Page 26 of That Island Feeling

Her question is not new. We’ve been having a similar conversation for the better part of three years.

‘It’s as if you’re still seeking penance. I’ve lost count of how many times I’ve told you that the oysters aren’t your fault!’ She pours water and then milk into our cups. No sugar for either of us.

I understand that she thinks she’s right, but she doesn’t know the full story. Every time I think back to that day, a tightness grips my chest.

Mum sets our cups on the kitchen table and takes a seat, nudging her notepad aside – a gift from me, adorned with a yin–yang symbol on the cover.

‘You’re writing to Hannah?’ I ask, taking my place opposite her.

‘It’s her birthday today.’

‘I know,’ I say quietly. It’s the real reason I’m here.

‘She would have been sixty-five.’

‘Are you doing anything special? You’re not baking that awful oat cake, are you? That’ll be enough to raise her from the grave.’

She reaches across the table and playfully slaps my hand. ‘The cheek on you! I’m actually making a documentary in her honour – in the island’s honour, really. I’ve been thinking about it for a while, and I finally bit the bullet.’

‘Well, that’s a present and a half!’

‘Anyway, I can see what you’re doing, trying to change the subject. When, Jack? When are you going to decide you deserve to start living again? It’s not your job to worry about me, or about any of us. Hannah is gone, Clara is gone, Tom is gone, Keith is gone; you’re running out of people to hide behind.’

I slump in my chair. How do I explain to her that the weighty responsibility of it all rests on my shoulders? Especially now that I know Alec is in the process of cooking up something that makes everything more challenging.

‘I have my art?’ I offer with a shrug.

‘And that’s a great hobby – one that’s helped keep you busy while you’ve processed all of this change – and I’ve obviously benefited greatly from it . . .’ She gestures across the room to one of my oyster-shell artworks, hung proudly alongside the wall clock. ‘But it doesn’t light you up. What about Jack? What about what you want? And please don’t say cleaning rooms and having a pen pal in Clara.’

I look down at the cloudy tea in my mug. ‘I also make my own bread,’ I mutter.

She exhales, exasperated. Guilt settles heavily in my chest. I must be infuriating to have as a son.

‘I just ask one thing of you on Hannah’s birthday,’ she says, reaching for my hand again. ‘In fact, Hannah and I ask one thing of you.’

‘Yes?’

‘Listen to your heart. The next time it tells you something with a deep, soul-bending thrum, listen. Really listen. And then don’t be scared to follow it blindly. If I’ve taught you anything, I hope it’s to live life fully; there’s always time to worry about the consequences later.’ She pauses, her gaze piercing. ‘Will you promise me that?’

‘I promise,’ I repeat. At the very least, I’ll try.

Mum nods, evidently satisfied with my response, and pushes back her chair.

‘Now, can you stick around for a bit longer? I’m in need of a subject to put my filming skills to the test.’

She sees the wary look on my face.

‘Just a practice run, Jackie-boy. And there’s some oranges and bananas for Izzie in it. What do you say?’

I sigh. ‘Fine.’

She knows there’s nothing that I wouldn’t do for her.

Chapter Fourteen

ANDIE

Agrey-haired couple is canoodling on one of the couches in the communal lounge when I arrive. I wonder if they were a couple before entering the doors of Grade A Aged Care, or if they met in here? Thankfully, Dad always keeps to himself. I don’t think I could deal with him finding new love.

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