Page 47 of Coming Home to Winter Island
He shrugs, giving nothing away. ‘Look around for jobs on the mainland, I suppose,’ he says. ‘Hold the ladder, will you?’ I step forward. He tests it against the tree to check it’s firm and then I reach around him and hold it as he climbs up and into the lower branches of the tree. ‘I’ll take anything as long as it’s working outdoors. Couldn’t bear to be inside again all day. But just being away from here will be enough.’
‘So you want to go?’ I ask, curious.
‘Can’t wait! It’s time I moved on,’ he says, making me wonder anew about what happened. ‘There’s nothing for me here now.’ I’m surprised. I thought he wanted to stay. To my shame, I thought he was freeloading. But I realise he’s doing this just for Hector.
Hector is sitting on a fallen tree trunk, the dogs by his side keeping him warm and safe, and looking into the forest in deep, contented thought.
‘And what happens at this retreat of yours that you’re on your way to? What magic powers will they have...what special spells?’ Lachlan laughs as he climbs higher into the tree, then reaches out and cuts a sprig of pine with his penknife.
‘Err...’ I put my hands on my hips. ‘It’s a healing retreat. We’ll spend time outdoors, getting in touch with nature, away from the outside world.’
‘Bit like here then really!’ He reaches up for another deep green shiny sprig and puts it in his bag. ‘I’ll take some from another tree now,’ he says, climbing and then jumping down.
‘Well, no...it’s different,’ I tell him, stepping back as he lands on both feet in front of me.
He studies me for a moment. ‘Of course, what would I know? I’m just some forager bloke, living off your grandfather, hiding away from the world,’ he teases, and yet there’s a glint of challenge in his eyes, like the stags staring each other out. He turns and moves the ladder and starts to climb a neighbouring tree, then stops and looks down at me. ‘Come up!’ he says with a nod of his head.
‘Oh no, it’s fine. I’m okay here.’ I wave a gloved hand.
‘Come on,’ he says. ‘We’re making this gin together, remember.’ He holds out his hand to me, challenging me once again, and I can’t walk away. But I have no idea when I last climbed a tree...if ever, in fact! There weren’t many trees to climb where I grew up.
‘Um...I don’t think...I haven’t climbed a tree before,’ I confess.
‘You haven’t climbed a tree?! Jeez, no wonder you’re as het up as you are! What, never? Even as a child?’
‘No,’ I say flatly. ‘I didn’t have somewhere like this to grow up and run around in, remember?’
‘Come on...climbing a tree is something everyone should do at least once in their life.’
I look at the hand stretched out towards me. Then I look up at his face. He tilts his head. He’s right. Maybe climbing a treeissomething everyone should try once. I stand on the bottom rung of the ladder, and look at his outstretched hand. Then I start to climb until I reach his hand and take it and grab a low branch with the other and follow his instructions and I pull myself off the ladder, and move up the tree. Until I can’t.
‘I’m stuck!’ I say.
‘You’re not,’ he says calmly. ‘You just think you are, and that’s made you panic and freeze.’
I hold on to the branch for dear life. ‘I can’t move!’
‘You can. Don’t look down, or up. Just look out. Take in the other branches, the trees. Breathe them in. Don’t over-think it. Go with your instincts.’
I take a deep breath, and the smell is just, well, glorious. It reminds me of Christmas. It’s making me feel reinvigorated. Free. I close my eyes and focus on the smell again, and remember those Christmases when Mum and Dad would get together and make it a brilliant day not just for me, but for all of us. They stayed great friends after they separated. They just weren’t right for each other when it came to marriage. Neither of them married again. Mum had various partners, but Dad stayed single until he died. A heart attack. Went to bed feeling unwell one night. And I was left with a huge Dad-shaped space in my life.
But in the early days, I had the best Christmases. There would always be music in the house. Carols on the radio, or my dad’s record player, just like Hector’s. Or even Mum singing when she was in the mood, and me too. It’s where I started to sing in front of an audience. Well, that and school concerts. Mum and Dad always came together. I loved those concerts. I loved the looks on their faces when I sang. I think that’s why I went on to be a singer.
I take another deep breath of the clear, crisp, pine-filled air. I move one foot, then a hand, and feel my way slowly up the tree to where Lachlan is sitting.
‘Okay?’ he asks.
‘Okay.’ I nod and smile, then follow his gaze as he looks around the forest from our treetop vantage point.
‘Here.’ He hands me a sprig of pine, and I take it and instinctively put it to my nose, letting its scent fill my senses and my head fill with carols all over again, lifting my spirits, my shoulders and my head. I breathe in deeply.
‘You could sing here if you wanted. No one would hear,’ he says. ‘Only me and Hector. But I’m tone deaf and wouldn’t know a good tune from a bad one, and...’ he looks down through the boughs, ‘and I think Hector’s asleep.’
I look at him. Part of me wants to open my mouth and sing as loudly and joyously as I can. But part of me doesn’t want to even attempt it, just in case I open my mouth and nothing but a few crackly notes comes out.
‘You sang in the car, remember. Daisy, Daisy...’ He nods his head from side to side and I laugh.
‘And you growled!’
