Page 28 of Coming Home to Winter Island
‘I know, I know. I’ll cancel for now and rebook as soon as everything here is sorted.’ I’m trying to make the situation sound better, as if it’s all in hand. But right now, I can’t worry about that. Right now, for some reason, what matters is getting the recipe found and the business up and running so we can all feel we’ve done the best we can for Hector. I’m not sure why it seems so important. I just know it feels right. And I’m sure it won’t take that long. I’ll be in that vocal retreat before I know it. This is just a blip, a delay. The quicker I can help find that recipe, the sooner Lachlan will move out.
I look at the screen. Joe is clearly unhappy. He’s rolling his lips in on themselves as he does when something’s bothering him. I try and distract him by asking about the gig again.
‘So Lulu did a good job standing in for me? Not too good, I hope!’ I try and joke, but it falls flat, and he sighs loudly.
‘It was great!’ He sounds really grumpy. Then he says, ‘Look, Rubes, I’m not being funny, but Lulu is good, really good.’
I frown.
‘I mean, not as good as you,’ he says quickly. ‘But, well, she’s here and doing a decent job. And, well...’ He sighs again and my heart starts quickening and my mind racing.
‘What are you saying? Do you think the band are going to replace me?’ My voice tightens and thins.
He says nothing.
‘Joe?’ I ask anxiously.
‘All I’m saying is, the quicker you can get back here the better. Lulu’s good and I’d hate for them to think she was more reliable than you. It’s your career I’m thinking of, Rubes. You need to get to that vocal retreat as soon as possible.’
I nod. I know he’s just thinking of me. ‘I will,’ I croak.
‘So,’ he says after a pause, with a hint of disapproval in his voice. ‘Will there be turkey and all the trimmings?’
I look around at the bleak, empty house. I’m not here out of choice, I want to tell him.
‘No, no turkey and trimmings,’ and for some reason, I don’t tell him I’ve just eaten oysters and drunk gin out of their shells by a bonfire on the beach, and I can still smell the woodsmoke on my clothes and taste the clear, fresh spirit in my mouth. Or about the seals we watched playing in the water. I don’t want him to think I’m on some kind of jolly holiday. The band need me to get well and back in the saddle! Back to how things were. I don’t want them to think I’m having fun, or jeopardising my voice.
‘Well, as long as you’re keeping warm. Hot drinks, a scarf, and not talking too much, and definitely no singing!’ Joe instructs, confirming my decision not to tell him about the oysters and gin. It was quite something, though, an experience I’ll never forget. And with different company, it could have been amazing! ‘So, no Christmas jollities for you?’ Joe breaks into my thoughts.
‘No. I’m going to start on the cupboards. The house could probably do with a good sort-out anyway before he goes into the home. It’ll save me another trip up here,’ I say, looking around. Because once I do leave here, I know I won’t be back, no matter how much Fraser Gillies thinks this place can get under your skin.
‘So, Scottish island life isn’t for you, then?’ Joe gives a tight laugh. It’s nothing like Lachlan’s laugh, which is deep and relaxed and laid-back.
‘No! It’s cold, wet and a million miles from anywhere!’
‘Well, don’t waste your voice talking to me. Go and rest it. The more you rest, the quicker we’ll get you back. Take care,’ Joe says.
‘Oh, Joe? Did you hear back from the A&R woman? Will she come and see the band again?’
There’s another silence. ‘Jess has left messages,’ he finally says. And what he doesn’t say tells me everything. My spirits plummet into my three pairs of socks. I look out of the window towards the bay and wonder if the seals are still there. Then I hear voices in the background at the other end of the phone.
‘Who’s there?’ I ask, looking at the screen, seeing the minute tree in a pot that I bought for Joe.
‘Just the guys, the band. We’re having a curry. Bought it last night on the way back from the gig. Just got to heat it up.’
There are gales of laughter, and suddenly they’re all there waving at me, wishing me happy Christmas and telling me to get well soon. Even Lulu is there, behind Joe, and she never usually joins in on band get-togethers.
‘Don’t enjoy yourself too much!’ I joke, and just for a moment I wonder if Lulu wants to fill my shoes in Joe’s life as well as in the band. Then I scold myself for being overdramatic and ridiculous.
‘Okay, nor you!’ he jokes back. No chance of that, I think, looking around.
‘Happy Christmas. Love you guys,’ I say. ‘Love you—’ But I seem to have been drowned out by the noise at the other end of the phone as they all blow kisses and shout Happy Christmas again. Then the line goes dead and the picture is gone. And suddenly I am very, very homesick. I hold the phone to my lips, hot tears in my eyes, and wish I was there, back in my flat. No, I correct myself. I want to be in Joe’s flat. I want to be where Lulu is right now! Actually, I want us to be inourflat, the one we plan to buy once I get that recording contract. I want to go home.
I send a quick text to my mum, though I don’t let on I’m in Scotland. She’d only tell me that staying on isn’t a good idea. That I should just leave and get on with my own plans. My mum has always supported my career. I tell her I’m on voice rest and that we’re hoping an A&R woman will see us in the new year. I don’t need her questions right now. I need to make things right here, get off this island, get my voice back and go home!
I rub my nose, blink back the tears and take a deep breath from my butt. I lift my chin as if I was going on stage, then walk out of my bedroom, onto the big landing and down the stairs. At the turn, I stop and find myself adjusting the blue and red tartan curtains there to hide the moth-eaten parts. Then I carry on down, running my hand along the dark wood panelling and brushing the dust off as I go.
Down in the flagstoned hallway, I look around. I have a gin recipe to find. The sooner I find it, the sooner we all get what we want and get out of here.
