Page 40 of Coming Home to Winter Island
‘Which is the problem,’ I say gently.
Lachlan stares down at his plate. For a moment neither of us says anything, and I can tell he’s worried.
‘He really will be warm and safe in that home,’ I say. He puts down his knife and fork with a clatter. ‘You’ve done so much for him. But you can’t do it all on your own. What if something like that happens again when you’re not here?’
‘I’m not on my own,’ he says. ‘You’re here. Not that you’re much help,’ he tries to joke. ‘More trouble than you’re worth!’ He picks up his knife and fork again and begins to eat.
‘I’ll be leaving as soon as we have the gin sorted, though. Talking of which...no more delaying tactics! We need to crack on.’ I try and jolly him along, but he’s deep in thought. ‘This is the right thing to do,’ I say, and without thinking, I put my hand on his forearm.
He looks up at me as if considering what I’m saying, then swallows and says evenly, as if trying to keep emotion at bay, ‘Even if he wants to die at home?’
‘Yes. He could’ve died last night!’ I feel for him, but the care home is the right thing to do.
‘Only because you started giving him gin and then wandered off and left him! Hector...’ He swallows again. ‘Hector was there when I needed him. He’s been like a father to me. I want to do the right thing by him.’ I can tell he’s conflicted, on the one hand wanting to do as he promised, and on the other maybe seeing that Hector really would be better off in the home, because he is only going to get worse. ‘It’s what we all want, isn’t it?’ he says quietly. ‘To be looked after by people who care about us, in a place we love.’
This time it’s me who swallows. I’ve never really thought about it. Never thought about what happens further down the line. I’ve spent so many years chasing the record label dream, I’ve never considered what happens when we’re old; where we’ll be, what we’ll be doing. What will I have when my days as a singer are over? Will I be like my mum, never settling? Still looking for gigs on cruise ships, trying to ignore the passing of time until the phone stops ringing and the gigs stop happening. What then? Will I be in a place I love? And who will be there to care for me? Will it be Joe?
‘I’ll come back and visit,’ I say to Lachlan.
‘What, for Hector’s funeral?’ he says with a tilt of his head, and I don’t know if he’s still cross with me over Hector disappearing last night, or if he’s just stating a fact. But the sad part is that he’s probably right.
‘We need to get this gin made!’ I say, clapping my hands, making my head thump again, refocusing on the matter in hand and trying to push out all the other worries, including my phone conversation with Joe and the fact that he thinks I’m leaving today and I have no idea how to tell him that that isn’t going to happen. I wish he would understand that this is something I have to do before I move on.
‘You’re right,’ Lachlan says. ‘The still needs to be up and running. Hector needs to see it. I’m sure it will help him... stay as well as he can.’ I can tell he’s worried that Hector seems to be getting worse. ‘And I’ve been working on that. On your laptop. I hope you don’t mind?’ he says.
I shake my head, surprised. So he really is going to do this. He’s not stalling.
‘I’ve been reading up on the basics of making the gin.’ He shows me diagrams that are frankly far too confusing for me. ‘I’ll deal with all of that,’ he says. ‘Years as an engineer, I can do this side of things.’
‘An engineer?’
‘Yes. Went off to college on the mainland. Got a good job in an engineering company. Hated every minute of it. But I was too proud to come back. Until...well, until I had to and realised everything I’d ever wanted was right here.’
‘And was it?’
‘Not quite,’ he says quietly. ‘So,’ he moves the conversation on, turning the computer round. ‘I’ve been thinking about the crowdfunding page...We need to sellthismany bottles, atthisprice.’ He points to the page, where he’s done graphics of bottles of gin. ‘We offer everyone who invests the chance to buy a special edition of Teach Mhor gin...or better still, six bottles. We describe the ginhere, and what’s in it.’
‘And what do they get in return?’
‘Well, that’s the thing we need to think about. They get the special edition and become stakeholders in the company; we pay them their annual dividend in gin, rather than money.’
‘Great! And we have to sell all that gin for this to work?’
‘Uh huh. If we don’t make the target, we don’t get a penny of the money that’s pledged.’
‘Maybe we should do something...a party or something when we reach the target,’ I say. ‘A tea party, so people can see the place in daylight, see where the product’s made. We can serve them gin and tonics and scones and shortbread!’ I add, suddenly warming to the idea.
‘I’ll get in touch with Isla about the bottles, get some special edition designs maybe. She may still have some of the old artwork, or better still, some of the bottles themselves!’
‘The ones that look like the sea?’
He nods.
I think about Isla eating ginger biscuits and looking as sick as I felt after the crossing from the mainland. ‘She doesn’t seem to like working on the ferry very much,’ I say.
‘She’s always loved it. She loves everything about the island. Been riding that ferry all her life.’
‘We could invite her and Gordan over to talk about the design. Or go to the pub,’ I say cheerfully. ‘Maybe show a picture of it on the crowdfunding page. We could all talk it through if you invite them.’
