky is painted with dusty pink hues as I drag one of the floating baskets filled with oysters towards us.

‘So, the first thing we need to check for is any hiding blue-ringed octopuses,’ I explain, scanning the basket for signs of danger.

‘Perfect, another delightful creature that could kill me. Don’t they carry enough venom to kill, like, twenty-six humans?’

‘Someone’s been watching the Discovery Channel.’ I’m impressed by her trivia. ‘But it’s the sharks you need to be wary of. It’s dusk, after all,’ I tease.

‘Jack!’ Andie yelps, punching my arm. I almost drop the oyster basket, and she squeals, ‘That was your fault!’

‘Is that Woof nibbling your ankles? Oh, and don’t forget the jellyfish.’ I wink. ‘Luckily you have your protective gear on.’

‘I’m surprised that Arthur hasn’t developed some type of anti-sting suit technology.’

‘Oh, he has,’ I say. ‘How do you feel about rash vests made from aluminium foil?’

‘Yeah, not super great,’ she laughs. ‘So, how do they stop people from stealing the oysters?’ she asks as I pull a knife from my pocket and cut through the rope connecting the basket.

‘You mean people like me?’

‘Well, yeah.’

I secretly relish the idea of being seen as a bad boy in her eyes, especially since I’m known as anything but around here.

‘Well, they can’t, really. It’s how we – I mean, ah, they – found out the pearl oysters were diseased. A few hundred baskets were stolen from the island lease and sold on the black market to seafood restaurants. Dozens of people ended up in the hospital.’

‘Shit.’

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