Page 6 of That Island Feeling
My heart sinks as I picture them, bobbing in the pool like peeled apples.
Someone – the captain, I assume – has left a tower of fluffy towels on the bottom step.
Once the girls’ private bits are safely encased in soft cotton thread, we scurry up to the bedrooms and launch ourselves at our suitcases. What does one wear to confront one’s male intruders? I reach for the lemon dress I was wearing earlier.
Then I look for my phone so I can message Clara and clear up the confusion. Surely she hasn’t managed to let her property out to two sets of guests? After a futile hunt, I decide my phone must be downstairs.
I can feel myself starting to sober up – probably not a bad thing under the circumstances. Obviously I feel responsible for this mess.
‘Are we ready, girls?’
Grace and Lizzie are also back in their travel outfits of linen shirts and pants, looking comfortably casual, while Taylor has changed into a silky dress with spaghetti straps. Clearly one of us is dressing to impress.
‘Which one do you fancy?’ I tease as Taylor applies a swipe of pink lipstick and gives the mirror a satisfied pout. Some flirting is a hallmark of a great girls’ trip.
‘The one in the suit,’ she replies.
The buck?
‘But that captain is pretty cute too.’
My tummy feels a little funny as I link my arm with hers.
Our group winds slowly down the spiral staircase, like we’re descending into battle. Echoes of conversation bounce off the walls. It sounds like the karaoke machine has been plugged in.
As we hover at the living-room entrance, I see that the captain has pulled up one of the dining chairs in front of the fireplace. He’s taken off his cap, revealing a tousled mess of mocha-coloured waves. In his hand is the karaoke mic.
The bucks’ party have parked themselves on one of the lounges, cans of beer in hand and limbs splayed over the cushions and nearby coffee table. They’ve really made themselves at home.
‘Come in!’ the captain bleats through the mic. ‘Wow, this thing’s got some serious punch.’ He grins, amusement streaking through his eyes like tiny rip-tides. ‘Pearl Island is sure going to love the likes of you.’
I was expecting more of a tense atmosphere, not this relaxed vibe. As my eyes follow the microphone cord, they pause just before his bare feet, lingering on his well-defined calves, and a delicious warmth settles in my stomach. It must be all the champagne.
Chapter Five
JACK
‘I’ve contacted Clara,’ I boom into the mic, as the women settle on the lounge opposite the men. They’re eye to eye, separated only by the low coffee table. It feels like I’m refereeing Battle of the Sexes.
Before Andie sits, she scoops up a line of bras draped over the back of the couch and quickly stuffs them down between cushions. The lounge isn’t long enough to seat all four women, so she perches on the arm, crossing her legs. She’s fresh-faced, with her faint freckles more visible without make-up. Her hair, wet and no longer curly, is scraped back into a low ponytail, giving her a look that says, ‘I mean business’.
She startled when the microphone first squeaked to life, but now she’s staring at a spot near my legs.
I thought cracking out the karaoke machine was a genius way to lighten the mood, but all traces of humour have evaporated from the air. I get it. This is probably a nightmare scenario for Andie and her friends.
‘I should probably save the batteries for your midnight renditions of “Bennie and the Jets”,’ I say, placing the microphone down on the floor beside me.
Andie’s head lifts and I’m rewarded with a curious smile. I’ve grown fond of this game.
‘What’s this Clara chick got to do with anything?’ Richie huffs. I’ve almost forgotten we have company. ‘We booked through my man Tom.’
My efforts to pacify the boys with some beers seems to be having little effect. Their excessive drinking prior to their arrival likely has something to do with that. It was a rowdy boat trip over to the island; I had to restrain them from jumping overboard multiple times. When they mentioned they’d be staying at Moorings, I knew I had to try to beat them here to soften the blow of the double-booking. Yet another bloody one. I didn’t realise the boys were right on my heels.
‘Yeah, Tom is Clara’s brother. Don’t worry, I’ve contacted him too.’
It took me five whole minutes to type a series of expletives that would make Gordon Ramsay blush on my old Nokia on my way here. And Tom deserved every last one of them. I can’t believe that he didn’t check in with Clara, or at least mention something to me.
‘I think I know what’s happened here,’ I continue. ‘Clara and Tom aren’t exactly on the same page about their mother’s estate.’