Page 80 of Coming Home to Winter Island
He nods. ‘I’m going nowhere. Why would I leave when everything I want is right here? You don’t always have to go away to find what you’re looking for. Sometimes you just have to go back.’ He smiles at me, then looks at Hector’s peaceful face. ‘I’d say Hector was right back where he wanted to be. The house full of people, the gin business up and running and his family here at Teach Mhor.’
‘And I’m not going anywhere either. This is where I found me again. You helped me find my voice. You made me remember why I love singing; what singing can do for me, not what I can do with singing. I may not have grown up here, but it’s where my heart is, definitely.’
‘Sure?’
‘Couldn’t be surer.’ I smile, and then look back at Hector. ‘And I think Fraser might have had an idea about that when he asked me up here.’
‘Doctor and funeral director are on their way,’ Mrs Broidy says from the doorway.
‘What will happen to him?’ I look at Lachlan.
‘He’ll be cremated and the ashes scattered on the water down at the bay. If that’s okay with you. You are the next of kin after all.’
‘You were the one who knew what he wanted. You were the one who knew he didn’t want to leave the island. He wanted to end his days here.’
‘Looks like we managed to give him his last wish. I think that was granted when he realised his granddaughter had come back home. His family together again,’ says Lachlan.
And then he kisses me all over again, as the snow falls heavily and silently, and I have never felt more at home. I know that my life is here on Winter Island with Lachlan, and that the songs in my heart will never leave me, nor will the memories I made here with Hector, my grandfather. Right here is my past, my future and my present.
Epilogue
It’s August 30thand the sun is setting bright red and orange in the sky. Lachlan has lit a bonfire on the beach as the heat goes out of the day. It’s been a busy summer, welcoming visitors to the distillery, giving tours and making up the gin orders. The pub has opened up rooms to rent again and the café has taken on a full-time manager, Fraser Gillies’ daughter, who has returned to the island for good. Once the fire is going strong, we all stand around it and I hand out glasses and fill them with gin. Everyone from the island is there, everyone except two people...well, three now, actually.
Lachlan calls for our attention. ‘First of all, I’d like you to raise your glasses to Hector.’
We all hold our gin aloft and chorus, ‘To Hector!’
‘And secondly – and I know Hector will be raising a glass wherever he is too, with Mairead – to Isla and Gordan and baby Murray! Mother and baby are doing fine, I’m told. A healthy, bouncing nine-pound baby boy. Gordan and Isla cannot wait to leave hospital and bring him home to the island.’
‘To Murray,’ we all cheer, and sip the clear spirit. I watch as everyone looks down at their glasses and then up at Lachlan.
‘Ah,’ he says. ‘A little surprise for you all,’ and I beam with pride. ‘This is our new seasonal gin, made with summer botanicals from the island.’
‘What’s in it?’ asks Lyle.
‘I couldn’t possibly divulge the recipe. But I think, if you all agree, we should call it The Island’s Song, to remind us of the importance of music, and the memories it makes.’ Lachlan’s eyes are suddenly damp, and I step forward and wrap my arm around him.
‘And this is just the first of Lachlan’s new gins from Macquarrie’s,’ I say proudly. ‘There will be a gin for every season. Four seasons, just like the weather in one day on this island!’
Everyone laughs. Then they all raise their glasses again.
‘To Hector, and to baby Murray,’ they say, and I go round and top up the glasses as we stand by the fire and watch the orange ball of the sun setting on another day here on the Isle of Geamhradh, where you have no idea what tomorrow might bring, where we celebrate the now, and I know there is nowhere in the world I would rather be.
