Page 22 of That Island Feeling

‘How can I help?’ I ask, lowering myself to the ground and placing a reassuring hand on his shoulder.

‘Ah, it seems to be working again now. Temperamental piece of shit! We may as well have a coffee before I head off. Are you okay to stick around until about ten? That’ll give Lena time to sort the boys for school.’

I think of Alec’s angry face – his dilated pupils and red nose, a target I frequently visualise at the centre of a dartboard – demanding I start my shift at 9 a.m., even though it was never part of the agreement. But farming Pacific oysters in the spot where our pearl oysters used to thrive was never part of the agreement either.

‘Ten a.m. is fine,’ I say.

Charlie casts aside the towel he’s been using to mop up the puddle of water, groaning as he rises to his feet. We walk back out onto the shop floor, and he shuffles over to the coffee machine.

‘Cap?’ he asks, turning to me. ‘Shit, you look rough. It might be a three-shot coffee morning for you.’

I reach up to my jaw, running my fingers over the five o’clock shadow that’s been there since five o’clock two days ago.

‘Ha, yeah. I was up late, sorting out that double-booking situation at Moorings.’

I didn’t end up leaving Keith’s place until after 2 a.m. I could have left earlier, but I wanted to wait to make sure Andie got off home okay.

Charlie works the coffee machine. ‘I meant to ask, what happened there?’

‘Bloody Tom and Clara are still squabbling over Hannah’s place, but I managed to move Tom’s guests into Keith’s place.’

‘You’re renting out Keith’s place? Wow, that’s big, buddy.’

‘I guess I had to face the facts sooner or later.’ I shrug, trying to appear nonchalant while quietly appreciating that my best mate understands the significance of Keith’s house no longer being his home.

‘Typical traitor Tom,’ Charlie scoffs. ‘Pisses off to Crescent Island when things get hard here and leaves you to pick up the pieces, look after his dying mum and sort out his house.’

I don’t consider him a traitor for finding work at The Oyster House’s farm. He made the decision that was right for him; that’s what we were all trying to do.

Charlie adds lids to our cups. ‘Outside?’

‘Yeah.’

We navigate around the human-baby seagull who has followed us out of the kitchen, and the sodden paper dockets of bacon-and-egg bap and coffee orders past, stuck to the floor, and take our coffees out into the early-morning humidity. We settle on the grass, leaning against the shop’s wall, facing the water and the rising sun.

‘Now, that’s a good coffee,’ I say after my first sip.

‘Charlie Farleys has to have something going for it.’

‘Those aren’t fighting words, Charlie.’

‘Not all of us are fighters, Coops.’

‘Don’t say that. It’s not like I have it all figured out as a housekeeper slash sometimes shop assistant slash sometimes boat captain.’

I’m desperate to shake him out of his dark mood, yet given what I know, I’m torn about mentioning Alec’s plans – specifically, the genuine possibility of oysters returning to Pearl Island soon, which would likely mean the return of tourists. But at what cost? I’m terrified Charlie and I won’t see eye to eye about it. I want to wait until I’ve hopefully spoken to Keith and firmed up my position first.

‘Slash island caretaker to us all,’ Charlie adds. ‘You don’t have to do any of this for us. And don’t forget budding artist, too.’

I laugh. ‘I need to keep my hands busy somehow, don’t I?’

We sip our coffees in silence, watching the first of the orange light lap at the shore.

Charlie leans in close. ‘You know I told the sunrise about you,’ he whispers into my ear.

‘Fuck off!’ I protest, elbowing him in his side. ‘I stand by my opinion that would have been a hit printed on shop merch.’

‘You big ol’ romantic, you. Speaking of, I want to know what happened with that cute gluten-free chick who came in here yesterday.’

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