Page 19 of That Island Feeling

I look down to see my phone still in my hands and bite my lip. ‘I’m waiting to hear from my little brother. My dad has dementia, and I want to check everything is okay.’

‘Do you want to use my wi-fi? I’m only a few doors up.’

‘Really?’

‘Of course. I can take you now.’

‘That would be amazing. Thank you.’

I manage to catch Lizzie’s eye, wave my phone at her, and then turn to follow Jack up the jetty. Hopefully she gets the message.

We walk for five or so minutes before Jack turns down a long gravel driveway dotted with a row of green-painted cabins, like the miniature buildings on a Monopoly board.

‘I’m right at the end,’ he says as we start up the drive. ‘The one with the view,’ he adds with a wink.

‘What is this place?’ I ask, as we pass under a constellation of fairy lights.

‘It’s a bit of a locals-only spot, also known as the employee accommodation of Clam Cove Resort. I clean rooms here.’

Oh. I’m surprised. I thought I detected an edge of resentment when he mentioned the resort earlier.

‘So you’re basically Kate Bosworth in Blue Crush,’ I say.

‘I have no idea what you’re talking about, but sure.’

Jack waves as we walk by two women sitting at a communal picnic table, chatting and drinking beers like it’s not nearing 1 a.m.

‘Okay, so this is actually Kellerman’s resort,’ I say. ‘Do you need me to carry any watermelons?’

Jack glances at me, his tanned forehead furrowed. I assume he hasn’t understood another of my movie references but as he opens his mouth, I realise he’s been compiling a comeback. Cute.

‘Sorry to disappoint, but you won’t find any raunchy dancing here. Unless you count me shimmying my overgrown frame into the cabin’s postage-stamp-sized shower.’

‘Er, raunchy dancing?’ I cover my fluster at the R-rated image of Jack in the shower with a mock-scoff. ‘It’s dirty dancing. Only one of my favourite movies of all time.’

‘So, what is it with you and these movies?’ Jack asks as we come to a stop in front of a tiny cabin teetering so close to the edge of the riverbank it looks like it could wash right in. The timber-clad exterior is frosted with a smattering of creamy white barnacles.

I shrug. ‘Mum was a professor of film studies, so I guess you could say I was raised on them.’

Her guilty pleasure was watching Disney movies and rom-coms after hours, secretly enjoying them more than the serious films like A Clockwork Orange that she dissected with her students.

I run my fingers along one of the barnacles, wondering if Jack has picked up on my use of the past tense. But ‘was’ could mean retired. Her beloved movies offer me a portal into another life, one where she’s still alive. But there’s no way I’m going to share all of that with him.

He studies me for a beat. ‘Cool job,’ he says before pushing open the front door to the cabin. It lets out a long, deep groan like someone has blown forcefully into a conch shell. We step into a compact space that’s as cosy as it appears from the outside.

‘Let me give you the grand tour,’ Jack says, pointing haphazardly. ‘Bed, desk, couch, bookshelf, frypan for my fish and hob for my frypan. But the real kicker is out here.’

I follow him through sliding doors onto a deck. It’s double the size of inside and juts out over the river like a rocky outcrop.

‘Wow, Jack.’

A light breeze tickles my face as I breathe in the salty air. My eyes fixate on the bright moon and explosion of tiny stars. Too many to count.

‘Rumour has it that Patrick Swayze is lifting Jennifer Grey right over there.’ Jack interrupts my breathing exercise, pointing across the river to a sheltered cove.

I elbow his side, laughing. ‘Hey, you’re trolling me!’

Jack sticks out his bottom lip. ‘Who, me? I’m simply getting a crash course on the language of Andie.’

---