Page 78 of That Island Feeling

Holiday hook-up rule number nine: Try to play it at least a little bit cool.

Mm. Let me think.

Yes. There’s a good chance that I am. x

I want to fast-forward to the moment when I’m back in his cosy cabin. Knowing we only have two nights left, I’m relieved we can skip all of the formalities and go straight to bed.

At 1.55 p.m., I’m sitting with the girls on the sand, slathered in sunscreen and with hats pulled over our ears, waiting for Jack. Taylor’s in her new fluoro sun visor from Charlie’s, which she has surprisingly embraced, declaring she’s in her ‘ugly-cool ’90s era’. She’s still in a very good mood, scraping her fingers through the sand and patting it down into neat mounds to form a sandcastle. As we wait for Jack, we all join in carving out little windows and doors and adorning it with shells.

I’m deep in concentration, digging a moat, when Lizzie screams. My head snaps up to see Jack stroking towards us, towing another board behind him, with Izzie sitting at the front of his board like a well-behaved pup, captaining the expedition.

It’s quite the sight, but it’s also super adorable.

Lizzie is still screeching as Jack glides onto shore. As he hops off the board, Izzie leaps into the water after him, then scampers up the sand.

‘You’re welcome for the lift,’ he calls, laughing as he shakes his head.

‘No! Get away, get away!’ Lizzie screams on a loop as Izzie races down the beach towards Moorings.

She finally calms down when Izzie disappears around the side of the house. ‘Oh, thank fuck,’ she breathes.

‘Apparently there was an incident at the house last night,’ I translate for Jack. My mind flashes with images of our Godzilla encounter – Jack’s shoulders bare and inviting while Izzie made herself comfy in our underwear. ‘Unfortunately, the dog door is no longer. Tom hammered it closed.’

I feel as though I’m delivering news of far greater significance than a simple DIY job. Judging by the pained look on Jack’s face, like a rusty nail has been hammered into his heart, it seems I haven’t overestimated how protective he is of Hannah’s house. Although, I’m sure his expression has more to do with a memory involving Clara than the obstacle now in the way of my next bacon-and-egg bap delivery. Now I’m even more curious about the exact nature of their past relationship, and when and why it ended.

‘Yeah, so just try getting into our fortress now, you little fucker!’ Lizzie cries.

‘I’m sure it’s reversible,’ I say hurriedly. ‘You can open it back up again in two days once we’re gone.’

Jack’s eyes darken to forest green.

‘Should we get this show on the road?’ I say, feeling an urgent need to rekindle the brightness in his eyes. ‘Or, should I say, this show on the river?’

Gah, that was awful, Andie.

Jack returns from wherever his mind has been wandering. ‘Yeah, let’s do it.’ He pulls the other board up on the sand, crushing our misshapen castle. ‘Whoops, sorry.’ He offers a lopsided grin.

Suddenly, I’m on the beach with little Jack whooping and hollering for joy as he dashes back to Hazel, a bucket brimming with water in hand. He accidentally splashes her, sending refreshing droplets scattering across her red halter-neck swimsuit. It’s easy to imagine him burying her in the sand, too.

Get a grip, Andie.

Now I’m the one lost to memories that I don’t own, and that likely are completely fabricated. I tune back into Jack’s voice.

‘I could only manage one extra board, so you’ll have to take turns,’ he’s saying.

We sit cross-legged on the sand like gold-star students, watching Jack’s lengthy demonstration. How to use the leash, how to ensure the paddle is facing the right way, how to hold the paddle, how to efficiently scoop the water, how to paddle with your core, how to stand up, how to fall off the board correctly, and so on and so on.

I’m content admiring Jack’s muscular arms expertly slicing the air with his paddle as he models good technique and explains that those in the know call stand-up paddleboarding, ‘SUPing’. I start daydreaming about tonight, when those same arms will be wrapped around me, but I’m impressed with the girls’ unwavering focus. It’s rare to see them sit so still; they didn’t do that even at school mass back in the day – actually, especially not at school mass. Perhaps it’s our shared competitive streak resurfacing. Lizzie competed at state level gymnastics, so I expect her to excel at SUPing, whereas I always struggled to stay upright on the balance beam.

‘You lucky thing,’ she hisses at me as Jack finishes the lesson.

So the eye candy has been fuelling the girls’ impressive attention span too.

Earlier, over a quiche Taylor made, I brought Lizzie and Grace up to speed on my cabin escapades. I’m grateful that so far, no one has been a fool in front of Jack about it.

‘Right. We have a double, and one on the board with me. Someone will need to wait on the beach,’ Jack announces.

Taylor springs to her feet and pulls me up with her, practically flinging me at Jack. ‘Take your girl. I’ll wait here.’

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