Page 63 of Coming Home to Winter Island
‘This place runs on water,’ I hear Hector saying, and I try to retrace my early-morning runs in my head, following the path of the burn across the island, from the sea, over the moorland, through the forest and up into the hills to the waterfall. I remember the time Hector went missing. The waterfall, I think as I slowly drift off to sleep.
The next morning, my eyes open with a ping. The waterfall!This place runs on water. It’s who we are. We wouldn’t be the island we are without it. It’s the water. I was running the wrong way round. The burn starts at the waterfall and flows across the island, picking up flavour and scents from every part of it, finishing in the sea...
It starts at the waterfall! It’s the water that makes the gin so special.
Chapter Thirty-seven
I throw on my clothes over my pyjamas – well, a tracksuit that has doubled as pyjamas whilst I’ve been here. I pull on my trainers over my thick socks, jumping from one foot to the other, trying to hop towards the door whilst putting them on. It doesn’t work, and I trip and stumble, eventually grabbing hold of the end of the bed to steady myself. I scoop up my hoodie and pull it on, and run out of the room, over the threadbare rug and the bare floorboards, launching myself towards the door to the attic.
‘Lachlan!’ I shout. I don’t wait for a reply, but run up the narrow wooden stairs, around the turn on the tapered steps and up towards the light from the window on the landing.
‘Argh!’
‘Argh!’
We meet at the top of the stairs. He’s just a silhouette in front of the window there, while I look like some kind of monster from the lagoon. It’s just like the first time we met.
‘What’s up? Is it Hector?’ He’s pulling on his jumper, his T-shirt pyjama top lifting to reveal his stomach, and my own stomach flips over and back again.
‘No, no, it’s not Hector,’ I say. He drops his arms with relief. ‘It’s...’ I suddenly smile up at him, wishing I’d stopped to brush my hair and tidy myself up, all of a sudden feeling very self-conscious about my dishevelled state. But why? This is Lachlan! It’s not like I...I look at him standing in front of the window, his bed hair standing on end. It’s not like I fancy him, I tell myself slowly as I realise just how fanciable he looks in his soft pyjama bottoms and thick knitted sweater, rubbing his sleepy eyes.
‘What then?’ he laughs, throwing out his arms and letting them fall by his sides.
‘It’s, it’s...’ I suddenly feel dizzy with excitement, and I don’t know if it’s the news I’m about to tell him or Lachlan himself that’s making me feel like that. ‘It’s the gin!’ I finally say, my smile widening as I do. ‘I think I know the final ingredient!’
‘Whaaaa!’ he says. ‘What is it?’
‘It’s the water!’ My cheeks are pink and my smile is as wide as it can be. ‘The water from the waterfall! Remember, that’s where Hector went that night he went missing. And he’s always saying it’s the water that makes the island what it is.’
Lachlan smacks his open palm to his forehead. ‘I can’t believe I didn’t see it! Where the water is filtered through the rock. It’s some of the oldest on the planet, the purest water you can get.’
‘It’s where the story begins,’ I say. ‘We found the end of the story, the seaweed, at the beach. We just had to work backwards, across the cliffs for the gorse...’
‘...the forest for the pine and the hedgerows for the rosehips,’ he joins in.
‘And finally the mountain spring!’
‘The story of the island!’ he says, smiling and nodding.
‘It’s the burn. I was told when I first got here that I couldn’t get lost if I followed the burn. It takes you right across the island.’
‘The story of the island and of Teach Mhor gin. You did it, Ruby Macquarrie...you did it!’
No one ever calls me Macquarrie, I think. But that’s how I feel, like a Macquarrie. And then he takes my face in his hands and very gently moves in to kiss me, his eyes darting from my lips to my eyes, and it tastes just like it did that night of the storm, when Hector thought it was Hogmanay and told everyone I was pregnant.
Suddenly there’s a banging from out on the landing.
‘Mairead? Mairead? Are they here? Is Campbell here? Is the baby with him?’
Our eyes ping open and we fall apart, smiling.
‘Sounds like someone’s been having happy dreams,’ I say.
‘They’re on their way, Hector,’ Lachlan calls. ‘On their way,’ and he looks at me. ‘It’s all about living in the present,’ he says quietly, and we both laugh, the moment broken but not forgotten as we head back downstairs, wrapped up against the weather, with Hector and the dogs in tow; a laughing, happy trio heading out to the Land Rover and loading the boot with water barrels to fill.
Chapter Thirty-eight
‘We’re going to need help, all the help we can get,’ I tell Lachlan as he hands me one of the full water barrels from his precarious position by the waterfall edge.
