Page 47 of That Island Feeling

I step down into the boat and offer Andie my hand. ‘Ms Alcott?’

She’s still holding her Chupa Chup, so boarding turns into a comical one-handed manoeuvre. After a couple of false starts, we finally manage it.

Once Andie’s safely seated, I pass her a life jacket, taking care not to disturb the overflowing pile that hides the picnic basket I stowed there earlier.

‘Ah, tell me this isn’t the Titanic package,’ Andie says, slipping the bright orange vest over her shoulders.

‘Absolutely not.’ I love our playful banter, but above all I want to make sure that she’s comfortable. ‘We’re not going far,’ I reassure her as I pull in the anchor and start the motor. ‘Just some place you can’t reach on foot.’

‘Okay . . .’

‘Do you trust me?’

My eyes are thankfully on the river as I carefully back out of our mooring and swing the boat around. Either response from her has the potential to rattle me.

‘I think so.’

My heartbeat quickens as the boat accelerates out into the open water.

‘Good. Then sit back and enjoy the ride,’ I announce.

Unfortunately, we have to pass the old oyster farm on the way out to the mouth of the river.

‘What’s over there?’ Andie asks, pointing at the plastic farm poles poking out of the water, as out of place as cheap supermarket candles on a homemade cake.

‘Ah, that’s the oyster leases.’

I consider elaborating further, but it’s so depressing. For the time being, I’d rather stick with the light-hearted, carefree version of myself who plays pranks and makes Andie laugh. Thankfully, her focus has shifted to the weird rock formation shaped like a turnip.

Once we get past the farm, it’s bumpier than I expected. The wind has picked up and whips the water into sharp peaks, like well-beaten cream. I do my best to avoid the waves, but it still feels like we’ve set sail in the stubborn-stain cycle of a washing machine. I steal a glance at Andie, feeling guilty I haven’t provided the smooth journey I promised. Her curls dance wildly around, but her head remains still, gaze fixed on the horizon – like she’s feeling seasick.

‘Here, suck on this.’ Her lollipop has vanished, so I retrieve mine from the pocket of my board shorts and pass it to her.

‘Thanks.’

Andie sucks diligently, her face turned upwards to welcome the refreshing sea breeze, while I navigate the turbulent waters.

A few minutes later we glide into a sheltered cove. As soon as we round the rocky outcrop, the winds ease and the late-afternoon sun shines down on the tranquil waters, transforming it into a mesmerising sea of glittery turquoise.

‘Wow,’ Andie gushes as I cut the engine and drift to a stop. As anticipated, there’s only a handful of boats dotted around us – the decline in tourism does have its benefits when searching for a secluded spot to impress a girl.

I turn and grin. ‘Feeling any better?’

‘Oh, I was feeling fine,’ she says with a grin. ‘I’m just a sugar fiend.’

I shake my head. ‘Unbelievable! Now who UNO Reversed who?’

‘What is this place?’ she asks, eyes shining.

‘Pearl Cove.’

‘It’s stunning.’ She retrieves her phone and starts recording. I can’t wait for her to see the sunset. I’ve timed our arrival perfectly.

‘Do you want me to take a pic of you?’ I ask. ‘With your phone, not mine. We want to be able to distinguish your eyes from your nose.’

‘Ha. No, it’s okay, thanks. I’m just capturing some of the scenery for my dad.’

I release the anchor and await the satisfying clang as it makes contact with the riverbed.

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