Page 10 of Coming Home to Winter Island
‘It’s best just to go with it,’ says Lachlan, over the sizzle from his pan, as he starts to stir what smells like melting butter. My stomach rumbles and I hope no one hears it. ‘Tea, Mairead?’ He holds up the teapot, smiling broadly, his eyes crinkling at the corners. The old man visibly relaxes and closes his eyes.
Lachlan pours the dark brown liquid from the big pot into a waiting mug. ‘There’s milk in the jug.’ He points.
‘Thank you,’ I say, grateful that he’s helped me out and briefly wondering if I look like my grandmother. I push the thought out of my mind. Hector’s just a confused old man, I remind myself.
I haven’t thought about my grandparents in a long time. There was a time when I wanted to know all about my past and where I came from, but my mum always told me that it wasn’t where you’d come from that mattered, but where you were going. I seem to have lived my life by that maxim ever since. And right now, I’m going to Tenerife, to get things back on track!
I walk over to Lachlan standing by the range. The sight of the kippers sizzling in the pan is making my mouth water. I watch as he puts crusty bread into a wire rack to toast on another hot plate. The smell takes me right back to school mornings, when my dad always insisted on tea and toast to set me up for the day. He’d put a pot on the table, just like now, and a jug of milk, even though it was only the two of us. Once I went to live with my mum, there was never any milk and the bread had mould growing on it. I made do with a Mars bar from the corner shop, not the happiest of starts to the day.
I suddenly feel I need to get things straight with Lachlan.
‘Look, let me just clear this up,’ I say. ‘I’m not here to suddenly lay claim to this place. I’m here because the solicitor called me. Once the paperwork is all sorted out, Hector can move into the retirement home. Probably be a lot more comfortable there, with heating and hot water and all the mod cons.’ I try to be as friendly as I can.
Lachlan puts down a plate of gorgeous-smelling kippers, and a basket of golden toast with yellow butter melting over the top. Then he raises an eyebrow at me, though this time his eyes aren’t dancing. This time he’s deadly serious.
‘Away from the island he loves? A two-hour ferry ride away, on the mainland? Maybe round here we just have a better sense of belonging and loyalty.’
My stomach suddenly roars loudly. I swallow. Clearly Hector is well looked after here. I bite my tongue. I’m going to be gone very soon. I don’t need to argue with this man. This place is nothing to me. I’m not part of it.
‘Just so you know...I’m really not here to claim any of this,’ I repeat, and sip at my tea.
‘If you say so,’ says Lachlan with a nod that tells me he’s not convinced, and I’m infuriated all over again. ‘Now eat up.’ He puts a plate down in front of me. ‘My own smoked kippers,’ he says, wiping his hands on a tea towel. ‘You should never travel on an empty stomach.’
I look from the plate to him. I want to convince him, to tell him that I’m here to do the best for Hector, but my throat feels like there is a vice tightening around it, and my treacherous stomach roars in appreciation as he pushes the plate of food towards me.
‘Eat up, Mairead,’ says Hector. ‘Mrs Broidy will be here any time.’ He picks up his knife and fork. ‘There’s a lot to do before our guests arrive,’ he adds, and Lachlan smiles and shakes his head, letting me know there are no guests arriving, and I feel a prickle run over my skin, like I’ve just had a visit from the ghost of Christmas past, a glimpse of how life used to be here.
Chapter Five
‘So you’re Hector Macquarrie’s granddaughter,’ says Fraser Gillies.
He’s sitting in a high-backed chair in front of a cheerful fire in his front room. I saw Isla from the ferry coming out of the little shop clutching packets of ginger nuts and bottles of Irn-Bru and asked her where Fraser lived. I could tell she was dying to find out why I wanted to see him, but luckily Gordan, smiling good morning to me, tugged her away before she could ask. The two women behind the counter of the shop were straining their necks to get a good look at me too, but the less I have to tell people who I am and try and explain things, the better. Because I can’t really explain what I don’t know.
‘I...I suppose I am,’ I say nervously, perching on the edge of my chair. I should be conducting this conversation via my notebook, I know, but I’m not expecting to have to say very much. What is there to say? ‘I’m sorry this couldn’t be done yesterday. I was delayed by the weather, and when I did get here, the phones were down.’
‘Ah yes, they’re working on the mast now. Hopefully we’ll be back in touch with the outside world shortly.’
I think of Joe, worrying about where I am and wondering why I haven’t been in touch. But I’ll be leaving shortly, and I’ll message him once I’m back on the mainland.
‘So...’ Fraser puts his fingers together and pauses, clearly not in any rush to get this meeting over and done with. ‘I gather you are Hector’s only remaining relative.’ His soft, rolling accent is like the gentle hills around the island that I can see now it’s stopped raining. He smiles, looking down at the paperwork on his lap.
‘So I believe.’ I give a little cough as I suddenly realise I have no idea if I have any other relatives. This morning, for one brief moment, I thought Lachlan and I might have been related. Thankfully, we’re not, as I’m pretty sure we have nothing in common.
Fraser looks at me. His moustache twitches and his cheerful waistcoat strains as he leans in to offer me a shortbread biscuit, and although they look delicious, I put up my hand. I’m still full from the toast and kippers, the smokiest, tastiest kippers I have ever eaten.
‘A shame we haven’t seen you here before,’ he says taking a biscuit for himself and brushing away the crumbs as he bites into it.
I squirm, not knowing how to respond. How do I say I didn’t even know until yesterday that my grandfather was still alive? We’d never met, and now it seems it’s too late anyway.
‘No,’ I say. ‘I’ve never been to Winter Island. This is my first visit.’ And my last, I think, contemplating the ferry journey back and not looking forward to it one bit.
‘Well.’ He looks at me. ‘I hope you enjoy your stay with us. Take in the island. Enjoy Christmas. If you and your grandfather have nothing else planned, you’d be very welcome to join us here. There’s always the full works on.’
‘Thank you. But I’m afraid I won’t be staying. I have a flight to catch.’
‘Not staying for Christmas? But it’s only three days away.’
Fraser’s house is indeed very welcoming and warm. The plate of shortbread on the table in front of us was put there by Mrs Gillies with a welcoming smile. If I was a Christmas person, this is the sort of Christmas I would love.
