Page 11 of Coming Home to Winter Island
‘Our children and their families will be coming home, so you won’t be alone in being the only visiting relative. Lots of families come back for the festive period. This island has a way of drawing you back.’ He smiles. ‘Once it’s in the blood, it never leaves.’
I smile politely and try and push on. I won’t be here long enough for the island to have any kind of lasting effect on me. And looking at the lashing rain starting up again against the window, I’m still struggling to see the appeal. I cough, and Mrs Gillies brings me a glass of water, which I take gratefully, my throat as dry as the desert.
‘Of course,’ Fraser continues, ‘when the distillery was still up and running, we’d all go to the big house at Christmas. There’d be whisky and mince pies and gifts for everyone!’
‘Oh yes, those were the days!’ says Mrs Gillies fondly.
‘Then when the distillery was in trouble and your grandfather brought in the gin and saved the place, it was a double celebration for all the workers there who owed him their livelihoods.’
I swallow. This is all news to me. It sounds fascinating, and part of me wants to ask more, but I know I can’t. This isn’t my world. Whilst they were celebrating Christmas with whisky and mince pies... well, I had no idea any of this was going on. I was on the naughty list, clearly. Uninvited. There wasn’t a place for me at the big Christmas table.
I look down. ‘I’m sorry, but I really do have to get going,’ I say, putting the glass down on the table, my voice getting huskier.
‘Of course,’ says Fraser. ‘So, let me get to the point. I don’t want to hold you up.’
I feel bad, but I really do want to get back to the mainland and start Christmas my way, without baubles and tinsel and shortbread. They weren’t part of my growing up, not after Dad died. Mum always worked at Christmas, taking singing jobs where she could. Lunch was whatever she could buy from whichever local shop was open when she finally woke up on Christmas morning. It wasn’t how it used to be when Dad was alive, when he would cook a turkey and Mum would join us for lunch and board games afterwards. I loved those Christmases. But they’re in the past, and right now, sunshine and yoga and getting my voice back is what I need.
‘You are Hector’s sole remaining relative. However, as he hasn’t made a lasting power of attorney, it is up to the courts to rule on who should decide his fate. Stubborn old bugger. I suggested it many times, but he never thought this would happen to him, and what Hector didn’t want to think about, he put right out of his mind, trying to ignore the reality of it. So I am acting as deputy power of attorney, so to speak. The court has put me in charge of deciding his welfare. The hospital has suggested that he move into a home, as he is no longer able to care for himself. However, his house will need to be sold to finance that.’
‘Yes.’ I nod. ‘You said on the phone. He did seem rather confused when I met him. I think he’d be better off being cared for.’
‘On the mainland,’ says the solicitor slowly, looking at me.
‘Yes, you said there was a home with a place available if we can act quickly. Are there papers you need me to sign?’
‘No, no papers, my dear. I just wanted to check with you that this is what you want for Hector. That this is what we all agree.’
‘I’m sure it’s for the best,’ I say. ‘As soon as there’s a buyer for the house, he can move into the care home. No more worries about him wandering and hurting himself.’ I nod my head at this very practical solution to solving the problem. Although I never knew Hector, and I’m not likely to now, I still want what’s best for him. If that’s what the hospital recommend, then I agree. I think briefly about the big draughty house. He’ll be much better off in a warm home, being looked after properly. I have no idea why Lachlan was at the house, or what he’s up to, but he’s not responsible for Hector. The old man is on his own. He needs to be safe.
‘It’s been tough since your grandmother died and the distillery closed down. The farm animals are gone too and the house is falling into disrepair. And clearly his... forgetfulness is getting worse.’
I nod again. ‘So, everyone is agreed: get the house on the market as soon as you can.’
He sucks air through his teeth and tugs at the bottom of his waistcoat.
‘Of course, these days there’s no’ much market for a falling-down house two hours’ ferry ride from the mainland. No one’s staying on the island and no one’s buying here either.’
‘But we can put it on the market and get whatever we can for it?’
‘Yes. But it won’t be much. No’ much change for an inheritance after the home fees have been paid.’
‘Oh, but I’m not looking for anything out of this. I have my own life. I’m just happy I can help get things sorted.’
‘Are you sure you haven’t, well, considered a life for yourself here on Geamhradh?’ he says with a kind smile, holding out a hand as if to introduce me to everything the place has to offer. But of course he’s joking, and I shake my head good-naturedly, smile and even let out a polite laugh at his little joke.
‘I’m a city girl through and through,’ I say. I look out of the window at the road leading up from the harbour and continuing on around the island. ‘And I have somewhere I need to be,’ I add. It’ll be good to get back to the outside world.
He nods thoughtfully. ‘Of course. So, just to be clear: you agree with the hospital’s recommendation? He should go to the care home?’
‘Yes, yes, of course, whatever they think is best for him.’
‘Okay. And you’re happy for the house to be sold.’
‘Of course. Like I say, I don’t really know my father’s side of the family. There’s no...emotional attachment for me here. I’m just pleased everything will be sorted out.’
He looks at me steadily through his round gold-rimmed glasses. ‘I’ve known Hector for a very long time,’ he says slowly. ‘All our lives, in fact. I just want to be sure this is right for everyone.’ He emphasises the ‘everyone’ and I don’t really know why. Surely it’s just Hector that it needs to be right for. That’s why we’re here, doing the right thing for him.
‘It sounds like you have everything in hand brilliantly,’ I say, feeling I should thank him. ‘Hector is lucky to have someone here looking after his interests.’ I think briefly of Lachlan and wonder what he’s doing in Hector’s house. Is he taking advantage of an old man who doesn’t know what day of the week it is? I feel my hackles rise just a little. I may not know Hector, he may not know me or have ever wanted anything to do with me, but I hate to think that that might be the case.
