Chapter Seven – Jack
Chapter Seven
JACK
H umans are foul. Especially humans on holidays. It’s like they forget the basics of cleanliness. Coffee stains on sheets, crumbs on sheets – other things on sheets.
By the time I finish turning over the rooms at Clam Cove Resort, all I crave is a long, hot shower. This morning’s encounter with Andie feels like a distant memory. But one thing remains clear in my mind: I made her a promise, and I intend to keep it.
As soon as I enter my cabin, instead of heading straight for the shower, I sit down at my tiny desk. I fire up my laptop, punch in my Airbnb login, then pause, staring at the screen.
‘So what do you think, girl? Are we doing this?’
I direct my question to the chubby lizard sitting outside the door, eagerly awaiting her banana slices. Izzie stares back at me, slender head poised, almond-shaped eyes glazed, perhaps, with the faintest flicker of curiosity. Eastern water dragons aren’t known for their amazing life advice, so the glint is probably more one of primal hunger: why the fuck is my afternoon tea taking so long?
‘Alright, alright. Sorry to keep you waiting, Your Highness.’
I sigh as I push back my desk chair and slide open the glass door.
Izzie scampers inside, spikes shimmering in the afternoon sun as she gracefully navigates her way across the room to her ceramic water bowl in the corner of the kitchen. I peel a banana, breaking half of it into small chunks, and crouch down to handfeed her. Izzie’s tongue delicately takes the morsels like she hasn’t been hunting insects all day. Then I set the rest down on the plate next to her water and, as she happily munches away, I return to my computer and scan my inbox for a reply to my late-night emails from Clara or Tom. What a surprise , I grumble to myself when I find nothing, and switch tabs to review the draft Airbnb listing for Keith’s place. It’s been ready for ages, filled with all of the ‘riverside oasis’ buzz-words, but I can never bring myself to make it live. I was holding out hope Keith would return permanently to the island, but his place has sat empty for long enough, and I’m out of options. The bucks’ group needs a place to stay – one that isn’t Clam Cove Resort.
I take a deep breath, mentally squaring up, and click the publish button. Then I quickly block out the next six nights on the booking calendar. Before shutting down my computer, I refresh my email one last time.
My inbox chimes with a new message. Finally! A reply from Clara. The truth is, I didn’t necessarily need to hear back from her or Tom to move forward with my plan, but I want to know what they have to say for themselves about their childish behaviour.
Sender: Clara Devine
Recipient: Jack Cooper
Subject: Re: Another double booking
OMG I’M SO SORRY JACK!!!! I hope you sorted everything with Andie? That’s the name of the woman who booked – who you left the key out for. I assume from your messages you’ve crossed paths?
Thanks again for keeping on top of things at Moorings – you know that I’m forever indebted to you. Why won’t you ever accept my money?? Please feel free to use any of my things. Honestly, what’s mine is yours!!!
Miss you,
Clara xx
P.S. When are you going to come and visit me in Sydney? My art gallery is waiting.
P.P.S. Tell Tom he’s a dick. I know you don’t agree with me wanting to sell either, but if you’re speaking to him, please remind him that Mum would either want one of us living there, or she’d want Moorings to go to someone who will treasure it as she did – not random holidaymakers.
The mention of ‘random holidaymakers’ sends a faint twinge behind my ribs. I felt a similar way on the boat yesterday when Andie first mentioned Moorings, but that feeling has since shifted.
Another email pops up as I’m replying to Clara with a single ‘x’. She should really get the Gordon Ramsay treatment too, but I can’t bring myself to speak to her that way, no matter how frustrating she can be.
The sender’s name instantly fills me with dread. Alec Ogilvy, CEO of Clam Cove Resort. I click to read.
Sender: Alec Ogilvy
Recipient: Jack Cooper
Subject: Urgent: Clam Cove Resort Oyster Farm Manager
Hi Jack,
As you’re aware, Clam Cove Resort will be assuming control of the existing Pearl Island oyster leases.
After careful consideration, I am pleased to offer you the opportunity to run and manage the day-to-day operations of the farm. We believe that re-establishing the island’s oyster industry will have a positive impact on the island’s economy, improving both tourism and the availability of jobs locally.
In terms of timing, there is a degree of urgency. We’d appreciate you expediting your decision-making and providing us with a formal response within five days .
We look forward to further discussions and collaboration.
Clamaly yours,
Alec Ogilvy
CEO
Clam Cove Resort
A flame of anger ignites in my stomach as I re-read the cheesy sign-off, ‘Clamaly yours’. It probably took an entire marketing team to come up with something that ridiculous. Clams are native to the eastern shores of North and Central America, not Australia! Why not stick with the original Pearl Island name and call the new venture Pearl Island Resort? That would make too much sense.
Alec’s email doesn’t come as a complete surprise – I’ve known about his plan for weeks now. I just didn’t think it would include me.
Agreeing to sell the site of the oyster farm’s buildings to the resort developers was really the only way to ensure the island’s future. For the most part, I feel grateful we were even able to find a buyer to temporarily pump some money back into our small island’s economy.
Tourism has picked up some, just not as much as we’d hoped. The resort has only been open for a few months, so we’re all still clinging to the hope that things are going to improve.
Taking a role in housekeeping and maintenance at Clam Cove Resort was a strategic move on my part as it allowed me to keep an eye on things. And to keep the cabin, the only bit of the oyster farm that remains.
I abandon my computer, walk out onto the deck of the cabin and begin my ritual of dunking oyster shells into a bucket of soapy water. I scrub vigorously, the bristles of my toothbrush frayed from cleaning the grime off thousands of shells as I prepare them for yet another nautical-themed piece. A mosaic, a jewellery dish, a plate, a bowl . . . I’m yet to make up my mind. Clara has no idea how out of hand my little craft hobby has gotten since she moved, thanks to the art materials she left behind. It’s become a therapeutic escape over the last year, a way of keeping my hands busy and quietening the nagging guilt.
Once I’m happy with my pile of freshly polished shells, I return to my desk. I consider replying to Alec right away, but shamefully, it’s not so black and white. I really wish that it were.
As I prepare to stand, the ping of yet another email pulls me back to the screen.
Sender: Tom Devine
Recipient: Jack Cooper
Subject: Re: Another double booking
Mate! Farrrrrrrrk! Shit, sorry. I assumed Moorings would be avail since it normally is. I bet you have it handled like a pro tho.
I have the day off on Tuesday so I’m going to island hop over to see Richie and the boys – relive our uni days. We should have a beer.
P.S. I removed Clara as cc ’cause I don’t need her commentary on my life.
P.P.S. Our pearl oysters taste so much better than the rock oysters here. Let’s just say The Oyster House has some bloody good marketing.
A strange feeling flits across my chest. As much as I’ll never quite understand how they could leave the island, it’s nice to hear them both happy. Even the tension between them, I know, is just silly sibling squabbles. I may be dealing with the fallout right now, but they’ll come back together once they’ve processed their grief. Their lives had been on hold for such a long time – all of ours had.
It’s time to distract myself from my own tough decisions – I reach for my phone to send Andie her parrot.
I’ll hold off sharing the good news about the bucks’ new accommodation for now until I’ve confirmed it with them. I can’t stand the thought of letting her down.