Page 14 of Coming Home to Winter Island
I launch myself forward, stomping after him. I’m not sure if it’s my mood that’s making me walk like this, or the boots.
‘Hey!’ I attempt to call again as I march. Thank goodness for the wellies. Much more sturdy than the soggy court shoes. ‘Lachlan, wait!’ I croak, then break into an unsteady run. I haven’t run in years, but it feels really quite good. The blood is pumping round my body and I feel a surge of energy. I jog down the path towards the low buildings. The wind is sharper here. Fresh. There’s a spritz of sea salt in the air.
Lachlan turns to me, rolling his eyes. ‘Yes?’
It’s like I’m some irritation in his life, and I’m infuriated even more. But I take a deep breath of the salty, fresh sea air and swallow to try and get my voice lubricated.
‘You have to move out,’ I say simply. ‘I’ve told you. I need you to agree to go so the house can be sold. To get Hector into the care home.’
He gazes out across the water at the waves gently breaking on a cluster of rocks. Then he turns back to me and sighs beneath the scarf wound around his neck.
‘And I’ve told you. I’m not moving out. I’m staying.’ He looks at the bay. ‘I have an agreement with Hector.’
‘Yes, the solicitor told me. Hector has said you can stay as long as you need to. Well, now you need to go.’
‘I can’t go yet. I need to be here.’ He looks back out to sea.
‘You mean you’re freeloading off him!’
He steps towards the big metal door of the red-brick shed and unlocks it.
‘Believe what you like. But you don’t know anything.’ He looks at me with his flecked green eyes, his long hair whipping round his face. Then his expression hardens and he says, ‘You haven’t been here.’
And that hurts. I don’t know why. I barely knew ‘here’ even existed until I got the call. My father rarely spoke about the place. It was like it was locked away in a box inside him and nothing could unlock it, not properly. He did mention it a few times, like he’d opened the lid just a chink but wasn’t brave enough to flip it back completely. My mum never mentioned it either. Only that she’d come here to stay with a friend, a musician who’d found inspiration and was suddenly making a name for herself. Instead, my mum met my dad and got pregnant. The island wasn’t part of my world then and it isn’t part of my world now. I can’t feel guilty about what I didn’t know.
My phone vibrates again. It’s a text from Joe again, asking if I’m on my way yet. I need to move on and find my voice again. Get my own life straight and see if I can salvage anything of the career I left in tatters on the stage at our last gig.
‘I know you’re taking advantage of an old man’s situation, and it needs to stop!’ I say. ‘Good job I got the call, by the looks of it.’
‘Like I say,’ he says slowly, ‘you know nothing.’ He turns and opens the heavy door into the single-storey building, then stops and turns to me. My spirits lift for a moment. ‘But if you’re staying around, dinner is at seven.’ He steps inside, the lights flicker on and the door closes behind him, ending the conversation with a bang.
‘No, wait!’ I call after him. ‘You have to...’ But my words are lost on the wind. I’m staring at a big metal door and I have no idea what’s behind it or what this man is up to.
Now what? I look down at my phone. One thing’s for sure, I’m not going to make my flight this afternoon. I sigh and send an email to the vocal retreat, explaining that I’ve been held up and need to postpone, just for a day, no more than two. Then I send a message to Joe, explaining that I’m trying to save my voice by texting and that I’ve been delayed slightly. He replies straight away, asking what’s going on and why I’m not on my way to the retreat. I tell him there’s been a delay with one of the pieces of paperwork. A hiccup, that’s all. Just needs ironing out.
I’m amazed how easily these little white lies seem to be rolling off my keypad. I press send, then tap the phone to my chin. Now what? I repeat to myself, wandering across to the shoreline. Looks like I’m going to have to do something I rarely do: ask my mum for advice.
While I wait for the call to connect, I look out across the moorland to the mountains behind the house, and catch my breath as what I think is a herd of deer run across it. As they disappear, the phone begins to ring.
‘Hi, Mum, how’s things? How’s Spain?’
‘You’re up early! Spain’s glorious! Been having a few days off here with Babs and George. You remember Babs and George. Met them on a cruise I was doing round the Med, years ago. They loved it so much they bought a place out here. If I was the settling-down type, it would be a great place to do it. But I’m about to go back on board in time for Christmas. So how are you, darling? Don’t hear from you much these days. Not thinking about joining me for Christmas, are you? I could get you some gigs. But you’re probably back to back with gigs of your own, aren’t you?’
‘Er, no...Actually, Mum, I’m going to be in Tenerife.’
‘Tenerife? At Christmas? What are you doing there?’
‘Just...getting away from it all.’
‘With Joe?’
I think about Joe and his last text.
‘No, just me.’
‘Sounds like there’s trouble there...’
I think about me and Joe. We’re the most solid couple I know. We have joint dreams. We’re treading the same path in life. Going the same way. He is invested in what I do.
