Chapter One – Andie
Chapter One
ANDIE
P OP!
The sound is different to the eager pop of the Bollinger that had bubbled so hopefully in our glasses at Taylor and Mitch’s wedding reception eighteen months ago. This sound, although still somewhat hopeful, is hollowed, as though it’s already weary from the responsibility of punctuating Taylor’s new chapter.
‘I’m so glad we made this trip happen,’ I say, squeezing my best friend around the waist. ‘You’re absolutely glowing,’ I add, admiring her shiny blonde hair and cute sundress – the super-short kind I can’t wear without my kindergarteners running their small hands up and down my prickly legs, their fingers the incy wincy spiders.
‘Thanks, Andie.’ I catch a faint glimpse of a smile.
Taylor is the yin to my yang, the Cher to my Dionne, the Carrie to my Miranda. I hate thinking about what that arsehole Mitch must have put her through this past year. With the divorce finalised just two weeks ago, she truly deserves this holiday.
I pour the honey-coloured fizz into our glasses. ‘Drinks are up!’
Grace and Lizzie answer the primal girls’ trip call, leaping off their sun lounges and bounding over to our patio table by the pool’s edge.
Lizzie reaches us first. Growing up as the youngest of four siblings has instilled in her a perpetual fear of ‘missing out’, and parenting twins for the past three years has only intensified that feeling. Grace saunters behind her, her wrist still adorned with a fluorescent band from whatever last night’s escapades involved. To say that we’ve all been in different seasons of life is an understatement, which is why it feels like a minor miracle that we’re all here together now.
If we were to each have a season, Grace would undoubtedly be summer. It’s not just her sun-kissed skin; it’s the newly engaged aura she exudes, with life positively sparkling around her. Lizzie embodies winter, bunkered down, enduring the throes of early motherhood – but cosy and caring. Taylor is spring, poised for a magnificent rebirth, and I am autumn. Autumn is a perfectly pleasant season – Nora Ephron’s favourite, no less – if you’re simply passing through. But I remain stuck in life’s rut, surrounded by curled brown leaves, permanently shrivelled and on the brink of falling. It is moments like this, the rare glimpses of warmer notes of tangerine and saffron, that make it bearable.
Picking up my glass, I take in the scene with a satisfied sigh. Moorings, our home for the next week, is even better than it appeared in the photos online. Half an hour ago, when the river boat docked at Pearl Island’s tiny wharf, we loaded our suitcases into wheelbarrows and bumped our way up the leafy hill, then down again to the other side of the island where the sprawling house twinkled in the sunlight. Stepping inside felt like walking into a brochure. With panoramic views of the glittering river from every window, a gourmet kitchen, an expansive outdoor deck, an infinity pool and a hot tub, the waterfront home really does have every possible amenity for seven perfect nights of R it’s made from floating timber boards like those old-timey rafts in American summer camp movies. Or, maybe I’ll just lay out there like a lazy seal, tracking the sun’s movements.
‘Bottoms up!’ Grace sings out as she lifts her glass.
‘Just a sec,’ I interrupt. ‘I’ve prepared a quick toast.’
I catch her unsubtle eye roll in Taylor’s direction.
Shit. How have I messed up already? I thought I’d planned everything to perfection.
‘Well, girls.’ I hold my glass aloft, ignoring their exasperated expressions and my sloshing stomach. Public speaking used to be my forte, but that feels like a lifetime ago now. It might have posed a challenge if I’d stuck with a career in the arts, but it turns out it’s not an issue as a kindergarten teacher. Thankfully, five-year-olds don’t seem to intimidate me in the same way adults do – even on rainy days when they’re cooped up inside, acting particularly feral.
I clear my throat. ‘Thanks for making the effort to be here this week. For arranging the time off work – especially you, Liz, with your kid-wrangling. I know it’s not easy, but Taylor – we – truly appreciate it.’ I steal a glance at Taylor, and she responds with a weak nod.
‘I might say a couple of words too,’ Lizzie announces suddenly, stepping up onto one of the chairs.
I stifle a relieved sigh. Girls’ trip back on track.
This is the first real holiday I’ve taken since Dad’s dementia diagnosis. Even Taylor and Mitch’s destination wedding down the coast was a whirlwind one-night celebration. With Mum having passed only six months prior, there was no space for an extended getaway – it was straight back home.
‘To mums going wild!’ Lizzie cheers, bending down to clink glasses with each of us.
‘To divorcees and fiancées going wilder!’ Grace cries back.
I laugh nervously. We’ve paid two thousand dollars in bond and I plan on getting every cent of it back. I remind myself that Lizzie’s definition of ‘wild’ is washing her whites with colours. Grace has always been a looser cannon, but in recent months, Maeve and the new rock on her fourth finger have done a good job of keeping her better tethered.
‘We’re going to have so much fun!’ I exclaim. ‘An entire week of vision-boarding, chick flicks, swimming, oysters and wine. And we get to enjoy it all with this as our backyard.’ I gesture to our stunning surrounds.
I can hardly wait for the endless sunshine, moonlit evenings and the infinite D&Ms of the week to come.
The spectacular summer day soon transforms into a spectacular summer night. The moonlight shines down on the river, turning the water a golden champagne colour. Fitting, given the number of bottles we’ve consumed.
Unsurprisingly, our carefully packed suitcases remain untouched, and we end up in the pool. The last of our inhibitions vanish – along with our swimsuits. It feels like I’m finally shedding my grief cloak and slipping into something more comfortable – an older model of me.
‘An-die!’ Taylor sing-songs, proffering her glass. ‘Refill, please!’
There’s glassware in the pool. The thought cuts through my alcohol-buzzed brain. We agreed we wouldn’t have any glassware in the pool.
Andie, it’s not important. We’re having fun.
I roll off my lemon inflatable into the shock of cold water and paddle quickly to the edge, my speed increasing at the thought of glass shards attacking me like tiny piranhas.
Wrapping a towel around my body, I shuffle inside, making a beeline for the stack of plastic cups on the kitchen bench. I work slowly, one hand needed to keep my towel in place, as I fill four cups. Just as I finish, there’s a loud knock at the door.
I freeze, hoping whoever is there will disappear, when they knock again. It’s only 8 p.m., so surely it’s not a noise complaint.
Moving cautiously, I approach the door and open it a crack.
‘Oh, hey,’ I breathe, my shoulders relaxing as I recognise the set of sea-green eyes staring back at me and swing the door all the way open.
‘Hey.’ The captain’s voice is rough and gravelly and bumps over me like a tractor on a ploughed field, causing my stomach to do this weird seesawing thing. ‘You left this on board,’ he says, nodding to the karaoke box in his muscular arms.
‘Whoops. Thanks.’ I step forward to retrieve it, but pause as I remember that I need one hand on my towel.
Shit, that was a close call.
‘Do you mind setting it down over –’ I stop as three men step out from the shadows behind him.
Both hands fly to my mouth as I scream.