Chapter Fifteen – Andie
Chapter Fifteen
ANDIE
Y ou missed our dinner.
The words flash across my phone screen as I’m battling the bluetooth speakers. I’ve settled on ‘Moonlight Sonata’ by Beethoven, which Google informs me is the perfect soundtrack for a moon circle.
I drift away from the uncooperative speakers and plonk myself on the lounge. Beethoven can wait. The girls are all upstairs changing into comfier clothes anyway. Apparently, the moon prefers us in elasticised pants.
Your dinner invitation was heavy on the aioli, light on the details , I type out.
But was it delicious?
I know that he’s talking about the bacon-and-egg bap, but my grip tightens around my phone as I recall this morning’s river run-in. How his strong arms cut through the water, stroking closer and closer to the house until the tip of his sun-kissed nose practically grazed the balcony railing.
‘Careful or you’ll wash up on shore,’ I sang out.
‘Wouldn’t you be so lucky,’ he called back, stroking closer.
In that moment, a strange urge washed over me to stow his gleaming smile in my pocket like a precious shell.
‘Regrettably, it’s high tide.’ Hazel’s no-nonsense tone broke the spell. Her face was still warm, albeit tinged with a hint of curiosity as to how this city girl was already so well acquainted with her son.
She waved Jack off on the promise he’d return with freshly caught salmon for her pot pie. Half an hour later, after I’d finished rinsing our teacups and plates, I hugged Hazel goodbye. The floorboards of the old river house creaked underfoot as we walked to the front door and I wished her good luck with the documentary.
I’d almost reached Moorings when I realised I’d left the Tupperware behind.
Very delicious , I reply to Jack.
Excellent. So, you’ll agree to dinner take two tomorrow night?
I release a breath. Wow. Just like that .
Just like that. I’m not letting my intentions be overshadowed by the aioli this time.
My stomach does a backflip, before reality swiftly sets in. There’s no way I can go on a date with Jack.
I’d love to , I type, there’s no need to be rude. But unfortunately I’m not free. Tomorrow is spa night .
Along with the regular supermarket sheet masks, I’ve ordered vulva masks from Goop, and I feel a duty of care to be on standby for any emergency dashes to Port Hope Hospital. The masks were touted by Gwyn to ‘brighten and hydrate the vaginal area’, but she’s had very little to say about the reported allergic reactions. They only arrived the day before we left, so there had been no time to facilitate any ‘sensitivity spot checks’ on the labia major.
That’s a shame.
I’ll let you know if something changes , I reply, a faint twinge of regret creeping in.
Please do .
I know that nothing will change: Taylor is my priority right now. But considering how much he’s helped us – helped me – the least I can do is let Jack down gently.
Two hours later our moon circle reaches completion with a singing chant led by Grace.
‘Moon goddess, oh moon goddess, we thank you for your presence and for witnessing these rites, we bid you hail and farewell.’
‘Hail and farewell!’ we repeat in unison.
‘Now for the final sacrament,’ Grace says, rising from her floor cushion and walking clockwise around the circle, swishing the tulle skirt she’s layered over her leggings. ‘The break-up bonfire!’
My eyes narrow. This is not on the itinerary.
‘Don’t worry, Ands. We’ll be taking it outside,’ Grace continues. ‘We don’t need a repeat of that Friends episode. Or maybe we do – fancy a hot fireman?’
My snort of laughter catches me off guard. ‘That depends – what month of the calendar are we talking? They keep the real hotties for the holiday months.’
‘Definitely a December fireman,’ Grace confirms solemnly.
‘You’d actually entertain it?’ Taylor asks as she stands.
‘Dating a hot fireman? Sure, and did I mention that Jacob Elordi and I are grabbing Yo-Chi next week – right after he helps me feed Dad his dinner, showers him and gets him into bed. Incontinence sheet protectors are soooooooo sexy, should really get us in the mood.’
I pause for laughter, but none comes.
‘Hilarious,’ Taylor says eventually. ‘Anyway, let me pee – then we burnnnnn.’
As Taylor disappears into the bathroom, phone in hand – for the fourth time this evening – I turn to Grace and Lizzie. ‘Are you guys worried that she’s getting too close to Ben?’
‘We spoke about this already, Ands,’ Lizzie says, brow lifting. ‘They’re two consenting adults.’
‘Grace?’
I can’t be the only one who cares.
‘I think you need to chill, Ands,’ Grace says. ‘Ben’s a really nice guy. And so what if he is interested in her? I mean who could blame him, she’s beautiful! Plus, he’s the one responsible for where he puts his dick, not her.’
‘I know! Sometimes she doesn’t realise how magnetic she is, though. And I don’t want her doing anything she’ll end up regretting or feeling guilty about – when she’s still dealing with so much from –’
‘Relax, Ands,’ Grace cuts me off. ‘You’re not on playground duty. Sometimes you gotta let the chips fall where they may.’
I shrug, masking my irritation with my best neutral face. ‘Firstly, we’re not woodcutters from the 1800s, and secondly, I’m just saying that where possible we should be encouraging Tay to explore other – more available – options.’
Jack’s name is on the tip of my tongue, but I swallow it back down.
‘Encourage me to explore what available options?’ Taylor demands as she emerges from the bathroom.
‘Ah, what beverage option you’d like to pair with the bonfire?’ I say quickly.
She eyes me suspiciously. ‘Tequila, of course.’
Lizzie sidles up to Taylor’s side and coils an arm around her waist. For a moment I think she’s going to out me, but instead she adopts her Mum voice and starts booming orders.
‘Ands, you sort the drinks; Grace, you see if you can get the fire pit started; I’ll fetch the supplies; and Taylor, you just keep looking pretty. Meet you outside in five?’
When I step out into the backyard with a bottle of tequila in hand and four cups precariously stacked, the fire is already raging.
‘Wow!’ I exclaim, approaching cautiously. I slipped into my sandals on the way out but now realise sneakers would have been the more sensible choice. I wince as the wind carries wayward embers dangerously close to Taylor’s bare feet. If I’d known about this plan, I could have checked the weather app for wind speeds.
‘Isn’t she stunning?’ Grace cries, setting a hand across her heart. ‘I called Maeve earlier. The trick is the log tepee.’
The thick smoke clings to the back of my throat as the flames hungrily lick the air, growing taller with each gust. ‘I’ll fetch us a bucket of water, just in case,’ I say.
‘There’s no time for that,’ Lizzie says briskly. ‘It’s already 9.05 and we need to start in one minute.’
I must look confused.
‘9.06. The devil’s numbers,’ she cackles. ‘If you flip the 9.’
My gaze wanders to Lizzie’s hand, clutching a stack of photo printouts. I recognise the man-boy with the bum-fluff goatee in the picture at the top of the pile – Zane, Lizzie’s high-school boyfriend and her only other boyfriend besides her now-husband Rob.
I didn’t realise anyone other than Taylor would be participating. It’s weird that I wasn’t looped in. And who printed these photos anyway? I’m usually the group’s designated printer.
‘I’ll go first,’ Lizzie continues, reaching for the photo of Zane.
My chest squeezes at the thought of who else is in the pile.
‘Now, the bonfire is most powerful when we have physical items to burn, like old love notes or a sweater or something. But it wasn’t practical to cart a whole heap of shit on our holiday, so these photos will have to do. I stalked your Facebook albums.’
Thank God we don’t have any of our highly flammable Year 12 high-school jerseys on hand – one small mercy.
Lizzie takes a step closer to the fire and tilts her face to the moonlit sky.
‘I release you, Zane, and all the hang-ups you gave me about my body,’ Lizzie declares. ‘Luckily, Rob doesn’t care about my tummy-jiggles or if my armpits or legs are shaved. But most importantly, I don’t either!’ She scrunches the paper into a tight ball and tosses it into the fire.
Immediately, the air is filled with the distinct aroma of sharp woodiness and charred fibres.
Grace is next up – Lizzie hands her a wad of paper and Grace delivers an impassioned monologue about the lessons she’s learned from each relationship, before throwing her harem of ex-girlfriends into the flames.
I’m clapping and whooping enthusiastically, trying to avoid eye contact with Lizzie when she thrusts a piece of paper into my hands.
I look down to see Luke staring back at me and my head snaps back up. It’s a super-old photo from Toby’s primary school graduation.
‘I thought this was more of an “active wounds” only activity,’ I say, extending my hand to try to pass Luke back to Lizzie. She turns away from me. ‘Honestly, guys, I don’t want to waste any of the bonfire’s healing juju when this is really not needed,’ I protest.
Our relationship ended eight whole years ago, only a few months after we found out about Dad. I’d made the mistake of moving in with him before realising that my boyfriend of almost three years was incapable of providing the support I needed. Instead of being there to talk through what the shock diagnosis meant for my family, and while I made the tough decision to drop out of my master’s in film studies and stick to my more reliable school teaching job, Luke outsourced all my fears to his voicemail while he gave the extra care and attention that I craved to endless rounds at the pub. He now only serves as a reminder that my life has become too serious for any partner to want to deal with.
I glance at Taylor, hoping to find her supportive gaze.
‘Throw it in, Ands,’ she sighs.
‘Fine,’ I huff. I’d rather get it over and done with so we can move on.
I ball up Luke’s stupid, loser face and hurl it towards the flames.
‘Well that just leaves you, Taylor,’ I say brightly, stepping back before the blazing heat consumes me. ‘And what we’re all actually here for,’ I remind the group.
‘I’d like to do something a bit different,’ Taylor pipes up, as Mitch’s photo flutters down next to her bare feet.
Her features darken, her eyes gleaming as trembling hands reach down to the shadowy ground. I’m half expecting her to produce an effigy of Mitch, but instead, she retrieves the tequila bottle and, without hesitating, pours the liquid directly onto the fire.
A large whoosh sounds as the alcohol ignites and angry flames rush towards the sky, expanding rapidly into a sphere into a – wait, that’s a fucking fireball!
I sprint towards the double doors to grab the bucket of water that, had I known about this plan in the first place, would have already been waiting.
‘When was it decided that we wanted to be part of The Craft coven?’ I joke, even though my heart is still racing, and my legs feel like jelly. ‘I must have missed that PowerPoint.’ Since I was the owner of all the PowerPoints concerning this trip, I knew that one didn’t exist.
The fire has been extinguished and we’re back inside, swathed in cosy throw blankets on the couch, as if we’ve just been rescued from the sinking Titanic . Who knows how things could have turned out if I hadn’t been so fast to act? It took the Titanic two hours and forty minutes to sink after hitting the iceberg; it was probably even quicker for a house to burn to the ground from the first spark. And it wasn’t our belongings that I thought of first – it was Jack. His affection for Hannah, the owner of Moorings who I’ve now learned was Hazel’s best friend, as well as his responsibility for the house, was evident. I couldn’t very well repay the kindness he’s shown us by returning the key to a pile of burned rubble instead of a house.
‘Ha! I’ll have to tell Maeve that her tepee method was too effective,’ Grace laughs.
‘I think it was Taylor’s tequila that did it,’ Lizzie giggles, snuggling into Taylor’s side.
I don’t understand how they think this is a laughing matter?
‘Let’s not ignore the fact one of us could have been seriously injured,’ I snap. ‘You do realise there’s no hospital on the island.’
Taylor rolls her eyes. ‘You don’t think you’re overreacting, Ands?’
Heat creeps up my neck. Am I? I’m so used to being on guard – watching Toby from such a young age, and later, monitoring every new sign or symptom that indicated Mum or Dad’s diseases had progressed. I’m surprised Lizzie doesn’t seem rattled; her mum mode has clearly switched over to holiday mode.
‘What was your plan with the tequila anyway?’ I ask, partly to change the subject and partly to understand what on earth was going through her mind with that death wish.
‘Obviously she wanted to ensure the bonfire reached the hellish levels Mitch deserves,’ Grace says. Taylor suddenly seems overly interested in the thread count of the blanket.
I fight the impulse to interrogate her further. Time to regroup. ‘Why don’t we have a quiet night in and finally watch one of our movies?’ I ask, already getting up off the couch.
No sooner do I switch on the television than a sudden, high-pitched crack from upstairs makes us jump, and the screen, then the house, goes dark.
‘Should we call someone?’ Lizzie asks from somewhere over near the kitchen. At least I think it’s her. Once the initial panic settled, I discovered our group’s combined secret power – even in the midst of a power outage, we don’t falter from our regular roles. Short of locating a basement and a fuse box, I had slipped into problem-solving mode, while Lizzie and Grace had scattered to the kitchen to get us ‘sustenance’ in the form of wine, and Taylor remained tucked on the couch.
‘So, no one has reception?’ I confirm, glancing down at my phone to see the blinking SOS symbol.
A bird squawks loudly outside, its piercing cry reverberating inside. In the darkness, the wilderness looms larger than ever – the croaking frogs, the chorus of cicadas and the rustle of trees shaking in the ferocious winds that likely caused the blackout in the first place. It’s like the world has turned on itself.
‘Anyone? Taylor?’
The bright glow of her phone screen looks like E.T.’s gleaming fingertip.
‘Huh?’ She looks up in a daze, as if only now realising we’ve been sitting in the pitch-black for the past fifteen minutes. ‘Let me check,’ she says finally.
‘What were you doing?’ I snap.
‘Looking at pictures from my wedding day.’
‘Oh.’ My hard edges instantly soften.
The break-up bonfire would have stirred up some deep emotions.
It wasn’t Taylor’s idea to get a divorce – it was Mitch’s. Taylor has always been adamant there wasn’t a third party involved, but we all had our doubts. Regardless of what went down, Mitch is public enemy number one.
‘Nope. No bars either,’ Taylor says.
‘This is giving very Tomorrow, When the War Began vibes,’ Lizzie says, her voice drawing closer as her shadowy figure floats across the room, the distinct shape of a wine bottle tucked under her arm.
I’ve relit our moon circle candles. The space is too large for them to throw out any significant light – but at least we have them.
‘I’d say it’s more of a Survivor vibe,’ Grace says, trailing behind her. ‘And the boys are the other tribe. The Buckaroos.’
‘Maybe that’s it!’ Lizzie exclaims. ‘They’re trying to take back the house.’
‘It’s a mutiny!’ Grace blurts out.
‘I highly doubt that.’ Taylor laughs now. ‘You’ve seen their new place – it’s so charming.’
The fleeting thought that perhaps Taylor has seen more of Keith’s place than the rest of us is cut short by lively hammering on the back door.
I freeze. Is this yet another plan I’m (quite literally) in the dark about, and was the ‘blackout’ somehow orchestrated to get the boys back over here?
Whoever it is knocks again, then the handle turns and the door swings open. It’s Jack, holding a dirt-smudged printout of Mitch.