Page 99 of That Island Feeling

She stops as she sees me, her eyes wide and glassy, then streaked with confusion. ‘How long have you been standing here?’ she asks slowly, her complexion paling and accentuating her nose freckles.

‘Not long,’ I lie, my heart thrashing in my chest.

Andie sighs, clearly war-weary. ‘Were you ever going to tell me that the oyster farm was yours? That all of this happened to you?’

‘Yeah, I-I-I planned on it,’ I stammer, feeling the weight of her intense gaze.

‘The sad thing is, Jack, it’s just as I thought – you have all the right moves, say all the perfect things, but you’ve shown me who you are, by not showing me any of who you are. The biggest fucking UNO Reverse card of all.’

Her words slam into me. ‘Andie, please,’ I plead, despair bubbling in my gut.

As she avoids my gaze, anger suddenly sparks inside me. She’s not entirely innocent in all of this.

‘Come on! You weren’t interested in my real life. You just wanted me to captain your boat and cook your lobster,’ I exclaim.

There may be truth in what I’ve said, but it still leaves a bitter taste in my mouth.

‘Wow, you’ve really nailed it,’ Andie says dryly.

‘Tell me I wasn’t just a cheap escape from your shitty problems!’ I demand.

The look on her face is like I’ve pierced her through the heart and I instantly hate myself for causing it.

‘You’re right. That’s exactly what you were, Jack.’ Her voice is heavy with defeat.

Mum clears her throat. I can tell she’s itching to intervene, but she wisely holds back. Things are already bad enough. I hate that she’s witnessing this.

‘I should go,’ I say, pulling a package from my backpack and pressing it into Andie’s hands. It’s a gift I had hoped would end up crumpled on the floor of my cabin later tonight. She can wear it on the river boat tomorrow. Back to her real life.

‘Safe trip home,’ I mumble.

Then I turn away from her and walk out of the room.

REAL LIFE

Three Years Before

Chapter Forty-five

JACK

A buzzing sound jolts me awake. At first, I think Clara has left the downstairs door open again and a swarm of bees have somehow found their way inside. Then I realise that it’s my mobile jumping up and down on the nightstand like a hyperactive Izzie begging for more banana.

I swipe to answer. ‘Hello?’ I croak.

‘Jack, you need to get down here.’

‘Keith? Are you okay?’ Already out of bed, I grab a shirt and a pair of shorts. I always worry about him staying in the cabin down on the oyster farm. It’s too draughty for his old bones, but he refuses to let me help him get a place of his own.

‘It’s not me. It’s the pearl oysters; there’s been a robbery.’

‘Oh, shit. Okay, I’ll be right there.’

Just a few days ago we had spoken about installing surveillance cameras, but we decided that with Keith basically living on the premises, the risk of theft was low. I tiptoe past Clara’s room, then down the stairs and past the dining room where Hannah is sleeping. We set up her bed in there a few months ago, once it became too difficult for us to help her navigate the stairs.

I borrow Beryl’s general store golf cart and make it to the oyster farm in record time. Keith is sitting on the sand at the shoreline with his head in his hands.

‘How many, do you think?’ I ask.

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