Chapter Twenty-four – Andie
Chapter Twenty-four
ANDIE
A rriving back at Moorings feels a bit like stepping out of the wardrobe from Narnia. I’ve left behind a magical world, and now I’m wondering how much of it was even real.
I plunge a hand in my pocket and feel around for the tacky lollipop sticks. Yup, there they are, nestled in a bed of sand. As I retract my hand, I feel grains under my nails.
Jack offered to walk me back to the house, but he seemed eager to return to his own place. After dinner, he began talking about the incoming tide, prompting us to quickly pack up. I noticed Jack discreetly pocket the oyster shells. The ride back was quiet, a departure from our earlier banter.
There was no invitation for a nightcap at his cabin. He didn’t attempt to kiss me when we said goodbye. And it left me wanting more.
Peals of male and female laughter greet me as I step through the front door. So much for that quiet spa night , I think to myself, amused. The first thing I notice as I plonk down my bag is the empty chip packets and dip containers scattered over the kitchen bench. Snacks that were supposed to last us until the end of the week are gone – including the rest of Hazel’s strawberries.
‘Andie!’ Grace squeals as I enter the living room. The girls are in their bras and undies and the boys are in their boxers. ‘How did it go?’
I’ve left the calm of Pearl Cove and walked straight into chaos.
‘Any action?’ Taylor asks. She’s perched on the edge of Ben’s chair, wearing her favourite red lacy set.
‘Looks like there was more action here,’ I say, reaching over the table to steal a corn chip from the open bag. Not that I’m in the slightest bit peckish – the lobster and hot chocolate still sit warm in my belly.
‘We’re playing strip poker,’ Richie says. ‘It’s like traditional poker, but we wager items of clothing instead of chips or money.’
‘I know what strip poker is,’ I say sharply.
My island knowledge is admittedly limited, but Jack has never mansplained anything. Richie, meanwhile, is the type of guy who has all the words when they’re not needed, and none when they are. I can easily imagine him sending a ‘Sry’ text to his girlfriend when he fucks up.
‘So, really, nothing happened?’ Taylor asks. One of her hands is on the table, gripping a mojito-esque drink – at least the strawberries were put to good use – but I can’t see where her other hand is. Hopefully not in Ben’s lap.
I crunch down on my chip and shake my head.
‘Tell me you wore your bikini and not the one-piece!’
I say nothing.
Finally realising this is not a conversation for the entire group, Taylor stands up from the table with her fruity cocktail in hand and addresses the boys. ‘Sorry, girl chat. Can we take a quick break?’
‘Just expect us to be naked when you get back,’ Richie quips.
Ugh.
Ben shoots us an apologetic look.
Taylor ushers Grace, Lizzie and I into the quiet of the neighbouring kitchen.
‘Sorry, that was totally out of line,’ she begins. ‘And I love that black swimsuit, it’s actually very sexy – not that a lack of sexiness on your part has anything to do with anything,’ she adds quickly.
‘Thank you,’ I say quietly.
‘I like it too!’ Grace chimes in, still fixated on the swimsuit. ‘Your tits look incredible in it.’
‘So, give us the tea,’ Taylor says. ‘What happened?’
I lean against the kitchen counter, back arched and eyes starry as I recount our dreamy evening. The girls are hooked on every word.
‘It was honestly incredible. Like proper dream-holiday-fling stuff. He took me to this secluded spot called Pearl Cove and he had this entire picnic set up. We went for a dip and watched the sunset while he cooked the most delicious lobster.’
‘Wow, babe. Sounds even better than Maeve’s proposal,’ Grace exclaims.
‘Did he seem like he wanted to kiss you?’ Lizzie asks, getting straight to the point.
‘Well, that’s what’s confusing,’ I admit, my mind drifting back to our charged moment over the oyster. ‘At one point, it seemed like he wanted to. But then it was like something changed suddenly.’
‘Maybe he just got nervous?’ Taylor suggests.
‘He’s not exactly inexperienced,’ I say.
‘Sorry, I’ve been out of the game for too long – isn’t it normal not to kiss on the first date?’ Lizzie asks.
‘This wasn’t really a date . . .’ I trail off.
‘This is a holiday fling ,’ Taylor emphasises. ‘Everything is sped up. The definition, by the way, is “two consenting adults enjoying each other’s company for the duration of a holiday”. It doesn’t follow the rules of a typical courtship. So the real question, Andie, is: did you enjoy yourself?’
That’s easier to answer than reciting my ABCs. ‘I did.’
‘Excellent. And did you want to jump his bones?’ Taylor continues.
Another easy one.
‘Yes.’
‘Right. Well, we have our next steps here – commence Operation: Get Andie Her Holiday Sex. We only have three more nights, girls, so we need to act fast.’
I start to protest, not at the sentiment behind Taylor’s words but at the group’s involvement in my sex life, when a voice bellows from outside the front door. ‘Hello? Anyone there?’
Glancing at the girls, all clad in their lingerie, I realise that I’m the most appropriately dressed person to greet whoever is at the door.
‘Hey, Andie.’
Charlie’s cheerful, bearded face beams back at me.
I blink. Has Jack sent him?
‘Food delivery,’ he says. ‘Can I put this down somewhere?’ My eyes travel to the two weighty-looking plastic bags dangling from each hand.
‘Oh, of course.’
‘Yes! Dinner!’ Grace exclaims, rushing forward to where Charlie has set the food bags on the table. She’s clearly not concerned about her scant attire.
I’m not in the least bit hungry, but the deliciously distinct aroma of caramelised onions has my mouth watering.
‘What did you guys order?’ I ask.
‘Burgers and fries,’ Lizzie says, tearing into one of the packages with the fervour of someone who has been drinking for hours.
‘And there’s one gluten-free burger with a lovely lettuce bun,’ Charlie says, eyes sparkling. I can see that he and Jack share a sense of humour. ‘Alrighty. Enjoy the feast, ladies.’ He disappears out the door.
Thankfully the boys are still in their boxer shorts when we return to the living room, arms laden with burgers, a tower of plates and a stack of napkins. They’ve abandoned their game of strip poker and have found our beauty supplies.
‘Why don’t they make this for our bits?’ Richie says, holding one of the vulva sheet masks away from his body and scrunching his nose as if it were a smelly shoe.
‘You should call up Gwyneth and ask her,’ I snark.
I am in high spirits after my beach dinner with Jack – despite it not ending exactly the way I would have liked – but I also have no patience for Richie’s bullshit.
A hush falls over the group as they feast on their burgers, and I steal a couple of chips off Taylor’s plate.
‘This patty is so dry,’ Richie complains as he goes back for another bite.
His words grate on me. The nerve in complaining about food he didn’t even have to lift a finger for – delivered to him at almost 10 p.m.! I purse my lips, feeling a surge of defensiveness.
‘You seem to be managing,’ I remark sweetly, casting a glance at the half-eaten burger. But Richie has already turned away, joining a discussion between Garth and the girls.
‘Sorry about him,’ Ben says. He’s sitting next to me instead of Taylor for a change. ‘He does mean well. He can just get carried away sometimes.’
‘Really?’ I groan. ‘You think he actually means well?!’
‘Sorry, I’m a therapist by trade, so I can see all of his unprocessed trauma.’
‘Mm,’ I murmur, not convinced.
‘What do you do yourself?’ he asks.
‘Kindergarten teacher.’
‘Nice. You enjoy it?’
‘I do.’ I really do. Following my parents into the education field seemed logical, and becoming a kindergarten teacher was a natural fit after years of helping out with Toby. But that doesn’t mean I never had other aspirations. I enjoyed studying film for as long as I did. Life just had other plans.
‘I can tell you’d be a natural at it,’ he remarks.
‘Really?’ I ask, suspicious and surprised.
‘Sorry, that’s probably weird to hear. Mel always tells me to stop therapising random people I meet,’ he adds.
‘Mel’s the fiancée? She sounds wise.’
Ben’s eyes light up. ‘She’s the best. I can’t wait to marry her.’
‘And she’s cool with your week-long boys’ trip?’
‘Yeah. She’s in Fiji having the time of her life with her bridesmaids. Sunset party cruises, pina coladas every night, that sort of thing – you ladies know how it goes.’
Perhaps I have the wrong idea about Ben – he seems pretty harmless.
As the hours stretch on, the night once again plunges into debauchery, culminating in a migration to the hot tub and the reappearance of the karaoke machine. At first, I fret over the proximity of the karaoke machine to the spa water, envisioning a potential hairdryer-in-the-bathtub scenario, before deciding to fully embrace the reckless holiday fun – though this time, I have enough sense to decline the tequila the girls want to pour directly down my throat.
We’re making so much noise, belting out ‘You’re So Vain’ at the top of our lungs, that we don’t hear Bob, accompanied by a woman, creep around the side of the house and into the back garden.
‘I’ve got half a mind to call the Port Hope police and report you for noise pollution,’ Bob barks at us.
A flood of water whooshes over the lip of the spa as we leap up.
‘Your screeching has had Beryl and I tossing and turning for the past hour.’
I slump my shoulders and sink back down into the bubbles. Someone else can deal with this: I’m silently praying I won’t be summoned to the station for fingerprinting in connection with missing Chupa Chups.