Page 87 of That Island Feeling

For a while, we’re content, slurping and sipping, our gazes occasionally meeting over the flickering candle flame, until I decide to break the silence.

‘So, your mum mentioned she used to come here with Billy for their anniversary. Did you and Clara ever come here for yours?’

What the hell, Andie!

Jack bristles ever so slightly before replying. ‘Nope. Never.’

‘Sorry, I’m not sure where that came from. Just from what I’ve heard I assume you guys were a thing, but it’s none of my business,’ I say, chasing down my regret with a succession of large wine gulps. Why does it matter to me? Jack Cooper is a holiday fling. His personal life should be of no relevance to me.

‘No, I’m happy to share. It’s what you would call a unique situation.’

‘Oh?’ I try to appear unfazed.

‘There used to be something between us when we were kids; at least we thought so – or, more accurately, Mum and Hannah hoped so. But it became clear once we hit our twenties that we were very different people who wanted very different things. We’re still good friends, but nothing more. Clara always struggled with being a big fish in a small pond, whereas I love my small pond. She was all set to move to Sydney when Hannah got sick. So, she stayed put and I moved into Moorings to help out. With the MS, lots of muscle was needed to take care of her.’

‘Where was Tom?’

‘Tom struggled pretty badly with Hannah’s deterioration. He moved to Sydney and went to uni for a bit – until I guess the guilt finally got to him and he moved back closer to home and found work here.’

My heart squeezes. So Jack and Clara were all about helping out Hannah . . .

‘That’s really amazing of you, Jack.’

‘Ah, not really. I was happy to, and it made Mum happy too,’ he replies, shrugging off my compliment. But then his expression intensifies. ‘And we both know that it’s nothing you wouldn’t have done yourself, Andie.’

Our eyes lock and it feels like he’s peering into the core of who I am. Is this why we connected so quickly? Not only because of the physical attraction, but because our souls recognised a kindred spirit. The parallels between our lives feels deeply unsettling.

OH NO.

I wince as the realisation hits me.

This is definitely more than a holiday fling now.

REAL LIFE

Three Months Before

Chapter Thirty-five

ANDIE

It’s only October – the jacarandas haven’t even bloomed – yet I’m already dreading the heat and humidity to come. The pungent smell of sticky, hot bitumen that never really leaves your nostrils. Scalding monkey bars dishing out third-degree burns willy-nilly, melted school shoes and dehydrated, bad-tempered kids. Our public schools – and aged-care homes – are unfortunately not known for their state-of-the-art cooling and heating systems.

As I turn the key in the lock of the demountable – my temporary classroom while the new school block is being built – I’m suddenly gripped by a vivid image of the funeral. The heart-wrenching sight of her being lowered into the ground. Dad’s anguished face, looking at the coffin like he wanted to jump in after it – as though he believed a better life awaited him under the dirt.

I’m aware that grief isn’t linear, but nearly two years have passed, so why this memory now? Maybe it’s the solid structure and sharp angles of the demountable that have triggered today’s flashbacks, the way it echoes the coffin’s cold, rigid shape. Or perhaps it’s the stifling, claustrophobic space.

I’ll have to get another of those portable air conditioners I purchased for Dad last summer for the classroom. Dad gets extra agitated when the temperature is uncomfortably hot or cold. What he needs is salt-rich air, clear skies and vitamin D – what he got for the price of our family home was a beige box not much bigger than a coffin.

As I walk to my car, the only one left in the parking lot, my phone buzzes. I glance down expecting to see a Storytime app prompt for the weekly session I still attempt with Dad, or a message from Toby, or Taylor. But on the screen blinks a new reminder: Chemist for Dad’s meds.

My laboured sigh echoes through the empty car park.

It’s been such a busy term, and I’m exhausted, especially after staying so late setting up the zoo-themed STEM activity for tomorrow. But all that fiddling with cutting shapes and sorting Paddle Pop sticks and empty toilet rolls will be worth it once I see the excited look on my students’ faces when they learn they’ll be gluing together a habitat for fairy penguins. That is, until I have to teach them said habitat is under threat of destruction.

For the first time ever, I was actually considering skipping my visit to Dad tonight and going straight home to flop on the couch and watch Notting Hill.

But now, not only will I be visiting Dad, I also have to make a detour via the chemist on a busy Thursday late-night shopping night.

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