Chapter Thirty-one – Jack
Chapter Thirty-one
JACK
K eith arrives on my doorstep with a swag in hand. I’ve just finished tidying up last night’s dishes and pocketed Andie’s note.
‘Well, well, well. Look what the river dragged in,’ I say, pulling the door open, relief flooding me at the sight of his toothy grin. After receiving Alec’s email with the oyster farm offer, I’d finally sent him an SOS, though I wasn’t sure if he’d come – not that he’s ever let me down.
‘Had no choice but to show up here, didn’t I? What with that bunch that’s taken over my house like a bloody locust plague.’
‘Two more nights and you’ll have your place back,’ I laugh. ‘You can crash with me. We can top and tail.’
‘Don’t be daft. I’ll bunk in Hazel’s spare room – if she’ll have me.’
‘You know she’ll always have you, Keith.’
Mum and Keith spent thirteen years together – my entire adolescence – and while he’s the only father I’ve known, he’s also remained Mum’s surrogate husband. Their friendship even survived the Billy years.
Keith wraps his arms around me, and I have to stop myself from bawling.
‘I’ve only been gone six months,’ he remarks as we step into the cabin. ‘Ah, home sweet home.’ His wise eyes drink in the familiar surroundings. He’s spent nearly as much time in this space as I have. Throughout harvest, it was our refuge from the harsh midday sun and the biting cold winter days. It still feels a bit weird to live here permanently.
‘New pieces?’ Keith drops his swag and walks over to the table to inspect the smattering of oyster shells.
He pulls out a chair, groaning slightly as he sits down. At seventy, he’s not as agile as he used to be.
‘Yeah, they’re going to be,’ I say, taking a seat opposite him. ‘Still haven’t made a sale.’ I laugh, reminding myself that I started this as therapy, nothing more. Perhaps, at one stage, there was some deluded part of me that thought my little craft project could help save our island, but those dreams have since faded away. Objectively, I’m sure my work is no better than the creations glued together in Andie’s kindergarten classroom.
‘So, what else is new?’ Keith asks, rubbing a hand over a leathery knee.
I briefly consider keeping the mood cheerful and telling him about Andie – I know he’d be delighted for me – but I need to tell him about Alec’s plans. It’s a weight that’s become almost unbearable for me to shoulder alone.
‘Well, I spoke to –’
‘Ooft, isn’t she a beauty!’ Keith interrupts, plucking a piece of oyster shell from my pile and turning it between his fingers to inspect it. It catches the bright morning light streaming through the glass doors, the shimmering iridescent colours moving and glittering as he rotates the shell. ‘Still the most special oysters to populate the globe, if you ask me. You tell me another specimen that throws out colours this brilliant, with flesh as delicious as a salty sweet scallop.’
Keith always loved regaling me with tales of the marine biology students who came to the island to study our oyster reefs. His enthusiasm now only makes it harder to break the news to him.
‘So come on, out with it! What’s this at the tip of your tongue, then? You haven’t even offered me a cold drink. I can tell something is up from that god-awful look on your face.’
Why did I ever think I could fool the man I’ve spent more hours with than I have alone?
‘Would you like a coffee?’ I ask as I work out exactly how to phrase the news.
‘Nah, better not. The doc says I should stick to water only. Eight glasses a day to try to help flush out the toxins, or something or other.’ Keith chuckles. ‘I wouldn’t say no to a shot of breakfast vodka, though,’ he adds as I stand to fetch us some water.
‘Ha. Good try, old man.’
Once we’ve chugged our glasses, Keith turns to me.
‘Alright, hit me with it. There was no way of missing those ugly resort buildings on the way in here. Even from the water’s edge, you could see those pompous black jet skis all lined up on the beach like bloody rottweilers.’
This is not going to be easy.
‘So, it is about Clam Cove. Alec has taken over the oyster leases now, too,’ I expel in one breath.
I wait for Keith’s face to drop, but it remains unchanged. His mouth judders open. ‘Ah, yes, I know about that.’
‘You know!’ I blurt.
‘Yeah, Alec got on the blower a couple of months ago. Wanted some farming tips . . .’
‘Why didn’t you say anything? And you helped him?’ The questions rush out in a tumble of confusion.
‘I mean, I did and I didn’t.’ A smirk is forming.
My shoulders relax. ‘Keith . . . what did you do?’
‘I might have steered him in the direction of pearl farming.’
‘Pearls?! Wait, don’t tell me Alec thinks he can click his fingers and magically grow pearls, does he?’
The stress I felt just moments earlier has eased slightly, but it hasn’t completely vanished. Pearl Island Oyster Farm always focused on growing oysters to be eaten. While pearls could very occasionally appear naturally, we had never attempted to cultivate them because the meat itself was so tasty, and growing pearls would require significant intervention with the native ecosystem.
‘He might do,’ he says, with a full smirk. ‘He’ll be in for a rude shock when he discovers how time-intensive and fiddly that is. Not only should oysters be at their healthiest, but the environment must also be understood . . .’
‘I’m not sure if he’s fallen for that though,’ I interject. ‘He wants to grow Pacifics. Did you know that?’
Keith’s brow finally furrows, but he recovers swiftly. ‘There’s nothing to worry about, son. Our waters won’t cooperate.’
‘But what if the island could benefit from it?’ I press. ‘If Charlie and everyone else here could?’ I run my fingers through my hair, struck by the memory of Andie’s touch just hours ago. ‘If it works, it means the island will have an oyster industry again,’ I say. I know I don’t need to elaborate on the economic impact of that.
Even if it were possible in the next few years, we know that we don’t have the money to revive the native pearl oyster population. Alec and Clam Cove Resort have the massive advantage of billionaire backers with what appear to be unlimited funds.
‘He’s asked me to come on board to help out and I’m considering it,’ I finish in a near whisper.
Plink, plink, plink . The old copper kitchen tap drips into the sink like the ominous ticking of a bomb. A father-and-son relationship about to detonate. I haven’t turned it off tightly enough. ‘I know he’s doing it with or without me.’
Keith clears his throat, and my worried eyes don’t leave his face. He might be acting like he’s not bothered, but I know the truth.
‘You can’t be cleaning rooms for the rest of your life, kid. You need to do what you need to do. I raised you right, I know how you feel about this land and these waters. You have nothing but respect. But the world is changing, and unfortunately, we need to accept that.’
‘Would you stick around permanently if, by some miracle, we could get the farm back up and running?’ I ask hopefully, even though I already know his answer.
Keith’s gaze shifts to the pile of pearl shells on the table, and he shakes his head. ‘Ah, it’s too much. I’ll be headed back up north again in a few days.’
I nod.
‘This is not a dilemma any of us ever wanted, my boy,’ he continues. ‘We’d have been content out in those waters for as long as they were happy to have us.’ He pauses, his eyes meeting mine. ‘I just want you to remember one thing.’
‘Yes?’ Perhaps whatever he has to say now holds the clarity that I need.
‘This island is not yours to carry on your back – and you can’t hold it in your hand to keep it safe, either.’
‘I know that. Thanks, Keith.’
We stand and hug again. Discussion closed.
‘Now tell me,’ he starts, pacing over to the kitchen to tighten the leaky tap. ‘Did I interrupt something by showing up here unannounced?’
Damn Keith knowing me like the back of his fishhook-scarred hands.
‘I may have had an overnight guest, yes,’ I confirm, feeling my cheeks burn.
We’re way past the safe-sex talk, but I’m still not particularly keen on getting into my sex life with him. Thankfully, all he does is wink.
‘Why don’t I go grab a quick shower before I head over to your mum’s?’ he suggests, expertly changing the subject.
‘Perfect. I need to give your place a quick once-over while the boys are out on a fishing trip. Help yourself to anything in there. I just made a fresh citrus shower gel.’
‘Of course you did. What can’t you do, son?’ Keith says with affection, turning towards the bathroom before swinging back to me, a mischievous twinkle in his eye. ‘Oh, and where do you keep the golf clubs? We might be needing them for a smashing spree soon.’
It’s a fucking pigsty in here. I’ve traded the lingering sweet scent of Andie and oranges for stale beer and fast food at Keith’s place. The countertops are strewn with crumpled beer cans and discarded Charlie Farleys takeaway containers, and there’s broken glass in the sink. I shudder at the thought of the state of the bedrooms, with their tangles of smelly, crunchy sheets.
I sidestep a brown sticky splotch on the floor and make a beeline for the dining table, now marked by a fresh red wine stain. A bottle of wine sits next to a note scrawled on the lid of a pizza box.
Sorry about the mess, mate.
Enjoy this drop on us.
At least that’s something. I grab the wine bottle, finding it surprisingly light – evidently, there’s only a few sips left. Right. Now they’ve really pissed me off.
I fire off a text to Tom. He’s taken the boys out fishing, but I don’t care if he’s driving the boat.
What sort of bond did you collect from your mates?
Bond?
His reply comes instantly. They must be anchored somewhere.
To fix the damage they’re inevitably going to cause at Keith’s place.
Ah, shit. Didn’t think of that.
Of course he hasn’t.
Right, well, you owe me. I’ll take exclusive access to The Oyster House tonight.
I close our text thread and tap on Andie’s contact, finding a message already waiting from her.
Is that paddleboard invitation a standing one? ;)