Page 5 of That Island Feeling
‘Moorings?’ She’s finished wiping the seats and is folding the damp towel into squares.
Ah, so these are Clara’s guests. An unsettled feeling rushes to my chest as my body reacts to the casual name-drop of a place that means so much to me. It’s been rented out for a few months now, but it’s still odd to have strangers waltzing in and out. I’m happy to clean up after them, but I haven’t decided if it’s better or worse when I meet them.
I clear my throat. ‘Really nice spot. Make sure you grab wheelbarrows at the wharf for all of this, then.’ I point to the small village of suitcases I’ve strapped to the bow. Clara taught me better than to comment on the amount of luggage women bring on holidays, but seriously, what could they possibly need aside from a couple of pairs of bathers and a few sundresses? ‘And be sure to return them when you’re done,’ I continue. ‘Otherwise Bob will hunt you down. There are island eyes everywhere.’
Andie smiles. ‘Thanks for the tip.’
‘I’d help you but I have another couple of trips to make before I knock off.’
The island boat doesn’t typically operate as a water taxi, but I’ve also vowed to do whatever it takes to try to keep this island and its 329.5 residents (a new Farley is due any day now) afloat. Tourism has almost completely dried up, and without our oyster industry, things are dire. I’m doing what I can, but guilt and shame gnaw at me relentlessly.
We dock to some more splashes and delighted squeals, and I swing the suitcases off two at a time and set them on the wharf. I’m putting the boat into reverse when I spot an item tucked under one of the seats. It’s the karaoke machine I intercepted from Andie when she boarded. I move to retrieve it before changing my mind, and instead use my foot to nudge it further out of sight.
The island may be small, but it’s nice to have a guarantee that I’ll see her again.
ISLAND LIFE
Chapter Four
ANDIE
I catch my beach towel a fevered beat before it slips down and hug it closely to my chest, my pulse thudding in my ears as the men loom at the front door.
‘Holy shit! Who ordered the entertainment?’ The voice belongs to the tallest guy, shouldering a slab of beer.
A man in a full tuxedo steps forward, frowning. ‘You really shouldn’t have, Richie. Seriously. It was one of Mel’s deal-breakers.’
‘Andie! Why did you scr–’ Taylor barrels through the back door and skids to a halt. She has failed to grab a towel.
I look at the men, horrified. The captain’s face immediately blooms pink, a hand shooting up to shield his eyes, while ‘Richie’ stares at Taylor’s nipples. They’re like ripe, red cherries atop generous sundaes.
He wolf-whistles. ‘Was it two for the price of one?’ he asks, turning to a third man. ‘Garth, you sneaky devil! Did you organise this?’
I want to give my towel to Taylor, but then I’ll be the one left standing in my birthday suit.
‘What’s going on?!’ Taylor shrieks, moving her hand to cover her light puff of golden pubic hair.
‘He thinks we’re strippers,’ I hiss.
‘Ah – er, girls, there seems to have been a mix-up with the booking,’ the captain stammers.
I found Moorings on Airbnb just three weeks ago. It was a ‘rare gem’, a ‘typically booked at this time’ property. By some divine intervention, I managed to rally the girls over our group chat and secured the booking that evening. As agreed, our host, Clara, left the key in a lockbox at the side of the house, so we haven’t even met her. Imagine if this is some kind of scam?!
Obnoxious Richie’s brow furrows. ‘I don’t understand. So you lot aren’t here for Ben?’
‘Who’s Ben?’ Taylor asks over my shoulder. I’ve moved in front of her and she’s cowering behind me.
‘Sorry, that would be me.’ The tuxedo-clad man raises a reluctant hand. ‘The buck.’
The captain clears his throat. He no longer appears frazzled; his shoulders are relaxed and his expression calm. ‘Gents, what do you say to cracking a few cold ones out the back and letting these ladies get themselves sorted while we work out what’s happened.’
We lock eyes. ‘Thank you,’ I mouth.
The men traipse through the house, following the captain, leaving Taylor and me in the kitchen, clinging to each other.
‘This pad is gonna be a chick magnet!’ Richie’s irritating voice booms. Moments later, he shouts, ‘WOAH, THERE’S MORE OF YOU!’
Oh my God, Grace and Lizzie!