Page 12 of Coming Home to Winter Island
Fraser slides his glasses off. ‘As I said, the care home have a place for him. I pulled a few strings; I knew the manager’s mother many years ago, when the mainland was still a tempting place to visit. But we need to confirm he’s going to take it soon. If not, he’ll go back on the waiting list, and it is quite long.’
‘Yes, best to get things moving quickly then.’ I smile. ‘Right, well, if that’s everything...’ I go to stand. ‘Hopefully the ferry will be running and I’ll make my flight.’ I’m relieved everything is sorted, although I’m not really sure why we couldn’t have done it over the phone. ‘It’s been good to meet you, Mr Gillies.’ I hold out my hand to him. ‘Hope you have a lovely Christmas with the family.’
‘And you, Ruby,’ he says. ‘However, just before you go... As you said, best to get the house sold, and then you and Hector can both move on as quickly as possible.’
‘Absolutely. I’m sure the sooner he’s there, the better.’
‘Well.’ Fraser looks up at me. ‘There is just one problem.’
Chapter Six
‘You knew, didn’t you?’ I croak as loudly as I can. My throat strains as I stand in the kitchen staring at Lachlan, my eyes flashing. The fire in the living room opposite is blazing to match the feeling in my stomach. ‘You knew what he was going to say!’
‘Well, maybe you should have hung around a bit longer to find out!’ he retorts, leaning against the old stove. The kitchen is full of the smell of baking bread. ‘You were in quite a rush to get away from here before finding out anything about this place...or Hector.’
‘Look, I told you, Hector and me...He never wanted to meet me. Has never been part of my life.’ Suddenly there’s a catch in my throat. Dad and his father were estranged, that was the word he used whenever he spoke about it. But that just meant we made our little family the best it could be. Small but mighty, he used to say. He wasn’t that demonstrative, but I did know he was always there for me, and when he died...well, it left me feeling totally adrift. Abandoned. Alone. There isn’t a day goes by when I don’t wish he was still here.
‘You knew full well why the house can’t be put on the market,’ I repeat. ‘Why this was all a waste of time for me.’
He shrugs. ‘Like I say, you should’ve asked.’
‘Well I’m asking now. What exactly are you doing here? How do you know Hector?’
‘I told you. I’m a friend of the family. I’m just helping out.’
‘Well if you want to help out, move out! The house can’t be sold with a sitting tenant, apparently. That’s you! You’re living in the attic! The servants’ quarters! That’s why you were here last night. And every night, by the looks of it. I have no idea what you’re up to, or why you won’t tell me, but I’m asking now. Will you please move out so the house can be put on the market and...Hector...’ I attempt to say ‘my grandfather’ for dramatic effect, but it sounds too weird, ‘can go into the home he needs.’
‘His home is here. Everything he needs is here.’ He tosses a piece of bread nonchalantly into his mouth, and I wish he’d missed.
‘He needs to be looked after properly.’ I glare. This man is just getting in my way now, and it feels like he’s doing it on purpose. ‘The solicitor needs to go ahead with putting the house on the market and I have to—’
‘Yes, yes, I know. You’ve got a plane to catch!’ He waves a hand in my direction.
I sigh, deeply and with relief. He realises, thank goodness. Hopefully this can be sorted out quickly then.
‘So in order to sell the house at a “reasonable price”...’ I quote the solicitor and raise my eyebrows. The figure he mentioned was hardly anything for such a big property. But looking at it now in the clear light of day and in a brief let-up in the rain, I can see just what a neglected state it’s in. Apart from the fact that it’s a very limited market. Who wants a big, run-down house on an island a two-hour ferry ride from the mainland? How would anyone make a living over here? I certainly couldn’t. But it’s not going to sell at all with someone living in the attic! ‘...I need you to find somewhere else to live and move out.’
My voice is barely audible, but I have got a pad and pen with me.You need to move out!I write and show it to him. He reads it, then goes to the big old fridge and starts pulling out what look like boxes of ready meals and putting them on the side.
‘Someone needs to be here with Hector, to keep an eye on him. And clearly it’s not going to be you.’ He looks at me and raises an eyebrow. ‘You’ve got a plane to catch.’
‘Well, clearly someoneislooking out for him. Look at all those ready meals. Who brings him those?’
‘Mrs Broidy, the old housekeeper. She gets them sent over from the mainland.’
‘Well, that’s great. If Mrs Broidy is making sure he’s fed and checking in on him, then you don’t need to be here.’
He turns and dumps all the ready meals in the bin. Followed by several packets of biscuits.
‘What on earth are you doing? Are you mad?’ I exclaim. ‘You can’t just throw away all his meals! That’s abuse. I could report you!’
I rush over to the bin and start fishing out the boxes and putting them on the scrubbed pine work surface. I’m outraged.
‘You need to leave! I don’t know why you’re here, or what you’re hoping to get from this, but you need to go. I can’t believe you would sabotage an old man like this!’
He watches me as I stack the boxes into piles. Then he steps forward, picks them all up and drops them back in the bin. He dusts off his hands and stares at me.
‘All out of date,’ he says with a frustrated sigh. ‘He forgets to look at the dates on them, and if he eats them, he’s sick. And,’ he adds, ‘he’s diabetic. Cakes, biscuits...he’s mad for them but can’t control his sugar levels. I keep telling Mrs Broidy, but she takes no notice. Or maybe she can’t remember either.’
