Page 56 of That Island Feeling

‘You should call up Gwyneth and ask her,’ I snark.

I am in high spirits after my beach dinner with Jack – despite it not ending exactly the way I would have liked – but I also have no patience for Richie’s bullshit.

A hush falls over the group as they feast on their burgers, and I steal a couple of chips off Taylor’s plate.

‘This patty is so dry,’ Richie complains as he goes back for another bite.

His words grate on me. The nerve in complaining about food he didn’t even have to lift a finger for – delivered to him at almost 10 p.m.! I purse my lips, feeling a surge of defensiveness.

‘You seem to be managing,’ I remark sweetly, casting a glance at the half-eaten burger. But Richie has already turned away, joining a discussion between Garth and the girls.

‘Sorry about him,’ Ben says. He’s sitting next to me instead of Taylor for a change. ‘He does mean well. He can just get carried away sometimes.’

‘Really?’ I groan. ‘You think he actually means well?!’

‘Sorry, I’m a therapist by trade, so I can see all of his unprocessed trauma.’

‘Mm,’ I murmur, not convinced.

‘What do you do yourself?’ he asks.

‘Kindergarten teacher.’

‘Nice. You enjoy it?’

‘I do.’ I really do. Following my parents into the education field seemed logical, and becoming a kindergarten teacher was a natural fit after years of helping out with Toby. But that doesn’t mean I never had other aspirations. I enjoyed studying film for as long as I did. Life just had other plans.

‘I can tell you’d be a natural at it,’ he remarks.

‘Really?’ I ask, suspicious and surprised.

‘Sorry, that’s probably weird to hear. Mel always tells me to stop therapising random people I meet,’ he adds.

‘Mel’s the fiancée? She sounds wise.’

Ben’s eyes light up. ‘She’s the best. I can’t wait to marry her.’

‘And she’s cool with your week-long boys’ trip?’

‘Yeah. She’s in Fiji having the time of her life with her bridesmaids. Sunset party cruises, pina coladas every night, that sort of thing – you ladies know how it goes.’

Perhaps I have the wrong idea about Ben – he seems pretty harmless.

As the hours stretch on, the night once again plunges into debauchery, culminating in a migration to the hot tub and the reappearance of the karaoke machine. At first, I fret over the proximity of the karaoke machine to the spa water, envisioning a potential hairdryer-in-the-bathtub scenario, before deciding to fully embrace the reckless holiday fun – though this time, I have enough sense to decline the tequila the girls want to pour directly down my throat.

We’re making so much noise, belting out ‘You’re So Vain’ at the top of our lungs, that we don’t hear Bob, accompanied by a woman, creep around the side of the house and into the back garden.

‘I’ve got half a mind to call the Port Hope police and report you for noise pollution,’ Bob barks at us.

A flood of water whooshes over the lip of the spa as we leap up.

‘Your screeching has had Beryl and I tossing and turning for the past hour.’

I slump my shoulders and sink back down into the bubbles. Someone else can deal with this: I’m silently praying I won’t be summoned to the station for fingerprinting in connection with missing Chupa Chups.

Chapter Twenty-five

JACK

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