Page 75 of That Island Feeling

‘Okay. I just want to make sure you’re having the best trip.’

‘I’m having a fabulous time,’ she confirms. ‘All thanks to you.’ She draws me in for a hug.

‘Good. Because that’s the whole point,’ I say as I pull back, catching her features lit up. She almost looks back to her glowy, pre-divorce self.

‘Listen, how about I sort our coffees and you can go back to bed,’ Taylor says. ‘Because lord knows you didn’t get a wink of sleep last night!’

Chapter Thirty-one

JACK

Keith arrives on my doorstep with a swag in hand. I’ve just finished tidying up last night’s dishes and pocketed Andie’s note.

‘Well, well, well. Look what the river dragged in,’ I say, pulling the door open, relief flooding me at the sight of his toothy grin. After receiving Alec’s email with the oyster farm offer, I’d finally sent him an SOS, though I wasn’t sure if he’d come – not that he’s ever let me down.

‘Had no choice but to show up here, didn’t I? What with that bunch that’s taken over my house like a bloody locust plague.’

‘Two more nights and you’ll have your place back,’ I laugh. ‘You can crash with me. We can top and tail.’

‘Don’t be daft. I’ll bunk in Hazel’s spare room – if she’ll have me.’

‘You know she’ll always have you, Keith.’

Mum and Keith spent thirteen years together – my entire adolescence – and while he’s the only father I’ve known, he’s also remained Mum’s surrogate husband. Their friendship even survived the Billy years.

Keith wraps his arms around me, and I have to stop myself from bawling.

‘I’ve only been gone six months,’ he remarks as we step into the cabin. ‘Ah, home sweet home.’ His wise eyes drink in the familiar surroundings. He’s spent nearly as much time in this space as I have. Throughout harvest, it was our refuge from the harsh midday sun and the biting cold winter days. It still feels a bit weird to live here permanently.

‘New pieces?’ Keith drops his swag and walks over to the table to inspect the smattering of oyster shells.

He pulls out a chair, groaning slightly as he sits down. At seventy, he’s not as agile as he used to be.

‘Yeah, they’re going to be,’ I say, taking a seat opposite him. ‘Still haven’t made a sale.’ I laugh, reminding myself that I started this as therapy, nothing more. Perhaps, at one stage, there was some deluded part of me that thought my little craft project could help save our island, but those dreams have since faded away. Objectively, I’m sure my work is no better than the creations glued together in Andie’s kindergarten classroom.

‘So, what else is new?’ Keith asks, rubbing a hand over a leathery knee.

I briefly consider keeping the mood cheerful and telling him about Andie – I know he’d be delighted for me – but I need to tell him about Alec’s plans. It’s a weight that’s become almost unbearable for me to shoulder alone.

‘Well, I spoke to –’

‘Ooft, isn’t she a beauty!’ Keith interrupts, plucking a piece of oyster shell from my pile and turning it between his fingers to inspect it. It catches the bright morning light streaming through the glass doors, the shimmering iridescent colours moving and glittering as he rotates the shell. ‘Still the most special oysters to populate the globe, if you ask me. You tell me another specimen that throws out colours this brilliant, with flesh as delicious as a salty sweet scallop.’

Keith always loved regaling me with tales of the marine biology students who came to the island to study our oyster reefs. His enthusiasm now only makes it harder to break the news to him.

‘So come on, out with it! What’s this at the tip of your tongue, then? You haven’t even offered me a cold drink. I can tell something is up from that god-awful look on your face.’

Why did I ever think I could fool the man I’ve spent more hours with than I have alone?

‘Would you like a coffee?’ I ask as I work out exactly how to phrase the news.

‘Nah, better not. The doc says I should stick to water only. Eight glasses a day to try to help flush out the toxins, or something or other.’ Keith chuckles. ‘I wouldn’t say no to a shot of breakfast vodka, though,’ he adds as I stand to fetch us some water.

‘Ha. Good try, old man.’

Once we’ve chugged our glasses, Keith turns to me.

‘Alright, hit me with it. There was no way of missing those ugly resort buildings on the way in here. Even from the water’s edge, you could see those pompous black jet skis all lined up on the beach like bloody rottweilers.’

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