Page 13 of Coming Home to Winter Island
I find myself blushing and floundering slightly. ‘Right, well, I’m sure the nursing home will be able to look after his diet. So,’ I breathe from my buttocks, lift my chin and take control of the situation, ‘could you please organise somewhere to live so the house can be sold?’
He stares at me and drops a final ready meal into the bin with a clatter. I look at it and wonder where to get some more, and whether I should contact this Mrs Broidy. I know it’s not really my problem, but I do need to make sure the old man is being looked after until he can go into the home. Perhaps we could write the use-by dates on in big marker pen.
‘So...’ I draw in breath again, ‘are you going to tell me what you’re doing here?’ I’m suddenly desperate to find out. Is he just freeloading off a vulnerable old man? In which case, the sooner he’s gone the better. But then I think about the kippers that morning at breakfast, caught and smoked by Lachlan, and cooked to perfection. Is he genuinely just here out of the goodness of his heart? He couldn’t really be putting his life on hold to help out an old man when there’s nothing in it for him, could he? He has to be up to something.
He doesn’t reply, and I plough on. ‘So, you’ll move out and then the house can be sold? It’s the right thing for Hector.’ I look at him. If he really is doing this out of the goodness of his heart, then he’ll want what’s best for Hector too.
He stares back at me with his flecked eyes, and I swear there’s a tiny smile at the corner of his mouth. ‘Yes, I’ll do what’s right for Hector,’ he says. ‘And no, I’m not moving out.’ He moves away from the kitchen work surface he’s been leaning against and picks up his big canvas bag. ‘Now if you’ll excuse me, I have things to do.’
He walks out, whistling, leaving me standing in the huge high-ceilinged kitchen. What the...? Who is this man, and what is he doing here? And what’s in that bag he carries around with him?
I follow him into the living room, where he’s stoking the fire. The two black Labs look up at him from their place in front of the hearth. ‘I’ll just be outside,’ he tells Hector, then he walks right past me, raising his eyebrows and nodding his head, and, still whistling, opens the back door and swaggers towards a single-storey red-brick building behind the house.
Of all the arrogant, jumped-up, ignorant freeloaders! I think, fury bubbling up inside me. I have a ferry to catch this afternoon. But there is no way I can leave with this man ensconced here. What on earth am I supposed to do now?
Chapter Seven
‘No, wait!’ I go to run outside after him, then look down at my feet. I flick off my still soggy shoes and survey the line of wellington boots by the back door. I’m sure no one will mind if I borrow a pair. Who is there to mind? Not Hector, that’s for sure, who’s emptying the cupboards either side of the fireplace, clearly still looking for something, as he has been since I arrived. The dogs are sitting upright now, as if on guard duty. And I suddenly wonder what’s going to happen to them once Hector leaves here and goes to the care home. Will he still get to see them? Maybe I’ll ask the solicitor, just so I know they’re going to be well cared for, like their master.
I open the back door, which is marked with scratches from dogs’ paws over the years. I wonder if Dad’s dog – the one he had when I was little, that moved with him when he left the island – made some of them. Outside, it’s stopped raining. It’s cold, but the air fills my lungs and the breeze gently strokes my face. A big difference from last night. In fact, a lot of things look different from last night, including there not being any ghosts, simply a lodger in the attic.
‘Wait!’ I call again, but Lachlan holds up a hand and carries on walking towards the red-brick building and the barns beyond it. And beyondthatis water. Long green grasses edge the sandy shore, where waves are gently lapping, and there are small clusters of rocks at the far reaches of the cove where it opens out into the sea. In the distance I can now see the outlines of the neighbouring islands, silhouetted by the silvery winter sun. I’m suddenly blown away by the spectacular view. It’s breathtaking.
As I stand and stare, there’s a sudden vibration in my coat pocket. My phone! We must have signal again! I try to pull it out, tying myself in knots in my eagerness to answer it. Finally I release it and sigh with relief. It’s Joe.
‘Hello? Joe?’ I say as I press answer.
‘Ruby? Is that you? Where are you? I’ve been worried sick. No one’s heard from you, not Jess, or the band group chat, and the voice retreat say you haven’t arrived. What’s going on? Are you okay?’
‘I’m okay,’ I croak, and tears suddenly spring to my eyes.
‘Rubes? What’s happened? Are you on your way to the airport?’
Just hearing his voice makes me realise quite how far I am from my life and everything I know. Away from Joe, the band, even from performing. Out here I’m not Ruby Mac, the singer. I’m not even Ruby Macquarrie, Hector’s granddaughter. I’m...well, nobody.
I have no idea how to tell him I’m not at the airport. That I’m not on the way to Tenerife to find my voice again. That I’m still here, on this remote island, and that, I find myself realising, I can’t leave until all this is sorted. I can’t just go knowing there’s a squatter in the attic and the house can’t be sold whilst he’s there. I can’t walk away leaving that freeloader to live there at Hector’s expense and help himself to whatever is left of Hector’s home and memories. I may not know Hector, but I do know what’s right. And this isn’t!
‘Rubes, can you hear me? Did you sign the paperwork? Are you on your way to Tenerife?’
I watch Lachlan disappearing. I can’t just let him go. I have to sort this. I have to leave. I have a flight to catch this afternoon!
‘Yes. All signed and sorted. I’ll be leaving shortly. Don’t worry, it’s all in hand,’ I lie with a blush. It’s the first time I’ve ever lied to Joe, I think. Apart from the odd white lie when I’ve been out with Jess and told him I only had a couple of drinks, because he thinks it’s no good for my voice. He’s probably right. I should’ve listened.
‘I have to go, love you,’ I say into the phone. ‘I’ll ring when I’m at the airport.’
‘Make sure you do,’ he replies.
‘Oh, how’s Lulu doing?’
‘Great!’ I can hear the smile in his voice, then it suddenly drops. ‘I mean, not as great as you. But doing fine. Keeping everything ticking over till you get back.’
‘Oh, good,’ I say, and suddenly feel a bit teary again, wishing I was home, back with the band. ‘Tell them all I’m fine and I’ll be in touch soon.’
‘Love you,’ he says.
After he’s hung up, I stare at the phone as if watching my life from inside a glass bottle bobbing about in the ocean. I look back at the swaggering figure of Lachlan. There’s only one thing standing between me and getting ashore, and that’s him, I think furiously. I ram the phone back into my pocket and start marching after him.
‘Hey! Hey!’ I shout impulsively, only remembering I shouldn’t when my voice cracks and strains. ‘Wait!’ I wave my arms, but he doesn’t respond. The arrogance of the man! I feel myself getting hot with fury. How dare he?
