Page 67 of Coming Home to Winter Island
He’s looking at me, still wearing the oven gloves.
‘Mrs Broidy?’ I repeat, and glance at his face. ‘She’s not coming, is she?’ I say slowly.
He shakes his head. ‘Rang earlier. Said she had...’ he hesitates, ‘a touch of something and didn’t think she should pass it on.’
‘And Lena and Lexie?’
Silently he pulls off the oven gloves and puts them on the worn wooden work surface by the sink.
‘Got a touch of something?’ I raise an eyebrow and hope the tears of frustration gathering in hot pools along my eyelids don’t fall.
He nods.
‘They’ve heard, haven’t they?’
‘It wasn’t Isla. Jack Drummond was in the pub last night, asking about life here and the story of the house.’
‘They think I’m just here to get rid of the house and push Hector out. They think I’m selling out the island.’
He’s silent for a moment, then, ‘But we still have other people coming. The ferry’s due in at eleven. Maybe we’ll still make the target.’
‘You’ve worked so hard to make this happen.’ I look at him. ‘And now I’ve gone and blown it.’
‘You’re just doing what you think is right. And youareright. Hector needs more looking after and...and I need to move on. I can’t stay hiding out here forever, hoping life will come and find me.’
‘No, no, I didn’t mean that. This is your home.’
‘Only it’s not,’ he says flatly. ‘Look, we still need to put on this tea party.’
‘Why? What’s the point? They’re not coming, are they?’
‘It...we...’ He pauses. ‘We just do,’ he says firmly. ‘Because it’s what we said we’d do. We can’t give up now. This is the end of the journey. We owe it to Hector and to ourselves to finish the journey.’
I’m suddenly lost for words. That’s why we’re doing this. Not for me to go back to my life as I knew it, not for Lachlan to get over his broken heart, but for an old man who locked horns with his son and has spent a lifetime regretting it and hoping to see his family again. For a man who is much loved on this island and shouldn’t be forgotten.
I turn. ‘Excuse me...just going to get some air,’ I say, and head to the back door. Douglas is there, offering to be my running partner, to keep me safe within the family. I fling open the door, and despite the cold, cold air and the big white clouds rolling in, I step out, take a deep breath and start to run my familiar course. In the background I swear I hear the front door slam and the sound of the Land Rover starting up.
I run and run, listening to the sound of my feet on the road. And as I do, tiny, light white flakes begin to fall, floating softly from the thick clouds.
Snow, I think. Snow, and I hold my face up to it. I run past the little croft by the bay, closed up as usual, making me feel sad for it all over again. The snow is falling a little more heavily and I wonder whether to stop, but something inside me just keeps pushing me on. The icy flakes feel fresh, almost liberating, as if they’re washing away the past and making me feel like today is a new day.
I run on, beside the burn, the burn that follows the island’s varying terrain and was ultimately the map for the gin recipe. I push myself hard, and finally, as I reach the pub, my lungs dragging in air and my muscles crying out for a rest, I slow up, seeing Lachlan’s dark red Land Rover pulled up at an angle outside the shop and café. I stop and bend over, holding my knees, taking deep breaths, trying to slow my breathing, and as I do, I hear voices coming from the café. My cheeks pink as I realise that the topic of conversation is...me!
‘She lied to us. Pretending she was here to help get the distillery up and running, get the island back on its feet.’
‘Pretending to be your girlfriend...’ says another voice I recognise as one of the sisters.
‘Whoa! Wait!’ My heart jumps as I hear Lachlan’s voice. ‘Just wait a minute,’ and the other voices go quiet. ‘Ruby didn’t pretend to be anything. She came here because she had to. Because it was the right thing to do. Because she’s a good person. She could have left a long time ago.’
‘Why didn’t she then?’
‘Because...of me.’
‘Told you! She’s come here, let ya fall for her and now she’s buggering off.’
‘No, no, it’s not like that. She thought she had to come and sign papers to allow the house to be sold. The hospital said that Hector would be better off in a care home on the mainland, with his dementia and no one here to care for him.’
‘But you were here.’
