Page 30 of That Island Feeling

‘Encourage me to explore what available options?’ Taylor demands as she emerges from the bathroom.

‘Ah, what beverage option you’d like to pair with the bonfire?’ I say quickly.

She eyes me suspiciously. ‘Tequila, of course.’

Lizzie sidles up to Taylor’s side and coils an arm around her waist. For a moment I think she’s going to out me, but instead she adopts her Mum voice and starts booming orders.

‘Ands, you sort the drinks; Grace, you see if you can get the fire pit started; I’ll fetch the supplies; and Taylor, you just keep looking pretty. Meet you outside in five?’

When I step out into the backyard with a bottle of tequila in hand and four cups precariously stacked, the fire is already raging.

‘Wow!’ I exclaim, approaching cautiously. I slipped into my sandals on the way out but now realise sneakers would have been the more sensible choice. I wince as the wind carries wayward embers dangerously close to Taylor’s bare feet. If I’d known about this plan, I could have checked the weather app for wind speeds.

‘Isn’t she stunning?’ Grace cries, setting a hand across her heart. ‘I called Maeve earlier. The trick is the log tepee.’

The thick smoke clings to the back of my throat as the flames hungrily lick the air, growing taller with each gust. ‘I’ll fetch us a bucket of water, just in case,’ I say.

‘There’s no time for that,’ Lizzie says briskly. ‘It’s already 9.05 and we need to start in one minute.’

I must look confused.

‘9.06. The devil’s numbers,’ she cackles. ‘If you flip the 9.’

My gaze wanders to Lizzie’s hand, clutching a stack of photo printouts. I recognise the man-boy with the bum-fluff goatee in the picture at the top of the pile – Zane, Lizzie’s high-school boyfriend and her only other boyfriend besides her now-husband Rob.

I didn’t realise anyone other than Taylor would be participating. It’s weird that I wasn’t looped in. And who printed these photos anyway? I’m usually the group’s designated printer.

‘I’ll go first,’ Lizzie continues, reaching for the photo of Zane.

My chest squeezes at the thought of who else is in the pile.

‘Now, the bonfire is most powerful when we have physical items to burn, like old love notes or a sweater or something. But it wasn’t practical to cart a whole heap of shit on our holiday, so these photos will have to do. I stalked your Facebook albums.’

Thank God we don’t have any of our highly flammable Year 12 high-school jerseys on hand – one small mercy.

Lizzie takes a step closer to the fire and tilts her face to the moonlit sky.

‘I release you, Zane, and all the hang-ups you gave me about my body,’ Lizzie declares. ‘Luckily, Rob doesn’t care about my tummy-jiggles or if my armpits or legs are shaved. But most importantly, I don’t either!’ She scrunches the paper into a tight ball and tosses it into the fire.

Immediately, the air is filled with the distinct aroma of sharp woodiness and charred fibres.

Grace is next up – Lizzie hands her a wad of paper and Grace delivers an impassioned monologue about the lessons she’s learned from each relationship, before throwing her harem of ex-girlfriends into the flames.

I’m clapping and whooping enthusiastically, trying to avoid eye contact with Lizzie when she thrusts a piece of paper into my hands.

I look down to see Luke staring back at me and my head snaps back up. It’s a super-old photo from Toby’s primary school graduation.

‘I thought this was more of an “active wounds” only activity,’ I say, extending my hand to try to pass Luke back to Lizzie. She turns away from me. ‘Honestly, guys, I don’t want to waste any of the bonfire’s healing juju when this is really not needed,’ I protest.

Our relationship ended eight whole years ago, only a few months after we found out about Dad. I’d made the mistake of moving in with him before realising that my boyfriend of almost three years was incapable of providing the support I needed. Instead of being there to talk through what the shock diagnosis meant for my family, and while I made the tough decision to drop out of my master’s in film studies and stick to my more reliable school teaching job, Luke outsourced all my fears to his voicemail while he gave the extra care and attention that I craved to endless rounds at the pub. He now only serves as a reminder that my life has become too serious for any partner to want to deal with.

I glance at Taylor, hoping to find her supportive gaze.

‘Throw it in, Ands,’ she sighs.

‘Fine,’ I huff. I’d rather get it over and done with so we can move on.

I ball up Luke’s stupid, loser face and hurl it towards the flames.

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