Page 4 of Coming Home to Winter Island
So he wasn’t asking me for money. I heaved a sigh of relief and then felt bad. But really, I don’t have any. ‘Well, that sounds perfect,’ I said, and then, ‘Thank you,’ because I felt I should.
‘So if you could come to the island and meet with me...’
‘Well I’m just on my way to Tenerife, as it happens. Could we—’
‘Excellent. Then you’ll be able to fly here first and discuss the matter, and go on from here.’
‘Oh, well...’ My voice had started to thin out, and was barely audible now.
‘I’ll make all the arrangements this end. I’ll let Teach Mhor, the big house, know you’re coming. There’ll be a room for you there. And you have my number. Ring me when you arrive and we’ll arrange to meet at my office.’
‘No...er...wait...’ but my voice was a whisper, having clearly used up any energy built up overnight in the reserve tanks. Rest was what the doctor had ordered, and it seemed she was right.
‘Let me know the moment you arrive,’ he said again, then he bid me a cheery goodbye and hung up. And that was it. Somehow, I had agreed to go to a remote island off the west coast of Scotland on my way to Tenerife! Had I not been so shocked by the loss of my voice and the sudden change to my immediate life plans, I might have been able to take control of the situation. I’m not used to not being in control. I like to have a plan and stick to it. But he’d caught me at a low moment, off guard. So now I have to visit this solicitor and sign whatever paperwork needs signing to agree to this care plan before I can be on my way.
Needless to say, Joe was not happy about it.
‘What? You don’t even know this man! I’ll ring the solicitor and get him to send over any paperwork,’ he said when I saw him that night.
I shook my head. I’d booked the flight for the next morning. And the ferry. It was just something I had to do, and then I could move on.
‘Well just make sure you don’t do any talking or singing. Definitely no singing!’ Joe instructed, then kissed me and got ready to leave.
‘Not staying?’ I croaked.
‘I said I’d meet Lulu, check she was happy with the song list.’ He stopped as he put on his coat. ‘You don’t mind, do you? I mean, if you do, it’s no problem, I won’t go. I’ll stay here with you.’
I shook my head. Of course he should go. This was my career he was saving here.
He leant in and kissed me. ‘Text me as soon as you’re on your way to Tenerife. Then we’ll have an idea of how long it will be until you’re back in the band. And in the meantime, don’t worry. We’ll keep things ticking over here.’
‘Thank you,’ I croaked.
‘Now get to bed, rest,’ he said, and kissed me again, and I couldn’t help but feel very sorry for myself, standing in my soft cotton pyjamas covered in musical notes and symbols that matched the little tattoo on the outside edge of my hand of a treble clef, reminding me of the thing I live for: music. Joe gets that. He knows that I live and breathe music. He guided me to bed, tucked me in, and even made me a hot lemon and honey drink before leaving, insisting I text him often and didn’t use my voice! I sent the band a picture of my steaming cup of hot lemon and promised I’d be back very soon.
And now I’m here, dipping and swaying as the ferry smacks into the waves, replaying the telephone conversation with Fraser Gillies in my head and wondering how Joe’s meet-up with Lulu went. Finally the ferry bobs into the harbour. The young woman reappears from behind the serving hatch, pulls on a woolly hat and a big coat and goes out on deck, presumably to help the passengers – i.e. me – disembark.
I stand slowly and look out of the window. We’re here. But whereishere? The middle of nowhere out at sea, by the looks of it. And why am I here? What exactly does Fraser Gillies want from me? I just need to find out and then get out. I have a vocal retreat in Tenerife to get to!
‘It was a rough one, wasn’t it? You okay there, missus?’ asks a young crew member as I grip the handles by the exit, keen to be off the boat. I don’t bother to correct the ‘missus’.
‘You’ll get your land legs back in no time,’ says the red-haired woman, standing in the doorway, holding her face to the wind. She looks out at the little harbour and the hills in the distance and starts to smile. ‘You here for a holiday?’ she asks.
‘A holiday? No,’ I croak, then shake my head. Why would anyone put themselves through that and call it a holiday? I think to myself, my stomach churning like a washing machine. ‘I’m just here...’ I trail off, because really I have no idea why I’m here, other than a message from a solicitor asking me to come as a matter of urgency. ‘Just a bit of business,’ I whisper with a smile, hoping that makes sense. The young woman’s head tilts as if I’ve just said a buzz word, sparking her interest. But fortunately the boat bounces and lurches and it’s all hands to the deck and my bit of business is forgotten.
I thank the young crew member, Gordan the skipper and the red-haired woman as they finish docking and come to tell me it’s fine to go ashore now. I stand looking out at the relentless rain.
‘You’re lucky we ran it.’ Gordan grins and slings his arm around the young woman. ‘Even Isla here found the going tough, and she’s never without her sea legs.’
‘It’ll be better next time.’ She attempts a smile. ‘One thing about this island, you can have four different seasons in a day!’ Her freckled face lights up.
‘Oh, there won’t be a next time,’ I croak, ignoring the notepad and pencil I’m supposed to be using; there is no way I’m letting go of the handrail to fish them out of my bag as I’m about to cross from sea to dry land. I say dry land; the puddles forming there are as wet as the sea. ‘The only time I’ll be travelling back this way is off the island. Do they do a flight, by any chance?’ I ask hopefully in my scratchy voice, putting my hand to the scarf around my throat, the rain already soaking through it.
Gordan shakes his head, his arm still slung around his red-headed partner, who is getting a little colour back in her cheeks now.
‘Sorry, this is the only way in and out, unless you have access to a helicopter, that is. Like I say, you’re lucky we ran. It’s pretty bad out there. This time of year, you never know. It could be a couple of days before we run again if the weather stays bad.’
‘What?!’ I rasp. ‘But I have to leave again really soon!’ My voice sounds like it belongs to a stranger, like I’ve been in some kind ofFreaky Fridaybody swap, making me feel as though I don’t even recognise myself.
