Page 98 of That Island Feeling

‘I know. And I am sorry about that, Jackie. I never planned to use it, truly. It’s just that one thing Andie said really stuck with me: we respond best to real, human stories, and they’re rarely the ones that come neatly packaged. The documentary turned out better for it, but you’re right – I should have checked with you first.’

My head swims. I can picture Andie saying something like that. She’s insightful about many things – about real life, not just her movies.

‘It’s okay, Mum.’ I scrape my hands through my hair.

‘So, no talent demanding the project be pulled?’

I chuckle. ‘No. Although I’d appreciate a release form next time.’

‘Well, that’s a relief, because I have a good feeling about this . . .’ she trails off, patting me on the arm to move me aside, then reaches past me for a pair of wine glasses. She fills them and hands them to me. ‘Here, take these and go find her.’

‘Thanks, Mum.’ I pause at the door and look at her, my heart tugging as a wisp of breeze flutters the red scarf around her head.

‘Remember, the full painfully beautiful story, Jack.’

I carry the wine into the living room to find it still jammed with bodies, but there’s no sign of those poodle-curls. God, I hope she hasn’t left!

Turning, I head down the hall, stopping in front of the closed study door as I hear voices drifting out. Setting the wine down on the hallway table, I prepare to give the door a light tap when I hear Andie’s unmistakable tone filter through.

‘I don’t understand, Tay. Why do you think Mitch is what you deserve? I’d rather you be with bloody Ben!’

‘I told you that Ben was helping me work through things – it was about all this stuff with Mitch!’ Taylor’s voice comes loud and sharp. ‘I really don’t need your opinion when you don’t know the half of it.’

My fingers wrap around the cool brass of the doorknob. I should leave, or at least announce my presence. Instead, I press my ear to the door.

‘Try me, Tay,’ Andie says softly. ‘Tell me what’s been going on.’

‘I’ve been trying to for the past year!’ Taylor exclaims.

‘What do you mean?’

‘I’ve tried talking to you so many times, but you’ve fallen so deeply down your grief hole. We’ve all given up reaching you.’

‘That’s not fair . . . we’ve just spent a lovely week together. I know things have become a bit disconnected between us – it’s why I organised this trip.’

‘Yes, seven days of highly organised fun to make sure you tick that box. And to find out now that this was your parents’ honeymoon spot! I’m starting to wonder how much of this is still about what you’re going through, and not about us at all?’

I want to burst in and give Taylor a piece of my mind! How dare she speak to Andie like that? But I force my legs to remain rooted to the spot.

‘Is this about me skipping out on some of the trip because of Jack? I thought you were happy for me?’ Andie’s voice carries out into the hall, my ears pricking up at the mention of my name.

‘No! Andie, listen to yourself . . . we want you to live life again. Just don’t use us as pawns, or one holiday fuck, to make yourself think that you are.’

Holiday fuck? The words echo in my mind, thoughts jangling.

I strain to hear Andie’s protests, but none come. Instead, her voice escalates to an unrecognisable pitch.

‘I organised this trip for you, Taylor. To help you through this, and you’ve thrown it back in my face. Do you know how hard it was for everyone to get time off? This is only the second time I’ve left Dad – the first time was for your wedding, and that was less than six months after my mum died. Don’t lecture me on how I should be dealing with my grief.’

I’ve never heard Andie like this. Yet I’m still caught on Taylor’s earlier words. Holiday fuck. Is that how Andie’s described me?

‘I didn’t even want to go on this damn trip!’ Taylor’s voice rises. ‘I only agreed because you’re the one who needed a bloody holiday. That’s why we encouraged you to go out and get your meaningless sex.’

‘Jack! There you are.’ I jump guiltily at the sound of my mother behind me and quickly move away from the door. ‘I found your bag in the kitchen and I wondered if you had any more sourdough in there? I wasn’t about to rummage through it – your bruschetta has been such a hit, and there’s hardly any left.’

She hands me my backpack as Taylor’s voice escalates again. ‘You need to get a damn life, Andie!’

‘What on earth?’ Mum’s eyebrows shoot up as the door is flung open and Andie rushes out into the hallway.

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