Page 55 of Coming Home to Winter Island
‘Well, congratulations!’ I say, going into autopilot.
‘Yes, congratulations,’ Lachlan echoes, and shakes both Gordan and Isla by the hand, then we bid them goodbye and finally shut the front door.
‘I know what you’re thinking, and it’s not true,’ he says, turning and walking down the wide wooden-panelled corridor, now strewn with glasses from last night. I follow him, both of us collecting glasses as we go, and join him at the glazed Belfast sink in the kitchen, which he starts filling with water. ‘At least the well should be full after that deluge.’
‘The what?’
‘Where we get our water from. The rainwater collects in the big well.’
‘And don’t change the subject on me,’ I say. ‘What am I thinking?’
He squirts in washing-up liquid, not looking at me, and sighs. ‘That I’ll be upset because Isla and Gordan are having a baby. You think I’m still in love with her after what I told you last night.’
‘Well you are, aren’t you? She was the one you came back for. The reason you haven’t left.’
He turns to look at me, and sighs again. ‘Everything changes. Just because I came back doesn’t mean I still love her.’ He dries his hands. ‘It came as a shock, but only because it made me realise that it really is over. They’re settled. A family. It’s time to move on. It’s time for everyone to move on,’ and he looks straight at me, making me feel like my insides are shifting, like something in me has moved on too. I just don’t know what it is. But I do know that that kiss has changed something in me. It’s somewhere I want to go back to but know I’ve got to leave behind when I get on that ferry in a week’s time.
‘Now, let’s look at this crowdfunding page, see if we’re going to be able to get you to Tenerife!’ he says with a smile and growl that is actually really attractive, I realise.
In a week’s time, this will all be in the past, I think with a strange sense of sadness, almost melancholy. I wonder what I’ll miss the most: my early-morning runs past the seals and the sea eagles? The sound of the burn as it makes its journey from the hills where we picked the gorse, through the pine forest, across the heath where the juniper grows, beside the country road where the rosehips come from and finally to the sea? Or will it be Lachlan’s growling voice, deep, thick and layered with meaning and humour? And Hector too, I realise. He may not know who I am, but I have enjoyed getting to know him, hearing the stories of my dad’s childhood, and sharing stories of my own about our life before Dad died.
‘Your father sounds like a lovely man. With good taste too! He obviously inherited good genes!’ Hector said one evening when I’d been reminiscing.
‘He was, and he did!’ I replied with a lump in my throat.
‘I will come back,’ I suddenly tell Lachlan. ‘For a visit.’ Before Hector’s funeral, I add silently.
Lachlan has the computer open and is looking at the page.
‘And?’ I ask expectantly, and he shakes his head.
‘Not as much as we need yet.’ He shows me our total to date.
I look at him. ‘We’re not going to make it, are we? What if we don’t make it? We need something to really get us noticed, otherwise Teach Mhor and its gin and Hector’s legacy will be lost forever.’
And I suddenly realise that it’s not about me leaving, or Lachlan leaving, or even the place at the care home. It’s about Hector and making his life’s work count.
‘Come on, get your kit on, we’ve got gin to make!’ he says.
‘First man who’s ever told me to get my kiton!’ I find myself joking. ‘Mind you, if Hector’s opinion counts, it’s obviously good advice.’ I laugh again at last night’s embarrassing moment, and we both smile and look at each other and seem to hold each other’s gaze. And it’s not Hector’s announcement that’s making me blush, I realise; it’s the memory of that kiss, those surprisingly soft lips that made me feel like I’d fallen into warm sand, and the waves washing up through me, building, full of excitement and expectation. I try to remember how Joe’s kisses make me feel, and realise with a deep sadness that I can’t. And if I can’t remember that, what else is there? What’s left?
‘Okay, let’s get going,’ I say, breaking away from what I really want to happen next, which is to taste those sweet lips on mine again...and that will never lead to any good!
‘I’ll bring the camera, get some shots of the shore. Maybe that’ll tempt in some more investors. Once they see how beautiful this place is, they’ll be flocking in!’ he says, and we both know that if they don’t, we’re in real trouble.
‘Lachlan?’ I say as we’re about to leave. ‘You knew, didn’t you? You knew it was seaweed. The fourth ingredient?’
For a moment he says nothing, then, ‘I had a good idea. I’ve been foraging around these parts long enough.’
‘Why didn’t you say?’ I suddenly feel cross with him.
‘Let’s just say I thought it would benefit you both,’ he nods at Hector, ‘to take some time working it out.’
I stare at him. He didn’t say! On purpose! And I can’t decide whether I’m furious or pleased. Discovering the island and rediscovering the music I grew up with really has been wonderful.
‘And the final ingredient? The fifth?’
‘Now that one, I have no idea!’ He shakes his head. ‘And if we don’t get enough crowdfunding, we’re sunk anyway.’
