Chapter Five – Jack
Chapter Five
JACK
‘I ’ve contacted Clara,’ I boom into the mic, as the women settle on the lounge opposite the men. They’re eye to eye, separated only by the low coffee table. It feels like I’m refereeing Battle of the Sexes .
Before Andie sits, she scoops up a line of bras draped over the back of the couch and quickly stuffs them down between cushions. The lounge isn’t long enough to seat all four women, so she perches on the arm, crossing her legs. She’s fresh-faced, with her faint freckles more visible without make-up. Her hair, wet and no longer curly, is scraped back into a low ponytail, giving her a look that says, ‘I mean business’.
She startled when the microphone first squeaked to life, but now she’s staring at a spot near my legs.
I thought cracking out the karaoke machine was a genius way to lighten the mood, but all traces of humour have evaporated from the air. I get it. This is probably a nightmare scenario for Andie and her friends.
‘I should probably save the batteries for your midnight renditions of “Bennie and the Jets”,’ I say, placing the microphone down on the floor beside me.
Andie’s head lifts and I’m rewarded with a curious smile. I’ve grown fond of this game.
‘What’s this Clara chick got to do with anything?’ Richie huffs. I’ve almost forgotten we have company. ‘We booked through my man Tom.’
My efforts to pacify the boys with some beers seems to be having little effect. Their excessive drinking prior to their arrival likely has something to do with that. It was a rowdy boat trip over to the island; I had to restrain them from jumping overboard multiple times. When they mentioned they’d be staying at Moorings, I knew I had to try to beat them here to soften the blow of the double-booking. Yet another bloody one. I didn’t realise the boys were right on my heels.
‘Yeah, Tom is Clara’s brother. Don’t worry, I’ve contacted him too.’
It took me five whole minutes to type a series of expletives that would make Gordon Ramsay blush on my old Nokia on my way here. And Tom deserved every last one of them. I can’t believe that he didn’t check in with Clara, or at least mention something to me.
‘I think I know what’s happened here,’ I continue. ‘Clara and Tom aren’t exactly on the same page about their mother’s estate.’
Puzzled looks fill the room.
Andie narrows her eyes. ‘So this is actually for real – it’s not some big joke?’
‘Unfortunately not. Moorings is Clara and Tom’s late mother’s house.’ I hope she can tell that breaking this news is not fun for me either. At least I’ve become adept at handling disappointed tourists, diverting their attention from the fact that the island’s major attraction has vanished. ‘Hannah’s house,’ I add.
I know the name will mean nothing to them, but it still feels important for me to say.
‘Anyway, the crux of the matter is this: we’re not likely to hear back from either of them tonight, and the tide is too low for me to take any of you back to Port Hope. Here is what I propose –’
‘You’re taking the piss, right, mate? This is bullshit! We paid in full. We should be a case in by now!’ Richie whines.
I swallow hard, trying to regain my composure. They appear to be a multitude of cases in. Ben the buck is sloppy in his undone bow tie, and Garth’s head has fallen back against the couch.
I put my hand up, palm facing him. ‘Please hear me out, mate. Don’t shoot the messenger.’
I wonder if my cheeks are as red as the rage burning inside of me.
‘I would host you all, but I don’t have the room, unfortunately. I can show you the blankets if you guys are okay with staying on the couches down here? Ladies, we may need to make some room . . .’ I glance at the yellow foil ‘DIVORCED AF’ balloons floating around the room like alphabet soup.
If these weren’t Tom’s mates, and if I wasn’t doing everything in my power to encourage tourism, I’d be tossing them swags and suggesting they find a hard patch of ground to crash on.
‘Wait. Why do they get the beds?’ Richie demands.
I respond with a stern glare.
‘This could be fun!’ The blonde hat girl, Taylor, exclaims, standing and crossing over to the men’s couch. She pats Ben’s knee, motioning for him to shuffle over, and slots in next to a comatose Garth.
I observe Andie’s eyes on Taylor. She clears her throat then hesitates, as if wrestling with herself about something. ‘Yup, this could be fun,’ she echoes after a beat, voice falling flat as her eyes tick towards me.
Our gaze locks for several seconds; her expression remains unreadable. I hope she trusts that I’ll sort things.
Then she looks away, rises to her feet and marches straight over to the runaway balloons.
‘I need to borrow some of that height to fish these down,’ she directs at Ben.
‘I’ll grab the blankets,’ I say, trying to diffuse the room’s frosty atmosphere.