Page 6 of Coming Home to Winter Island
Let’s hope the woman here is right and there’s a warm bedroom and a meal waiting for me when I arrive. Fraser Gillies obviously knows I’ve come a long way. Yes, they’ll definitely be expecting me.
I stand looking up at the old wooden door. It’s dark, and it’s still pouring with rain. I can barely make out the outline of the house, other than the fact that it is indeed big.
I look at the worn door handle and wonder whether I should feel some sense of connection with the place. This is where my father was born and grew up, after all. But I don’t feel anything. This island was never part of my history. It wasn’t somewhere my dad talked about either. I realise that I do feel nervous, however. I take a big breath, from the buttocks, and look for a door knocker. I can’t see one. I spot a long metal pole and take hold of it with my wet, cold hands, pulling it hard, twice. A bell rings out in the depths of the house.
I am chilled to the bone now. Rain like razor blades is pounding down on me as I wait and wait. There’s no reply. I stamp my freezing, painful feet and then pull on the handle again. Still no reply. I have no idea what to do. I have nowhere else to go right now. No other option. I press down on the big metal latch and it clicks, letting me know that the door is unlocked. Well, at least this way I’m going to be out of the pouring rain and the cold, I think. I give the door a little push, then a harder shove, and it opens.
‘Hello?’ I call out huskily. ‘Hello?’ My throat feels tight and dry. They’re expecting me, I remind myself. I’ve been asked to come. I push the heavy door wide and step inside.
I can’t see a thing in the pitch dark. I pat my hand around and eventually find a light switch and turn it on with a clunk. A dim overhead light comes on in the big hallway. My eyes are immediately drawn up the sweeping dark-wood staircase in front of me. The front door shuts behind me with a bang, making me jump. No wonder no one could hear me. This place is huge! There are spaces on the faded wallpaper above the wood panelling in the wide hall suggesting that pictures might have hung there once. On the floor are threadbare rugs with the remnants of patterns that were probably once bright and vibrant. The blackened fireplace is empty and cold – it might even be colder in here than outside. A single bauble hangs from a stag’s antler, suggesting Christmas was once celebrated here, but clearly not now.
‘Hello?’ I walk down the hall, pushing open doors, hoping to find a light on, a fire lit, the smell of something cooking, waiting for my arrival. There’s a big living room with two huge windows overlooking what I assume is the garden, but there’s no one in there. I finally arrive at the back of the house, in the big kitchen. But there’s no light, no sign of anything cooking. Everywhere just smells musty and damp. The chill in the air tells me that if they are expecting me, there’s no warm welcome awaiting me.
Chapter Three
Having checked all the rooms off the long hallway, only to be met by cold, empty darkness, smelling of neglect, I walk back to the foot of the wooden staircase. I look around at the mottled, dusty panelling on the walls. The musty smell of the place is just as strong here, and it tickles the inside of my freezing nose, making me want to sneeze. I take hold of the wobbly newel post and start to walk slowly and hesitantly upstairs. My feet squelch inside my soggy shoes and the stairs creak with every step I take. The wind whistles under the front door and rises up the stairwell to meet the draught coming down it, creating a sort of wind tunnel. The bedroom door handles rattle in the breeze and I shiver with cold. I just want a hot bath and a warm bed. Hopefully a bed has been made up for me. They’re expecting me, after all. I just need to find it.
I reach the top of the stairs and feel around for a light switch again. It clunks and fizzles like the one in the hall, and again a dim light comes on. I’m standing on a faded, threadbare rug, and in front of me is a long corridor with doors off it. If downstairs was like a rabbit warren, upstairs is no different. But which door to try first? I sigh.
‘Hello?’ I call, but my voice is hoarse and shaking. I don’t want to scare anyone; I am, after all, wandering around someone’s house, even if it does appear totally unlived in; untouched for what looks like years. I’m expecting to see Miss Havisham at any minute, sitting in her wedding dress. I tell myself off for giving myself the heebie-jeebies. I’m cold and tired. There’s nothing to be frightened of. I just need to find my room, have that hot bath and get into bed. Tomorrow will be here in no time. At least I’m resting my voice. Feeling a little easier about things, I gently turn the cold brass handles, open the doors and peer into each bedroom in turn.
After finding a few sparsely furnished rooms with barren beds, I push open a door to see a made-up bed and a dim bedside light on. It’s a big four-poster with tired, worn curtains. Finally! I step into the room, dragging my case behind me, park it up and start peeling off my sodden gloves. Suddenly I jump back, feeling like blooming Goldilocks, when I realise there’s someone in the bed. A curled-up figure under a pile of eiderdowns.
‘Mairead, that you?’
Two big black dogs jump to their feet and bark and I back out of the room, shutting the door quickly before they can get me.
‘Sorry,’ I say through the wood, ‘wrong room.’
My heart is thumping with shock. That must be...I roll the word around my head...my grandfather. Mairead was my grandmother. I never met her, but I do have her name as my middle name. But what’s he doing here? I thought he was still in hospital. I think back over my conversation with Fraser Gillies. I still have no idea why he phoned me. He knows I’ve never met my grandfather. Hector and my father fell out years ago apparently, and he wanted nothing to do with us. That feeling is pretty mutual. I’m not here to try to get to know him and find out why he never wanted to meet me. I just need to sign whatever paperwork needs signing to allow the sale of this house to go ahead, so he can move to the care home. Although looking around at my draughty, damp surroundings, I’m not sure it’s worth a huge amount.
I push open the next door and see an empty bed. Another huge dark-wood four-poster. My bones ache with cold. I decide just to take it. Clearly no one has made provision for me. I pull my case in and park it up. This will have to do. It’s just for the night, I tell myself.
I look in a cupboard and see an untouched pile of sheets and thin blankets. No warm duvets or eiderdowns! Well, the faster I get it made, the faster I can get into bed and sleep. I wrestle the flat sheets onto the bed, trying to fold the corners under. Then I add all the blankets I can find and spread my beach towel across the top as an extra one.
Once the bed is made up, I look for the bathroom. It’s across the hall. There’s a huge yellowing metal bath. It would take forever to fill, and that’s if there’s any hot water in the first place. I use the loo and pull on the long chain. The flush whooshes and then makes a gurgling sound, and I hold my breath, hoping it hasn’t disturbed the old man. When I hear no sound other than the ancient plumbing, I have a quick wash, exit the bathroom and dash back across the corridor, shutting the door and hoping I don’t have to go to the loo in the night. I put my case in front of the door just for good measure.
I look round at the sparse room, the bare floorboards and worn rug, the peeling wallpaper and lumpy mattress. I’ve slept in worse conditions, I tell myself, thinking of nights after gigs when we’ve bedded down in the back of the van to save on hotel bills and woken up early to get on the road before we’re moved on from wherever we’ve parked. But somehow those nights were all part of the adventure of being an apprentice in the music industry. Right now, I think I could sleep standing up.
I glance up at the high ceiling’s peeling paintwork and the huge cobweb draped across the seventies light shade. I walk over to the big Georgian window and feel the cold through the panes. No double glazing here! The wind is whistling around the frame like it’s playing a tune on a set of old bagpipes. I hold my phone to the window to check for a signal so I can text Joe. But there isn’t any. We always text just before bedtime if we’re apart, but with no signal, that isn’t going to happen tonight. I just hope he realises it’s like I’ve stepped into a different world. The last thing I want is for him to worry about me. As I go to pull the curtains, a rip appears in the thin fabric, disintegrating with age. I don’t pull any more, in case they come down altogether.
I hope they manage to find a buyer for this place. It’s clearly not got any modern comforts. It will probably cost a fortune to do up. I can’t imagine there’s much demand for houses this big on a tiny island. But thank goodness that’s not something I have to worry about.
I brace myself against the cold I’m about to feel, and then swiftly peel off my wet things, bouncing around on one leg trying to get my woolly tights off. I pull all my clothes from my case and start putting on as many layers as I can, including socks as gloves, seeing as mine are soaking, and three pairs of Lycra yoga leggings. I add my swimsuit over them for extra warmth, then, remembering that you lose most of your body heat through your head, pull on a pair of knee-length Lycra shorts as a hat. I feel ridiculous! But no one is going to see me, I tell myself firmly. And it is freezing. I snap a picture for Joe, just to make him laugh, but still it doesn’t send.
I take my wet clothes to the bathroom and hang them over the edge of the bath. Just as I’m coming back into the bedroom, the lights fizzle and go out. I check the switch. Looks like a power cut. I feel my way into bed, clutching my phone, waiting and hoping that signal will return at some point. The bed is hard, lumpy and freezing cold. The wind is still wailing its way through the window frame. I pull the socks up my wrists and the shorts further down onto my head, glad now that I left them on.
I try to text Joe again, hoping it will send as soon as the wind dies down. Not easy with socks on your hands, so I keep it short and sweet:All fine, with a kiss, but it ends up not looking anything like that, so I pull off the sock and type quickly, then put the sock back on.
‘All fine,’ I tell myself firmly. I pull my knees up to my chest, wrap my arms around myself and glance fearfully at the shadows in the corners. The rain is still slamming against the window, the wind still whistling and occasionally howling. I try and edge down in the bed, still holding the phone to me, and hope sleep will come. But as exhausted as I am, it doesn’t. I feel totally wired. At home I’d get up and make a hot drink, but here all I can do is lie waiting for morning to come.
It feels like the longest night. Maybe it’s because I went to bed really quite early, lulled into a sense of bedtime by the dark and the cold. I’ve been here for hours now and it’s still only eleven. Joe and the band will probably still be out at tonight’s gig. I think about Lulu, stepping out from the shadows and into the limelight, and wonder how she got on. I wonder if she was better than me, and shiver. I toss and turn and wrap myself in the bedding like a cocoon, hoping for warmth. It doesn’t come.
I close my eyes tightly, and am running songs from our set through my head when suddenly I hear a bang, like a door slamming, making me jump. Must be the wind, I think. It’s wild out there. I pull the thin, musty blankets up to meet my ears and screw my eyes tight shut. But then I hear more noises, like a thumping... like footsteps. My blood, already cold, suddenly freezes. My eyes ping open. Steady footsteps. And I can’t help but think, even though I’ve never believed in ghosts...what if this place is haunted?
I see a light under my bedroom door and I want to scream, but it catches in my throat and no noise comes out. I check my phone again for signal. None! And I’m nearly out of charge, too! I feel a cold draught whistle around the room, and then there are more noises, like chairs being dragged around the floor above my head. Oh God! It is! This place is haunted! I sit bolt upright and bite down on the covers, knowing I’m not going to get a wink of sleep and praying for dawn to come.
I must have fallen asleep at some point, because I wake with a jolt, my head on one side, neck stiff as anything. It’s getting light outside. I try to straighten my neck, making me wince with pain. My eyes are sore and scratchy. I look around, remembering the noises and light from last night, and reach for my phone. Dead! Quickly I push back the covers and, shivering, yank my case onto the bed. I don’t want to be here a moment longer than I have to be. I plan to just throw everything in and get the heck out of here. Pretend I was never here in the first place. I’m going to find the solicitor I’m supposed to be meeting, get the papers signed and get out of here. With any luck, the wind will have dropped and the ferry back to the mainland will be running.
