Chapter Eleven – Jack
Chapter Eleven
JACK
‘C harlie, mate, are you here?’
It’s 6 a.m. and I’ve just walked through the open door of Charlie Farleys.
There’s no sign of Charlie, but the lights are on, so I make my way to the back kitchen through the aisles filled with stubby-holders, magnets, mood rings and stuffed seahorses. I hesitate at the section labelled ‘Oyster Art’, which showcases a collection of shell-art mosaics and gold-rimmed shell trinket dishes.
There’s a Y OU brEAK, YOU BUY notice stuck to the top shelf. Right underneath is a fluoro yellow B ESTSELLERS sign, even though I’m fairly certain there’s not even been one sale. If I’m mistaken, then I’ll have to have a stern word with Charlie about pocketing my commission.
‘Charlie!’ I call out again as I pass the foggy ice-cream fridge. The last thing he needs is a jump scare from me.
‘In here!’ he bellows from the kitchen.
I duck under the counter and push open the swinging double doors, disturbing a bird that’s lurking behind them. It flaps its wings, sending a chaotic dance of feathers into the air as it squawks at me. That’s one well-fed seagull, almost the size of a human baby.
‘There’s a bird in here,’ I announce. Charlie doesn’t look up from his position, crouched at the base of the commercial refrigerator.
‘Little fucker. He’s been snatching chips straight from the fryer. I swear I saw him dip one into the aioli the other day.’
I laugh. ‘Bird troubles aside, everything okay? I dropped in to lend you a hand this morning. I know that you’ve got that river-boat pick-up at seven, and I wasn’t sure if Lena was up for an early shift?’
‘Cheers mate. Really appreciate it. I’ll text her now, she’ll be relieved not to have to drag herself, and the kids down here at the crack of dawn, especially when she’s so close to popping.’ He thumps the side of the fridge with a balled fist. ‘This darn thing keeps leaking, and I’ve got five hundred dollars’ worth of meat in here. Like I don’t have enough on my plate trying to stay afloat.’
A coil of guilt springs to life in my stomach. He’s partly in this situation because of me. Charlie Farleys used to be Pearl Island’s number two tourist spot – right after the now bankrupt River Brasserie – and now, most days, it’s dead in here. It’s why he took the river-boat gig too.
‘How can I help?’ I ask, lowering myself to the ground and placing a reassuring hand on his shoulder.
‘Ah, it seems to be working again now. Temperamental piece of shit! We may as well have a coffee before I head off. Are you okay to stick around until about ten? That’ll give Lena time to sort the boys for school.’
I think of Alec’s angry face – his dilated pupils and red nose, a target I frequently visualise at the centre of a dartboard – demanding I start my shift at 9 a.m., even though it was never part of the agreement. But farming Pacific oysters in the spot where our pearl oysters used to thrive was never part of the agreement either.
‘Ten a.m. is fine,’ I say.
Charlie casts aside the towel he’s been using to mop up the puddle of water, groaning as he rises to his feet. We walk back out onto the shop floor, and he shuffles over to the coffee machine.
‘Cap?’ he asks, turning to me. ‘Shit, you look rough. It might be a three-shot coffee morning for you.’
I reach up to my jaw, running my fingers over the five o’clock shadow that’s been there since five o’clock two days ago.
‘Ha, yeah. I was up late, sorting out that double-booking situation at Moorings.’
I didn’t end up leaving Keith’s place until after 2 a.m. I could have left earlier, but I wanted to wait to make sure Andie got off home okay.
Charlie works the coffee machine. ‘I meant to ask, what happened there?’
‘Bloody Tom and Clara are still squabbling over Hannah’s place, but I managed to move Tom’s guests into Keith’s place.’
‘You’re renting out Keith’s place? Wow, that’s big, buddy.’
‘I guess I had to face the facts sooner or later.’ I shrug, trying to appear nonchalant while quietly appreciating that my best mate understands the significance of Keith’s house no longer being his home.
‘Typical traitor Tom,’ Charlie scoffs. ‘Pisses off to Crescent Island when things get hard here and leaves you to pick up the pieces, look after his dying mum and sort out his house.’
I don’t consider him a traitor for finding work at The Oyster House’s farm. He made the decision that was right for him; that’s what we were all trying to do.
Charlie adds lids to our cups. ‘Outside?’
‘Yeah.’
We navigate around the human-baby seagull who has followed us out of the kitchen, and the sodden paper dockets of bacon-and-egg bap and coffee orders past, stuck to the floor, and take our coffees out into the early-morning humidity. We settle on the grass, leaning against the shop’s wall, facing the water and the rising sun.
‘Now, that’s a good coffee,’ I say after my first sip.
‘Charlie Farleys has to have something going for it.’
‘Those aren’t fighting words, Charlie.’
‘Not all of us are fighters, Coops.’
‘Don’t say that. It’s not like I have it all figured out as a housekeeper slash sometimes shop assistant slash sometimes boat captain.’
I’m desperate to shake him out of his dark mood, yet given what I know, I’m torn about mentioning Alec’s plans – specifically, the genuine possibility of oysters returning to Pearl Island soon, which would likely mean the return of tourists. But at what cost? I’m terrified Charlie and I won’t see eye to eye about it. I want to wait until I’ve hopefully spoken to Keith and firmed up my position first.
‘Slash island caretaker to us all,’ Charlie adds. ‘You don’t have to do any of this for us. And don’t forget budding artist, too.’
I laugh. ‘I need to keep my hands busy somehow, don’t I?’
We sip our coffees in silence, watching the first of the orange light lap at the shore.
Charlie leans in close. ‘You know I told the sunrise about you,’ he whispers into my ear.
‘Fuck off!’ I protest, elbowing him in his side. ‘I stand by my opinion that would have been a hit printed on shop merch.’
‘You big ol’ romantic, you. Speaking of, I want to know what happened with that cute gluten-free chick who came in here yesterday.’
‘Who?’ I furrow my brow as I pretend to place who he means.
He cocks his head. ‘Oh no you don’t, mate. You can’t pull that shit with me. There was definitely a vibe between the two of you. I went home and told Lena. Told her I never saw you look even at Clara that way.’
‘Alright, alright,’ I concede. ‘Well, firstly she’s not the one who’s gluten-free, and secondly, I was thinking of asking her out. You know, on a proper date – give her at least one night off from those high-maintenance friends she’s with.’
I shouldn’t be so quick to judge, but from what I’ve seen, it seems like Andie bends over backwards for those women. Although it sounds arrogant, I briefly wondered if that’s what Andie forcing Taylor on me last night was all about. Did Taylor express some kind of interest in me, and was Andie trying to accommodate that too?
‘I knew it!’ Charlie lets out a low whistle. ‘I’m happy for you, man.’
‘There’s nothing to celebrate yet. She might not be interested.’
Charlie’s brow arches. ‘My guess is that she will be, Mr Green Eyes.’ He lumbers to his feet. ‘Alright, time for me to head to the wharf.’
‘Have a good day, Charlie.’
‘You too, Coops. And thanks again.’
I carry our empty cups inside and get straight to work prepping a dozen baps, slicing them in half and slathering them in butter, then layering on the fried eggs and bacon, and finishing with a thick dollop of house-made aioli.
I complete my assembly line in record time before selecting the plumpest bacon-and-egg bap and carefully packaging it for a very special delivery.