Page 19 of Coming Home to Winter Island
‘Oh, maybe we could...’ I start to say, but she’s already gone.
Mrs Broidy is still looking at me with narrowed eyes. I take a sudden interest in the display of knitwear.
‘All hand-made,’ the three monkeys say together.
I leave the shop with a warm jumper, hat and mittens, and no further in my investigations about Lachlan.
That evening, after a delicious fish pie, Hector retires to bed and Lachlan disappears off to the red-brick shed again.
‘What is it you do down there?’ I ask as he opens the back door.
‘Wouldn’t you like to know,’ he replies with an infuriating wink, and leaves with a smile.
I decide to stay awake; after I hear him go to bed, I’ll investigate the shed. I stare at my phone, wishing I could text the group chat. But the band are all at a gig. I look through the photos they’ve sent me during the set-up: Moira and Gwilym, heads together, smiling in a selfie; Pixie Rose posing with her saxophone; Lulu looking glamorous; and one of all of them, with a thumbs-up for me. I scroll through more pictures on my phone; most of them are of Joe with the rest of the band. I’m determined to keep myself alert and entertained. I’ll stay awake all night if I have to!
Chapter Ten
The following morning is the first Christmas Day I’ve woken before ten since I was a child. Christmas with my dad always started early, but it all changed once I went to live with Mum. There were none of the rituals and traditions Dad had put in place. I remember waking to feel the weight of the big sock on the end of my bed, with the chocolate Father Christmas in it and a satsuma, always, and find myself smiling. Then it was kippers, just like the ones...I lift my head...just like the ones Lachlan is cooking now by the smell of it!
Suddenly the memories come crashing in. On Christmas morning, we’d always walk the dog early – our black Lab called Murdo. He was rehomed after Dad died and I never saw him again. I never knew if he was happy, or if he missed my dad as much as I did. A lump rises in my throat. I wish I could have done more, insisted he stay with me. But I was only twelve and my mother hated animals. Then afterwards there was a lunchtime drink at the pub whilst the turkey was cooking, and later, a film and chocolates. I find a big ball rising in my throat and silent tears rolling down the sides of my face. Happy and sad ones all mixed in together. Being here seems to be reminding me of all the things I miss about Dad.
Once I started working as a professional singer – backing vocals to start with, holiday camps and cruises like my mum – Christmas was just another working day. And when I joined the band, it became the day after a big gig and the day before another one; a day to rest the voice and get ready for the big New Year jobs. Joe usually stays at mine, and we can pretty much please ourselves, so we take things at a leisurely pace. Here, though, I’m awake as soon as I hear movement upstairs. And smell those kippers cooking.
I realise that I must have fallen asleep pretty much straight away last night and slept right through. I never do that! I’ve been a bad sleeper as long as I can remember, not dropping off until the early hours, sometimes even as dawn is breaking. Here, though, last night, I slept just as I did as a child, knowing I was at home, safe...It must be the air, I tell myself.
But enough of thinking about Christmases past. I have to get on and find out about Lachlan, or I won’t have a future to go to!
I slide out of bed and walk to the window, looking out over the bay as the mist rolls in. The wind seems to have dropped, and with it, so has the temperature. There is a thick frost, making everything white and glistening, like a Christmas card. It’s beautiful. I pull on the thick jumper I bought in the shop yesterday, dreading to think what my credit card balance will look like when I’m home. Still, I’m glad I’ve seen this place, the island where my dad grew up. I can just imagine how he felt here on Christmas morning, waking up to this sight. I only wish I had someone here to share it with me.
I pick up my phone and take a photograph out of the bedroom window, trying to stop the camera shaking as I shiver with the cold permeating through the glass. I pull on my hand-knitted fingerless mittens. I was clearly the best customer they’d had in the shop in a long time, I think, remembering their faces as they totted up my items between them with a pen and paper and rang it into the till with a huge smile. But these gloves and jumper are beautiful. It’s a shame more people don’t visit to buy them.
I send Joe a text.Happy Christmas! How was the gig?
Great!he replies immediately, with smiley faces, and I realise I’ve probably woken him up and immediately feel bad. I long to be back there. Being on stage with the band feels like home and has done since I joined them. I know where I am, and what I’m doing. It’s the one place I have truly felt at home since I lost mine with Dad. The smell of those hot, buttery kippers has certainly stirred up memories I thought were long gone!
My phone pings again.Lulu did a great job.
I’m grateful, but I’m also...well, if I’m honest, I’m feeling really fed up about it too. She’s there, and I’m not. I look out of the window again. I’m not very proud of feeling this way. To make up for it, I send smiley faces and Christmas tree emojis back to Joe and tell him I’m missing him.What are you doing up so early?I type, and there’s a delay as I wait for him to respond.
Just popped out for a few bits for Christmas, he replies.
On Christmas morning? I think. What could he need and where would he go? I go to ask him, but he sends another message.
So, where are you? By the pool in sunny Tenerife?He adds a kiss.
Leaving soon, I say, and quickly send.
What?!!replies Joe, and I can just imagine his face.
It’s fine, I say.It’s all in hand. I’ll be on my way soon and back before you know it!
You need to get to that retreat! The longer you delay, the longer you’re putting the band at risk!
I know, I know, I type, feeling bad. He’s only saying this because he has my best interests at heart. I send him lots of kisses, but he doesn’t reply.
I message Jess and wish her happy Christmas too. I don’t expect a reply, but I get one.
You’re still there then?
