Page 20 of Coming Home to Winter Island
Yes. Hoping to leave soon and still get to Tenerife. Few problems with the paperwork. I find myself rolling out the lie as if it’s the truth. Well, what else can I say? I could leave right now, this minute, but I think about Lachlan, walking around as if he owns the place. It’s Christmas; why isn’t he with family? Doesn’t he have anyone else to go to? I can’t leave until I know why he’s here, what he’s up to in that shed. I need to find out and get him to agree to go. And it has to be today.
What are you doing awake?I ask.
Making my way back to my flat. Stayed with a friend I met last night!She adds smiley faces and blushing-cheek ones too.
Jess isn’t a one-man woman like me. She enjoys nothing better than life on the road, loving and leaving the next day. I like life on the road too, but I also like the fact that I have Joe to go home to. I don’t need any added complications in my life. I just want to focus on the job in hand, being the best I can be at what I do and getting the recognition from the record companies; signing a deal with a label, finally making it over the finish line. Joe knows that and supports me, which is what I adore about him. He loves the band nearly as much as I do.
My phone pings again.
How’s the voice?Jess texts.
I look out through the frosted glass and ponder the question. I’ve been speaking, which the doctor told me not to do, but it’s not like I’ve seen lots of people. I have absolutely no idea how my singing voice is. In fact, right now, I’m too scared to find out. What if it’s still broken? What if...what if it never comes back? The lump rises in my throat again. Who am I if I can’t be Ruby Mac on stage with the band?
Okay, I lie, and this is becoming a habit.How’s Lulu?
Lulu’s good, but she’s not you! Think you’ll be home soon? Be great to have you back!!
I smile and type,Oh yes, back soon, I promise, and as I press send, I feel the determination rise in me. I have to return home before Lulu gets too comfortable filling my shoes. And there’s only one thing standing in my way...Lachlan.
I suddenly spot him striding down the path away from the house with his big bag slung across his body. Where’s he going? And what’s in that bag? I have to get this sorted. I pull on my new hand-knitted hat and run downstairs, straight into the lingering smell of kippers and buttered toast.
Hector is in the kitchen, and just for a moment I catch that resemblance to my dad again and my past comes rushing back to me like a tidal wave, washing over me and then crashing into pieces on the beach. It’s not my dad; it’s just someone who looks like him. I shake my head, hoping that these moments of my past meeting my present will stop. I don’t know this man, I remind myself firmly. He didn’t want to be part of our family, or for me to be part of his. It’s love that makes a family, not DNA. I know my parents loved me. My dad was always there for me, and even my mum loves me, in her own chaotic way.
‘Morning, um, Hector,’ I say. He’s in his dressing gown as usual. A long, worn robe, loosely held together with a tie around his waist over threadbare pyjamas. He looks up from where he’s emptying the dresser cupboards all over again.
‘Morning!’ he says, before going straight back to the job in hand. ‘Must be here somewhere...’
Maybe he’s hungry, I think. I really do want to go and look for Lachlan, but I can’t just leave Hector here like this.
‘Can I help you?’ I ask. ‘Are you looking for something to eat?’
I walk over to the range to see a big pan of home-made soup standing there. There’s some cheese on the worktop too, under a netted dome, and freshly baked bread. It’s like the elves and the shoemaker. I wonder if this really is all Lachlan’s work, or whether Mrs Broidy has been in. I’ll have to speak to her and see if she can stay on and look after Hector after Lachlan moves out, just until the house is sold.
‘Would you like a cup of tea?’ I ask.
‘Thank you, Mairead. Cup of tea would be perfect. Just as I like it...’
I go to correct him, but he’s clearly lost in his own thoughts, muttering as he sifts through papers from the cupboard.
I make the tea with the big old kettle, and remember that he has diabetes so don’t add sugar.
‘How about I put it in here, by your chair?’ I say.
‘Perfect!’ he exclaims, and comes and sits by the big living room window, looking out over the lawn to the cove.
‘Um, happy Christmas,’ I say.
‘Christmas?’ He looks at me and laughs. ‘You’re losing your marbles, Mairead. Christmas indeed. If it were Christmas, you’d’ve had the turkey on hours ago! The drinks’d be laid out and the workers and their families would be here by now! And where are the presents for them all? Christmas indeed.’ He laughs and shakes his head, then takes a sip of tea, seemingly oblivious to the drips spilling down the front of his dressing gown. ‘You’ve even forgotten how I like my tea! No sugar in there! You’re losing your marbles,’ he repeats, then looks back out of the window.
I clear my throat. ‘I’m not Mairead. I’m Ruby,’ I say, but he’s not listening. He’s standing up and starting to rummage through the cupboards either side of the fireplace again.
I look around. There is no nod to Christmas in here at all. No wonder he doesn’t realise what day it is.
‘Shall I get you something to eat?’ I ask. ‘I think there’s some bread that Mrs Broidy made. Or maybe I could find something else.’
‘God! If Mrs Broidy made it, we’re all in trouble!’ He laughs, and the sound echoes around the room. The acoustics in here are amazing. Then he looks out of the window again, frowning, as if trying to remember something.
I think about the solicitor and his wife, and their family arriving to spend Christmas with them. I think about how different Hector’s Christmas could have been in the nursing home.
