Page 5 of Coming Home to Winter Island
‘We’ll run again as soon as the weather allows,’ he smiles. ‘In the meantime, enjoy yourself.’
I pull my phone out and go to ring Fraser Gillies, but I can’t get a signal.
‘Mast has probably been damaged in the wind,’ says Gordan. ‘It can happen.’
No phone signal! Not only can I not get hold of Fraser Gillies, but how on earth am I going to tell Joe I’m safe and sound...well, that I’m on the island at least? It’s dark now. I think I’ll go straight to the house where I’m staying and message them both first thing in the morning. With any luck, the mast will have been fixed.
‘Could you point me in the direction of a taxi?’ I ask the woman, Isla, as she stands by the door at the top of the gangplank.
The corners of her mouth turn down. ‘No real taxis, so to speak. You could try at the pub. Someone there might be happy to give you a lift. Where are you heading?’
‘Um...not sure. Teach something?’ I think about the note on my phone.
She laughs and raises an eyebrow. ‘Could it be Teach Mhor?’
Ah, I realise, so that’s how you say the name of the house: Tack More. Not Teach as in teacher and Hoor.
‘Yes, that’s it,’ I say.
‘Stop at the pub. They’ll point you in the right direction. It’s not far. You can’t really get lost around here. ’ She puts out a hand to steady me as I step shakily out of the door, desperate for dry land and fresh air. The young crew member puts out another helping hand.
‘Just watch out for the—’
As I step out, dragging my case on wheels behind me, I am immediately hit by a blast of wind, rain and salty seawater. It feels like a slap in the face from a cold, wet fish.
‘The weather!’ Isla shouts over the howling gale.
‘Okay!’ I try and smile and give her a thumbs-up, pulling up the collar of my coat as I make my way down the gangplank onto dry land. I step straight into a dirty great puddle of water and wish I’d worn something more practical than smart, sensible court shoes. They’re my only pair. But I’m here for a formal meeting, after all. I thought smart would be appropriate. I didn’t expect to be helping Noah build his ark.
I head towards the Portakabin that must be the way out, and the lights in the distance that hopefully mark the pub. The water from both the sky and the waves that intermittently hit the harbour wall and splash over it leaks and seeps into my shoes, slowly filling them. I’m wet and very, very miserable. The sooner I’m out of this place, the better. I can feel Isla’s inquisitive eyes following me as I squelch my way miserably down the harbour towards the pub. I put my head down as I walk, and water pours from the top of it like an overflowing gutter.
Eventually I arrive at the front door of the pub, and my spirits lift ever so slightly from their position lying prostrate on the floor. I just need to get to the house, introduce myself to the carer or whoever, get the paperwork signed and pray that the ferry is running tomorrow so I can get on my way to Tenerife. There is no way I want to be here any longer than I need to be, no matter how friendly Gordan and Isla were. I’m not here to enjoy myself. It’s not like this place, Winter Island, has ever been part of my life, and thankfully, it never will be. I shiver as I look around at the dark, bleak island – or maybe it’s a shudder.
I push the pub door open, letting in the cold, damp air. There are a few drinkers at the bar. They all turn to look at me.
I go to pull out my notepad from my handbag and it dissolves in my hand, soaked through. Oh sod it! I’ll be resting my voice as soon as I get to Tenerife, I think.
‘Excuse me, I’m looking for a taxi,’ I say huskily.
‘Where do ya need taking?’ asks the man behind the bar.
I rack my brains to try and remember what Isla said. ‘Tack Hoor?’ I say tentatively and thinking I’ve got it wrong. They all look at me, and then the short woman behind the bar laughs.
‘You’re looking for the big hoose, are ya?’ she says.
‘Um, yes. Hector Macquarrie’s house,’ I look down at my phone, which is now dimming and threatening to run out of battery.
‘It’s no’ far,’ she says. ‘You visiting?’ Clearly she’s hoping that I’ll tell her exactly who I am and what I’m doing here. But frankly, I have barely an idea myself. ‘Not seen you here before,’ she presses.
‘No,’ I reply, and don’t elaborate. ‘Um, a taxi?’
‘Sorry. But it’s no’ far. Just out of the pub, past the shop and café and then the school. After that, it’s just a wee way and you’ll come to a track on the right. Take that towards the bay and you’ll find it. You can’t get lost. You’ll always end up where you started. A bit like life!’ She smiles. ‘Let us know if you need anything else. They are expecting you, are they?’
‘Oh yes, they’re expecting me.’ I try and smile.
‘Well, there’s plenty of room there,’ she says with a twinkle in her eye.
They’re definitely expecting me, I tell myself; I was asked to come as soon as possible. But if that’s the case, why did no one bother to meet me off the ferry? I’m starting to feel a bit put out, though that could just be because I’m cold, tired and very wet...and hungry too, now that the seasickness has passed.
