Chapter Twenty-seven – Jack
Chapter Twenty-seven
JACK
I ’ve been tasked with bringing a starter to tonight’s dinner at Moorings. Three years ago, that would have meant fresh pearl oysters with ponzu and pickled ginger – or, if I was feeling particularly fancy, a Spanish-style dressing with chorizo, capsicum and sherry. I could prepare oysters at least thirty different ways.
Even if I wanted to impress Andie, there are no shuck-and-go oysters available for purchase on the island. The bowling club sometimes gets rock oysters from Crescent Island, but they don’t do takeaway, and Charlie outright refuses to sell anything other than pearls on his menu – hence scrapping his seafood options altogether. There’s no way he’ll purchase any Pacifics from Alec without a lot of convincing.
Anyway, considering Andie will be there this evening, it’s best not to show up with a bag of aphrodisiacs, especially after our heated shower kiss. I wouldn’t want to give the impression that I’m only after one thing. But that kiss . . . that kiss!
Dating rule number three: Don’t come on too strong.
Although, I guess technically this isn’t a date – it’s a group dinner I lucked into thanks to Tom’s invitation. He’s here to join the bucks on his day off and isn’t even aware of my feelings for Andie.
I opt for a simple bruschetta. I have tomatoes and basil from Mum’s garden, and a sourdough loaf that I baked this morning. Baking is less about my culinary skills and more – like my art – about keeping my hands busy.
I prepare the topping, finely dicing red onion and garlic to toss with the tomatoes and basil and finishing it off with a generous splash of olive oil. I transfer the mixture into a container and bag up the bread to assemble at Moorings.
I text Charlie on my walk over.
I think she might like me back.
I’m passing by Mum’s place when my phone rings.
‘Hey,’ I answer.
‘Hi, Jack. It’s Lena.’ Charlie’s faint voice sounds in the background: ‘Sorry mate, she saw your message come through and wanted all the deets. And no shit! Of course she likes you – have you looked in one of those mirrors you Windex recently?’
I laugh. ‘Hi, Lena. What would you like to know?’
‘Well, how do you know she likes you?’
‘She kissed me.’
‘She kissed you ?’
I chuckle. ‘Is that so hard to believe?’
‘Not at all. I always tell Charlie what a catch you are, Jack!’
‘Well, thank you. And it was more of a mutual kiss. Any advice on what my next move should be?’ I don’t mention the divine intervention of the jellyfish. I really should send it a thank-you note.
‘Take her to bed!’ Charlie bellows.
‘Charlieee,’ Lena rouses. ‘Don’t listen to him, Jack. His idea of romance is bringing home expired Paddle Pops from the shop freezer.’
I roll my eyes, even though neither of them can see me.
‘She’s going to be at this group dinner thing at Moorings. I’m headed there now and was thinking of inviting her back to mine for dessert, or a nightcap, maybe? The only issue is, I’m doing a room set-up for a Clam Cove guest tonight.’
‘Well, ask her to come with you!’ Lena exclaims.
‘To work? I don’t think so,’ I groan, eyeing the lilies growing along Mum’s garden fence. If I reached down and . . . Oops, now I’m gripping a bunch of freshly picked lilies. I hope Mum hasn’t seen me through the window, or she’ll have me composted. The fact I’m her son is of no relevance when it comes to her garden.
‘I’m bringing her some flowers?’ I say to Lena, more as a half-question.
‘Yes! Perfect. A nice simple gesture that shows her that this isn’t just some hook-up to you. Wait, she’s not just a hook-up, is she?’ she asks.
Lena has known me almost as long as Charlie has, and she’s seen everything I’ve gone through.
‘No. I really like her,’ I say.
‘Excellent! That’s what I thought. Well, as your official dating advisors, we expect regular updates, please.’
‘Of course.’
Lena’s voice drops into a hushed tone. ‘Quick, Jack. Charlie’s taking the rubbish out. Between you and me, I don’t think you need any help. I heard all about your Pearl Cove date – what a bloody dream. If you wouldn’t mind, could you have a word with Charlie about arranging something like that? We have our ten-year anniversary coming up a few months after the baby’s born . . .’
‘Can do, Lena. How about I babysit? The boys and the new addition. I’ll bring the arts and crafts.’
‘Did I mention that I like you better than I like my own husband?’
‘Just a few hundred times.’ I laugh as I ring off.
I’m the last to arrive at Moorings. The kitchen is a hive of activity – the four boys, shirtless and in aprons, are bustling around performatively, while the girls sit supervising at the island bench, swilling champagne. My eyes go straight to Andie. Perched on the stool furthest from the door, she’s exchanged my mum’s bathers for a white top and flowy summer skirt patterned with tiny flowers.
She’s deep in conversation with Grace, so I’m not sure she’s noticed my arrival. I’m about to make a beeline for her when Tom intercepts me with an open beer.
‘Do you have your starter ready?’ he whispers as he hands it to me. ‘These boys are still stuck in uni mode. I just stopped Richie from zapping aluminium in the microwave. Don’t count on any mains until midnight.’
‘Ha, yeah, I do. And also: hey mate. Good to see you. I’ve missed you.’ I’d like to find a quiet moment to sit down with him and talk through Alec’s plan. I’m not sure if he’d be tempted to leave The Oyster House’s farm and come back and work on the island, or if that ship has sailed now that Hannah’s passed.
‘I’ve missed you too, buddy. I’m glad you could make it tonight.’
‘Yeah, thanks for the invite.’ I set the food down on the countertop. The lilies are poking out of my bread bag, so I pull out the loaf and tuck the bag out of sight.
‘You know where everything is, right?’ Tom asks.
I shoot him a look that says, you’re kidding me .
I retrieve the wooden bread board from the cupboard above the sink, carefully manoeuvring around Garth, who’s elbow-deep in a pile of gluey flour that resembles the playdough Mum used to make me.
‘Pasta from scratch,’ he offers sheepishly.
Tom’s right. This dinner party is headed for disaster.
‘What are you making?’ Taylor asks, leaning in on her elbows to inspect my work station. I’m peeling fat cloves of garlic to rub over the bread.
As much as I believe she could be a better friend to Andie, they’re still very close; I want to make a good impression. So I pause, look up at her and smile warmly.
‘Bruschetta.’
I make sure I pronounce it correctly – broo-sketta and not broo-shetta – so I don’t sound like I washed up in the last tide.
‘Bruschetta is bullshit.’
Wow. She says it like I’ve just informed her I’m preparing kangaroo testicles.
‘Taylor!’ Andie says sharply.
Our eyes meet and a jolt of electricity zaps through me.
‘Sorry, she doesn’t do gluten, remember?’ Her voice is halfway between a question and a plea.
‘Of course,’ I say, quiet. How did I forget that?
‘Sorry,’ Taylor sings, sounding anything but. ‘I was just hoping for oysters.’
I hate that I visibly bristle.
‘There are no oysters available on the island,’ Andie informs her friend, her gentle gaze still fixed on me. She’s not even aware of the weight of her words, and how grateful I am for them. ‘Why don’t we get the table sorted?’ She tears her eyes from mine and hops off her stool.
When I step into the formal dining room ten minutes later, carrying the platter of bruschetta – one ‘piece’ sans the bread, leaving only a sad pile of diced tomato chunks – I’m amazed by the transformation. The curtains have been pulled opened and billow gently in the breeze. Someone has found Hannah’s fine china, sterling silver cutlery and crystal glassware, curated from decades of island estate sales frequented by her and Mum, and it’s neatly set out on the table. Each place setting has two sets of knives, forks and spoons – wishful thinking given the trail of destruction I’ve just left behind in the kitchen.
‘Hey, isn’t this the same pearl artwork your mum has?’ Andie asks me, pointing to the yin–yang framed pearl above the chair at the head of the table. ‘But wait – the design is flipped. Your mum has the black version with the white pearl, and this one is white with a black pearl!’
I place my platter on the table. They’ve obviously been spending a lot of time together.
‘Yes, they’re a pair. I made them to match.’
Curiosity sparks in her eyes. ‘You made this? And Hazel’s?’
‘Yup.’ My voice is tinged with a hint of pride, perhaps even hope, as memories fill my mind of the day eighteen months or so ago, not long before Hannah passed, when I found the wild oyster with the rare black pearl. With Clara’s help I came up with the yin–yang pieces.
It was the perfect gift to honour their thirty years of friendship, and a small triumph after the pain we’d all endured in the years prior. The artworks became a symbol, a beacon of possibility amid the darkness. We dared to believe that there was still hope for our island, even with no oyster industry.
Andie’s forehead wrinkles. ‘But I don’t understand. Why does Hannah have one if it was a gift for Hazel and Billy’s wedding anniversary?’
‘Billy?’ I groan. ‘Oh God, no. He was just the most recent of Mum’s husbands. They were only married for a few years before he passed – but nothing compares to the enduring love Mum and Hannah shared. That’s her true love story.’
I watch Andie’s expression shift from confusion to surprise, then finally settle into delight as the puzzle pieces click into place. I wonder if I’ve said too much, especially if part of my appeal lies in my seemingly simple island life . . . I realise I may be starting to reveal that it’s anything but.
‘Boys! Tools down.’ Tom’s booming voice interrupts us as he enters the dining room. His face softens as he takes in the transformed dining room. ‘Oh, wow. I haven’t seen it look like this in forever.’
‘Right?’ I reply, turning to grin at him. ‘She’d love it.’
I’m not entirely sure Clara would agree, so I’m relieved it’s Tom who’s here tonight, not her.
The bucks barrel in one by one in various states of disarray. Garth has flour smeared across his face and in his hair; Richie, who has been bragging loudly about his famous lasagne, has tomato sauce splattered down his apron; and Ben, who’s roasting a whole shoulder of lamb, looks downright flustered, with sweaty hair slicked against his glazed red forehead.
They slide into their chairs, aprons slipping down to expose more of their bare chests, and we crunch into the bruschetta. The dining room fills with satisfying murmurs of ‘Mm,’ and ‘This is going to be tough to beat’.
But I find myself caring about only one set of tastebuds.
As I watch her take a bite, her lips enveloping the bread, everyone else in the room seems to fade away. It’s as if we’re the only ones at Hannah’s table.
Then, her foot grazes mine. At first I assume it’s unintentional, but she does it again. Yup, that’s definitely deliberate contact. I’m wearing thongs and she was in sandals but it feels like she’s now barefoot, so it’s our skin that’s touching. I gently wriggle my toes, and she responds by brushing the pillowy sole of her foot over my ankle, sending goosebumps across my skin.
‘It’s very simple though, isn’t it?’ Richie remarks, returning for another bite of bruschetta.
‘Simple is often best,’ I reply, glancing down at my own plate. I’m having difficulty focusing on anything other than her soft, suggestive feet. ‘Speaking of, how are you finding Keith’s place?’ I ask, continuing our footsies dance by slipping my foot out of its thong and wrapping it around her naked calf. ‘Have everything you need?’
‘Yeah, good mate. Thanks for sorting that,’ Richie says. ‘Although you may want to look at getting the place exorcised. There’s something real suss spirit-wise going on there.’
‘Oh, how so?’ My foot-rubbing picks up pace.
‘Lots of spooky noises and shit.’
‘Keith has been known to make the occasional visit,’ I say, swallowing a smile.
I don’t dare look at her. I know I won’t be able to keep it together, and I don’t want to expose our shared secret, both above and beneath the table.
Richie seems like he’s about to ask for clarification on what spirit form ‘Keith’ might inhabit when we catch a whiff of something burning. The boys leap up, scurrying back to the kitchen.
I reluctantly pull my leg away from Andie’s and push my chair back.
‘So, I assume you ladies are on dessert?’ I ask, standing to clear the plates. Taylor’s is scraped clean; she’s evidently enjoyed her breadless bruschetta.
‘Yup. We bought a block of chocolate from the general store,’ Andie says. ‘We’re in charge of a row each.’
I pause, amused. ‘So, this was all a clever ploy to get us to cook for you?’
‘I don’t know what you’re talking about,’ she puffs, amber eyes dancing.
‘Given how it’s going in there, we’ll probably have to order in from Charlie’s again anyway,’ Taylor scoffs.
‘And I’d so love to stick around to see that unfold, but unfortunately I have to head off in a sec,’ I say, glancing at the clock and seeing that it’s already almost 9 p.m. ‘I have a guest request to attend to.’
I really don’t want to leave. Do I take a chance and ask Andie to join me?
Andie sighs. ‘Lucky you. Funnily enough, I’m not in the mood for raw pasta or cremated lamb. If you’d like some company, I’d be happy to help you?’
Excitement ripples through me as I catch the intimate gleam in her eyes.
This time it feels less like a convenient excuse to get away from her friends and more like a convenient excuse to spend time alone with me.
‘Well, who could refuse such an offer,’ I say, quickly. I’m treated to a full-beam smile.
As we gather our bags to leave, I hand her the lilies.
‘For me?’
I nod, and her face brightens again.
Night, made.