Page 37 of Coming Home to Winter Island
‘Just one thing, Lachlan,’ I say finally, feeling bolder with the hot toddy.
‘Fire away.’ He smiles, and actually, as he does so, he looks quite attractive. Must be the lighting, I tell myself, and the relief of the day and gratitude for what he did out there.
‘Even if we can find the recipe, how do you plan to actually get the business up and running again? Surely,’ I swallow, ‘surely that’s going to take a fair bit of cash. And I’m presuming that if the house has to be sold, there isn’t some slush fund there to help launch it.’
‘No. You’re right.’ He waves a knife, as if to tell me he’ll carry on speaking when he finishes his mouthful. Then he picks up the whisky bottle and sloshes some into each of our mugs, neat this time.
‘I mean, would it be enough just to find the recipe and make a small batch of the gin? Would you have fulfilled your promise?’ I smile hopefully.
He shakes his head. ‘I promised Hector I’d get the business going again. I don’t run out on a promise.’
I sigh. ‘I thought not.’ I sip the whisky and blanch. ‘So...’ I say through the fumes and the burning sensation. ‘What’s the plan?’
‘Well, I thought...seeing as you’re back here now helping out...’
‘Just until the house goes on the market so Hector can move into the home,’ I remind him.
‘Just until then,’ he confirms, putting more cheese on an oatcake and handing it to me as if it’s the most natural thing in the world. I don’t think anyone has ever put cheese on an oatcake for me before. I look at it. Joe would just have told me that cheese is no good for my voice, along with the alcohol. It’s such a small gesture, but, well, so thoughtful.
‘What?’ he says. ‘You have to eat! Everyone has to eat!’
And it seems that that is exactly what Lachlan is: kind and thoughtful. This is a man who puts others’ needs before his own. He’s not here to rip Hector off, I know that now. I have to trust him.
‘So, I was thinking...perhaps you have some money you could put up,’ he says flatly.
I look at him. Is that why he’s being nice to me? He thinks I have money? I look at the cheese and oatcake. But that wasn’t a game; that was just instinct. This guy is not trying to rip me off.
I shake my head. ‘Sadly, no. I don’t have a bean. I’ve spent the last of my savings on the retreat in Tenerife!’
‘Oh yes, the healing retreat!’ He gives a little laugh, and there’s a hint of cynicism there.
‘What?’
‘Healing comes from where you are in here.’ He points to his heart and his head. ‘Not jetting off to a hot country.’
‘Says you. You know about these things, do you?’
He looks at me. ‘I know healing can take time. It’s about being in the right place, taking time for the things you love.’
I think about this. Where is the right place for me? What is it I love? It’s always just been about the singing, and if I don’t have that, what do I have? I have Joe, I tell myself. I must ring him and tell him I think we should get engaged straight away; enjoy what we have rather than waiting for everything to fall into place. I find myself wanting to tell him about today. About this place. I want to tell him about Hector suddenly becoming lucid, thinking I was his PA; talking about the gin. I want to tell him about the deer and goats. The fright we had when Hector went off, and finding him by that amazing waterfall.
Joe is who’ll be with me when I’m old. We’ll share stories of places we’ve been and how we got there; the early days with the band, happy times touring, sleeping on friends’ floors and in the van. And now this. I want to share this with him too. When Jess and I started out, it felt like we had all the time in the world for our dreams to come true. Now, though, time is running out. I need to grab those dreams with both hands and make them happen.
Lachlan cuts into my thoughts. ‘So...no money,’ he says. ‘That’s a bummer.’
‘If I get my voice sorted and get this record deal that’s been on the cards...if Joe and I can get a mortgage, then maybe I could help out, a loan perhaps...’
‘Well, that’s a lot of ifs,’ he says flatly, hitting the truth on the head again as he seems to have a habit of doing. ‘What’s the story with you and Joe? Have you been together long? Engaged? You haven’t really said much about him.’
I bristle. Why would I tell him about my personal life? We’ve only just met. And we weren’t exactly on friendly terms when we did. But then a small voice in my head says:Whyhaven’tyou mentioned him more?
‘Joe’s great. Really great. He’s really supportive of me. We’re travelling the same path in life. Want the same things. That’s what a good relationship is all about, isn’t it?’ I smile.
‘But you’re not engaged or married?’ he says, knowing he’s hit a raw nerve, and that teasing twinkle lights up his eyes once more.
‘No,’ my voice tightens, as do my lips, ‘not engaged yet. But we will be...soon.’ He raises that eyebrow at me again. ‘We’re just...we were waiting. Have been waiting.’ I look down at my plate.
‘Waiting for what?’ he pushes, still teasing, but interested too. I take a deep breath.
