Page 95 of That Island Feeling

‘Sorry, I sprung myself on him too,’ Keith says. ‘When I saw you two in the distance, it took me back over three decades – to a time before you were here, son. There was a tourist couple who spent an entire week out on this pontoon. The girl, Lily was her name, was as naked as the day she was born.’

My heart feels like it rockets out of my chest.

‘The strangest thing of all was that she always had a pillow out here. No swimsuit, only a pillow for her head. Left quite the impression – was the talk of the island for months. It’s why you’ll often hear us oldies call the pontoon “the lily pad”.’

I tune out the rest of the conversation. Keith seems like a lovely man, and I can see why Jack adores him, but my attention is fixed on the weathered timber boards beneath me as my mind races.

When Keith finally paddles away, promising to see us at Hazel’s later, Jack turns to me, his face tender. ‘It was them, wasn’t it?’

I manage a nod. ‘I think so.’

Jack pulls me close, and I rest my head on his chest while he strokes my hair.

There is no point fighting it. Too many signs have pointed us here – and we’re sitting (floating) right on top of one.

‘I’ll make us bacon-and-egg sandwiches for sunrise tomorrow,’ Jack murmurs.

I smile up at him, giddy with the realisation that this island life might actually be real life.

Chapter Forty-three

ANDIE

‘Grace! Can you blow those candles out up there?’ I call from the bottom of the staircase.

We’re running late for Hazel’s documentary premiere, so I want to get going ASAP, but I also don’t want to burn Moorings down on our final evening. It’s hard to believe that tonight is our seventh night here, and we’ll be heading home in the morning.

Grace comes bounding down the stairs, with Lizzie behind her.

‘Wow! Ands,’ Lizzie gushes.

‘You like?’ I ask, giving a twirl. I’m in Mum’s sunshine-coloured blazer, which I had intended to wear to brunch at the River Brasserie. I love that I’m wearing it to our neighbour’s house instead – someone who, in just a week, has started to feel a lot like family.

‘You look like an assistant director,’ Grace echoes.

‘Ha. Let’s not get ahead of ourselves,’ I say.

‘Has helping out with this project made you miss your film stuff?’ Lizzie asks.

I shrug. ‘Yeah, a bit,’ I answer honestly. I’ve been giving it a lot of thought over the past few days. I’ve even considered enrolling in a part-time online course, alongside my teaching. But I’m not sure how much spare time I’ll have, especially if I’m going to try to keep seeing Jack . . . Though I’m getting ahead of myself. First and foremost, I want to get back to Dad and check he’s okay. Toby has continued being hopeless with messages, so it’s not like I can permanently pass along any responsibility to him.

‘Well, if you want our two cents, we think you should seriously consider it. We know you’re a great teacher, but these last couple of days, you’ve been sparkling. Or maybe that’s Jack’s influence . . .’ Grace elbows Lizzie, and they dissolve into giggles.

As silly as they’re being, I know that it’s true. I’m no longer seeing the world in autumn greys and browns; it’s shifted towards tangerines, saffrons – even sunshiny yellows. The challenge lies in seeing if these colours will bleed into the real world.

‘Come on, let’s go. Taylor’s meeting us there.’

She messaged earlier to say she and Mitch were still chatting. Neither Grace nor Lizzie seemed surprised by that fact. It makes me wonder how long they’ve known about the reason for Taylor’s break-up.

Hazel’s house is bursting at the seams when we arrive. Jack and I lock eyes across the crowded room, and he flashes me a huge, shiny-salmon grin. He’s squeezed into one of the far corners, wedged between a patterned chaise and an Art Deco floor lamp. The jumble sale has made its comeback. The floral fabric shade hovers above his head like a hat, as if he decided to dress in his mother’s river furniture. I’m torn between laughing and admiring how incredibly sexy he looks in that suit – probably from the Milan suitcase. It fits him so well, like really well, as if it were tailored specifically for his broad shoulders and not some Romeo’s.

He winks at me, sending a tingle of warmth through my body. The thought of an ‘us’ off of this island still feels surreal. What will Toby think? How do I even introduce him to Dad? Is he my boyfriend, or are we just dating? There’s been no one since Luke eight years ago, so I’ve forgotten all the rules.

But we can discuss everything in bed tonight, or beneath the blazing canopy of my last island sunrise.

The room is so full that I still can’t make my way to Jack as elbows jostle for a prime position to view the show. Hazel has kept her promise: this event could give the Oscars a run for its money. A sea of red roses, all sacrifices from Hazel’s garden, decorates the space, and a special wreath of lilies and gum leaves hangs on the wall, encircling the yin–yang artwork. I picture my own bunch of lilies sitting in a jug on my nightstand back at Moorings.

Bottles of white wine have been cracked open, and trays of bruschetta and smoked salmon canapés with creamy brie and berry compote circulate around the room.

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