Page 17 of Coming Home to Winter Island
Just needed to sort some family stuff here first, I reply.
Family stuff? Your mum’s in Scotland?! Is she okay?!
No. It’s my dad’s side. I try and think how to word what I’m doing here, because I really have no idea myself.
I thought you didn’t know your dad’s side.
I don’t. But they’re moving my dad’s dad into a care home. Just need to get a few things sorted. I wish her luck again tonight.
Don’t worry. It’ll be fine. Lulu’s been great and Joe’s been really supportive too.
I have a twinge of what might be jealousy. I’m not the jealous type. Joe’s flirtatious, but like I say, we’re solid. He wants what’s best for me, for us.
Great, I text back with a smiley face, and just wish I could feel it.
I creep quietly downstairs. Hector is emptying the cupboard by the fire again, the dogs standing guard. Lachlan is in the kitchen. The smell of toast tries to tempt me in, but I resist. I need to know more about this man and how to get him out of the house. Season of goodwill or not, Hector needs to sell up.
The wind and rain may have dropped, but so has the temperature. I walk down the grassy lane towards the road, banked either side by hedgerows. A small stream trickles beside it, clear and busily bustling, as if on its way to meet up with friends. I follow it towards the road and the cluster of shop, pub and café.
As I approach the shop, I see the familiar figure of Fraser Gillies coming out of it.
‘Oh, hello, um, excuse me.’ I wave, knowing my voice alone isn’t going to reach him. He looks up, and my heart lifts. Hopefully he’ll have an idea about how to get Lachlan to leave, and that will mean I can too. ‘Mr Gillies,’ I say, jogging up to meet him.
‘Ah, Ruby. How lovely to see you. Glad you’ve decided to stay on and take in the island.’
‘Well, I’m hoping to be on my way soon. Um, tell me, this Lachlan, the one staying at Hector’s...’
‘Ah, Lachlan, he’s a good man. Knew you’d get along. Makes a mean rabbit stew. Well, you know where we are if you fancy a Christmas drink. The family are all here and would love to say hello.’ He turns to leave with his newspaper under his arm.
‘No, wait, Mr Gillies...’ I catch his arm. ‘I mean, Lachlan...isn’t there any way you can get him to leave?’
‘’Fraid not. Hector was quite clear that he has a home there as long as he wants it. He has towantto leave.’
I look at him in despair. ‘But we’re just trying to do what’s right for Hector. Why can’t he see that?’
‘Sometimes...well, what’s the expression about keeping your friends close and your enemies even closer?’ He smiles. ‘Oh, by the way, I spoke to Flora, the care home manager. She’s still holding that place for Hector, but we have to let her know soon if we’re going to take it. Her mother and mine used to be on opposing bowls teams. Your grandmother played too.’ He smiles, and for a moment I wish I could have seen that. ‘They’d take the ferry across to play against each other, bowling bags in hand. Flora’s very fond of the island. And the home is in the nearest town on the mainland, so not that far from the island really. He should be able to see it from his room. Anyway, she’ll keep the room, but just until Candlemas.’
‘Candlemas?’
‘February the second, when all payments for the quarter are due.’
‘That’s just over five weeks away!’
‘Indeed. Five weeks. After that, sadly, he will have to go to the bottom of the waiting list. And then who knows how long he’ll have to wait to get in there. Five weeks to work out what happens next.’
‘Five weeks,’ I repeat.
He nods, smiles and wishes me good day. I’m left standing there watching him go, wondering what he means and why he isn’t doing more to get Lachlan to leave. Well, if he isn’t going to, I’ll have to do it myself!
I turn to the shop and duck down through its low white wooden doorway. There are shelves rammed with everything you could think of, from well-worn magazines and tins of food to mud-covered potatoes and carrots. Home-made scones sit under a glass dome on the counter, alongside a humming fridge displaying goat’s cheese and ice cream, a selection of whiskies and another of woollen knitwear. As I round the central aisle, I see an opening into the café next door, and standing opposite, in front of the biscuit section, is Isla from the ferry, holding another packet of ginger biscuits and some tea bags. She’s staring into space as if deep in thought, and I smile.
‘Hi,’ I say, and raise a hand, happy to see a friendly face.
‘Hi,’ she says, snapping out of her trance and forcing a smile onto her face that doesn’t quite reach her eyes.
‘How’s the ferry crossing?’ I ask, for want of anything better to say.
‘Great! Well, no, actually. It seems to take longer for my stomach to settle after a rough one these days!’ She holds up the ginger biscuits. ‘How’s...business?’ she asks.
