Page 12 of That Island Feeling

Subject: Re: Another double booking

OMG I’M SO SORRY JACK!!!! I hope you sorted everything with Andie? That’s the name of the woman who booked – who you left the key out for. I assume from your messages you’ve crossed paths?

Thanks again for keeping on top of things at Moorings – you know that I’m forever indebted to you. Why won’t you ever accept my money?? Please feel free to use any of my things. Honestly, what’s mine is yours!!!

Miss you,

Clara xx

P.S. When are you going to come and visit me in Sydney? My art gallery is waiting.

P.P.S. Tell Tom he’s a dick. I know you don’t agree with me wanting to sell either, but if you’re speaking to him, please remind him that Mum would either want one of us living there, or she’d want Moorings to go to someone who will treasure it as she did – not random holidaymakers.

The mention of ‘random holidaymakers’ sends a faint twinge behind my ribs. I felt a similar way on the boat yesterday when Andie first mentioned Moorings, but that feeling has since shifted.

Another email pops up as I’m replying to Clara with a single ‘x’. She should really get the Gordon Ramsay treatment too, but I can’t bring myself to speak to her that way, no matter how frustrating she can be.

The sender’s name instantly fills me with dread. Alec Ogilvy, CEO of Clam Cove Resort. I click to read.

Sender: Alec Ogilvy

Recipient: Jack Cooper

Subject: Urgent: Clam Cove Resort Oyster Farm Manager

Hi Jack,

As you’re aware, Clam Cove Resort will be assuming control of the existing Pearl Island oyster leases.

After careful consideration, I am pleased to offer you the opportunity to run and manage the day-to-day operations of the farm. We believe that re-establishing the island’s oyster industry will have a positive impact on the island’s economy, improving both tourism and the availability of jobs locally.

In terms of timing, there is a degree of urgency. We’d appreciate you expediting your decision-making and providing us with a formal response within five days.

We look forward to further discussions and collaboration.

Clamaly yours,

Alec Ogilvy

CEO

Clam Cove Resort

A flame of anger ignites in my stomach as I re-read the cheesy sign-off, ‘Clamaly yours’. It probably took an entire marketing team to come up with something that ridiculous. Clams are native to the eastern shores of North and Central America, not Australia! Why not stick with the original Pearl Island name and call the new venture Pearl Island Resort? That would make too much sense.

Alec’s email doesn’t come as a complete surprise – I’ve known about his plan for weeks now. I just didn’t think it would include me.

Agreeing to sell the site of the oyster farm’s buildings to the resort developers was really the only way to ensure the island’s future. For the most part, I feel grateful we were even able to find a buyer to temporarily pump some money back into our small island’s economy.

Tourism has picked up some, just not as much as we’d hoped. The resort has only been open for a few months, so we’re all still clinging to the hope that things are going to improve.

Taking a role in housekeeping and maintenance at Clam Cove Resort was a strategic move on my part as it allowed me to keep an eye on things. And to keep the cabin, the only bit of the oyster farm that remains.

I abandon my computer, walk out onto the deck of the cabin and begin my ritual of dunking oyster shells into a bucket of soapy water. I scrub vigorously, the bristles of my toothbrush frayed from cleaning the grime off thousands of shells as I prepare them for yet another nautical-themed piece. A mosaic, a jewellery dish, a plate, a bowl . . . I’m yet to make up my mind. Clara has no idea how out of hand my little craft hobby has gotten since she moved, thanks to the art materials she left behind. It’s become a therapeutic escape over the last year, a way of keeping my hands busy and quietening the nagging guilt.

Once I’m happy with my pile of freshly polished shells, I return to my desk. I consider replying to Alec right away, but shamefully, it’s not so black and white. I really wish that it were.

As I prepare to stand, the ping of yet another email pulls me back to the screen.

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