Page 42 of Coming Home to Winter Island
‘Interfering in other people’s business,’ Lachlan mutters, and he’s back to his grumpy self.
‘They want us to go over for a visit. Show Hector round the place.’ I look at Lachlan, who is picking out more photographs of the house, the bay, the animals that were once here and laying them on the table. ‘I think we should go,’ I persist. ‘I think it’s something you need to think about.’
He finally stops what he’s doing and looks at me, then lets out a huge sigh.
‘Okay, let’s go and visit and see what Hector thinks of it. If he likes it and seems happy there, well...’ He looks to be struggling to say the words, but finally manages it. ‘Maybe you’re right. Maybe he would be better off somewhere like that.’
‘Last night was a real scare,’ I remind us both.
He nods sagely. ‘Let’s see this care home of yours then!’ and tosses the photographs to one side.
I reply to the care home manager, do one last check for messages, then turn my phone off. My cheeks burn with guilt, but it needs to be done, to avoid any further questioning from Joe. I’ll message him when everything is sorted, I tell myself...just as soon as it’s sorted.
Chapter Twenty-one
The ferry journey is not quite as bleak as the one on the way over here. When I thought about doing this journey again, I imagined I’d be leaving and never coming back. Now I’m looking back at the island, cold yet sunny, with clouds making shifting patterns over the gorse-covered wilderness, wondering if I’ll ever get away. Like the cloud patterns, everything keeps changing. I certainly didn’t expect to be here with Hector, or Lachlan. Hector’s hardly spoken since Lachlan persuaded him to get dressed and we left the house for the ferry. Neither has Lachlan, for that matter. He and Isla seem to be swapping looks then studiously ignoring each other. Isla and Gordan just seem to be swapping looks. And Gordan and Lachlan are blanking each other completely.
‘He’s very quiet,’ I say, nodding at Hector, who is looking out of the window at the deep, dark water.
‘He is,’ Lachlan agrees, then looks concerned, like a worried parent taking a child to visit its new school, knowing it has to be done. He says nothing more, and I find myself looking back at the island and wondering if the seals are there again this morning. I decide to take a walk up there when we get back. I can at least try to get my fitness up, so I can tell Joe I’m working on that.
‘You should photograph the seals,’ I say, thinking out loud. ‘People would like to see them.’
He nods, still preoccupied.
I know this is for the best, I remind myself, for all of us. To get the house sold and for Hector to go into the home and for Lachlan to move on with his life. I wonder where he’ll go and why I feel so guilty about trying to make this work. It is the right thing to do, isn’t it? And just for a moment, I find myself wondering how my father felt when he left the island for the last time. Then I look at Hector and think about Lachlan’s words:there are always two sides to a story.
I pull out the pad and pen that I found in the kitchen and go over the ingredients we have so far for the gin. The basic ones that Hector was telling me about. I’ve shown them to Lachlan and he says that from what he’s read on the internet, they make sense. It’s the island botanicals that will make the gin different. The five special ingredients. Now all we have to do is work out what they are.
Lachlan watches me as I ponder the list. Then he pulls out his phone and snaps a photograph of the island from our vantage point out at sea.
We spend the rest of the journey in silence, all of us lost in our own thoughts. Hector, Lachlan, me, Isla and Gordan... each of us seems to have something on our mind, and I have a feeling it’s all to do with the past and the future, as we travel from the island to the mainland; from where we’ve come from to where we’re going.
Chapter Twenty-two
The heat hits me, embracing me and suffocating me at the same time, as I pull at the scarf around my neck and drag my hat off.
‘Come in, dears, come in!’ says the big-busted lady in the tight floral dress, holding open the door of Island View Care Home for the Elderly. ‘Let’s keep the cold out!’ she laughs, and her whole body wobbles.
I step inside the tropical foyer, and Lachlan ushers in Hector, who still has said nothing. We stand and peel off coats and extra layers, holding them in big bundles in our arms. I feel like I’m having a hot flush. Hector doesn’t seem to notice the change in temperature. I wondered whether being in the warm might have raised a bit of a reaction, but it hasn’t.
‘Come and have a cup of tea and some shortbread,’ the woman says, holding out a wobbly arm with a big smile to match her welcome.
‘Oh, Hector can’t have too much sugar, he’s diabetic,’ Lachlan tells her.
‘No problem, we’ll find something else. Come through into the residents’ lounge.’
That phrase, ‘residents’ lounge’, makes my heart sink, and I look at Lachlan, knowing he feels the same. He hates the idea of Hector ending up in a residents’ lounge, though at least he would be safe.
We step into the big bright room, looking out over a frost-covered garden, and beyond that, the island.
‘I’m Flora, the care home manager. Let’s have a cup of tea, and then if you like I can show you the rooms. You’ll find you have everything you need here. You can even bring some belongings from home to help you feel, well, at home.’
‘Except it isn’t,’ Lachlan mutters under his breath. But at least he is here and he is taking everything in. So he must realise that as hard as it is, this is the right thing to do.
I wonder what Hector would want to bring from home. His dogs, probably, and that can’t happen. Once again I wonder what’s going to happen to them, and I know it’s something else Lachlan and I need to discuss. I look at Hector. He seems to have aged just being here. His shoulders are rounded and hunched and he still hasn’t spoken.
In the residents’ lounge, people are sitting looking out. Some are covered in blankets. A man and a woman are playing draughts. There’s a television on in the background, with subtitles. Jeremy Kyle is helping to put mismatched families back together in some shape or form. I wonder what he’d say about mine. Probably that it was all too late. We should’ve talked. I look at Hector. Itistoo late, I think sadly.
