Coming Home to Winter Island Page 6

  I nod again. ‘So, everyone is agreed: get the house on the market as soon as you can.’

  He sucks air through his teeth and tugs at the bottom of his waistcoat.

  ‘Of course, these days there’s no’ much market for a falling-down house two hours’ ferry ride from the mainland. No one’s staying on the island and no one’s buying here either.’

  ‘But we can put it on the market and get whatever we can for it?’

  ‘Yes. But it won’t be much. No’ much change for an inheritance after the home fees have been paid.’

  ‘Oh, but I’m not looking for anything out of this. I have my own life. I’m just happy I can help get things sorted.’

  ‘Are you sure you haven’t, well, considered a life for yourself here on Geamhradh?’ he says with a kind smile, holding out a hand as if to introduce me to everything the place has to offer. But of course he’s joking, and I shake my head good-naturedly, smile and even let out a polite laugh at his little joke.

  ‘I’m a city girl through and through,’ I say. I look out of the window at the road leading up from the harbour and continuing on around the island. ‘And I have somewhere I need to be,’ I add. It’ll be good to get back to the outside world.

  He nods thoughtfully. ‘Of course. So, just to be clear: you agree with the hospital’s recommendation? He should go to the care home?’

  ‘Yes, yes, of course, whatever they think is best for him.’

  ‘Okay. And you’re happy for the house to be sold.’

  ‘Of course. Like I say, I don’t really know my father’s side of the family. There’s no . . . emotional attachment for me here. I’m just pleased everything will be sorted out.’

  He looks at me steadily through his round gold-rimmed glasses. ‘I’ve known Hector for a very long time,’ he says slowly. ‘All our lives, in fact. I just want to be sure this is right for everyone.’ He emphasises the ‘everyone’ and I don’t really know why. Surely it’s just Hector that it needs to be right for. That’s why we’re here, doing the right thing for him.

  ‘It sounds like you have everything in hand brilliantly,’ I say, feeling I should thank him. ‘Hector is lucky to have someone here looking after his interests.’ I think briefly of Lachlan and wonder what he’s doing in Hector’s house. Is he taking advantage of an old man who doesn’t know what day of the week it is? I feel my hackles rise just a little. I may not know Hector, he may not know me or have ever wanted anything to do with me, but I hate to think that that might be the case.

  Fraser slides his glasses off. ‘As I said, the care home have a place for him. I pulled a few strings; I knew the manager’s mother many years ago, when the mainland was still a tempting place to visit. But we need to confirm he’s going to take it soon. If not, he’ll go back on the waiting list, and it is quite long.’

  ‘Yes, best to get things moving quickly then.’ I smile. ‘Right, well, if that’s everything . . .’ I go to stand. ‘Hopefully the ferry will be running and I’ll make my flight.’ I’m relieved everything is sorted, although I’m not really sure why we couldn’t have done it over the phone. ‘It’s been good to meet you, Mr Gillies.’ I hold out my hand to him. ‘Hope you have a lovely Christmas with the family.’

  ‘And you, Ruby,’ he says. ‘However, just before you go . . . As you said, best to get the house sold, and then you and Hector can both move on as quickly as possible.’

  ‘Absolutely. I’m sure the sooner he’s there, the better.’

  ‘Well.’ Fraser looks up at me. ‘There is just one problem.’

  Chapter Six

  ‘You knew, didn’t you?’ I croak as loudly as I can. My throat strains as I stand in the kitchen staring at Lachlan, my eyes flashing. The fire in the living room opposite is blazing to match the feeling in my stomach. ‘You knew what he was going to say!’

  ‘Well, maybe you should have hung around a bit longer to find out!’ he retorts, leaning against the old stove. The kitchen is full of the smell of baking bread. ‘You were in quite a rush to get away from here before finding out anything about this place . . . or Hector.’

  ‘Look, I told you, Hector and me . . . He never wanted to meet me. Has never been part of my life.’ Suddenly there’s a catch in my throat. Dad and his father were estranged, that was the word he used whenever he spoke about it. But that just meant we made our little family the best it could be. Small but mighty, he used to say. He wasn’t that demonstrative, but I did know he was always there for me, and when he died . . . well, it left me feeling totally adrift. Abandoned. Alone. There isn’t a day goes by when I don’t wish he was still here.

  ‘You knew full well why the house can’t be put on the market,’ I repeat. ‘Why this was all a waste of time for me.’

  He shrugs. ‘Like I say, you should’ve asked.’

  ‘Well I’m asking now. What exactly are you doing here? How do you know Hector?’

  ‘I told you. I’m a friend of the family. I’m just helping out.’

  ‘Well if you want to help out, move out! The house can’t be sold with a sitting tenant, apparently. That’s you! You’re living in the attic! The servants’ quarters! That’s why you were here last night. And every night, by the looks of it. I have no idea what you’re up to, or why you won’t tell me, but I’m asking now. Will you please move out so the house can be put on the market and . . . Hector . . .’ I attempt to say ‘my grandfather’ for dramatic effect, but it sounds too weird, ‘can go into the home he needs.’

  ‘His home is here. Everything he needs is here.’ He tosses a piece of bread nonchalantly into his mouth, and I wish he’d missed.

  ‘He needs to be looked after properly.’ I glare. This man is just getting in my way now, and it feels like he’s doing it on purpose. ‘The solicitor needs to go ahead with putting the house on the market and I have to—’

  ‘Yes, yes, I know. You’ve got a plane to catch!’ He waves a hand in my direction.

  I sigh, deeply and with relief. He realises, thank goodness. Hopefully this can be sorted out quickly then.

  ‘So in order to sell the house at a “reasonable price” . . .’ I quote the solicitor and raise my eyebrows. The figure he mentioned was hardly anything for such a big property. But looking at it now in the clear light of day and in a brief let-up in the rain, I can see just what a neglected state it’s in. Apart from the fact that it’s a very limited market. Who wants a big, run-down house on an island a two-hour ferry ride from the mainland? How would anyone make a living over here? I certainly couldn’t. But it’s not going to sell at all with someone living in the attic! ‘. . . I need you to find somewhere else to live and move out.’

  My voice is barely audible, but I have got a pad and pen with me. You need to move out! I write and show it to him. He reads it, then goes to the big old fridge and starts pulling out what look like boxes of ready meals and putting them on the side.

  ‘Someone needs to be here with Hector, to keep an eye on him. And clearly it’s not going to be you.’ He looks at me and raises an eyebrow. ‘You’ve got a plane to catch.’

  ‘Well, clearly someone is looking out for him. Look at all those ready meals. Who brings him those?’

  ‘Mrs Broidy, the old housekeeper. She gets them sent over from the mainland.’

  ‘Well, that’s great. If Mrs Broidy is making sure he’s fed and checking in on him, then you don’t need to be here.’

  He turns and dumps all the ready meals in the bin. Followed by several packets of biscuits.

  ‘What on earth are you doing? Are you mad?’ I exclaim. ‘You can’t just throw away all his meals! That’s abuse. I could report you!’

  I rush over to the bin and start fishing out the boxes and putting them on the scrubbed pine work surface. I’m outraged.

  ‘You need to leave! I don’t know why you’re here, or what you’re hoping to get from this, but
you need to go. I can’t believe you would sabotage an old man like this!’

  He watches me as I stack the boxes into piles. Then he steps forward, picks them all up and drops them back in the bin. He dusts off his hands and stares at me.

  ‘All out of date,’ he says with a frustrated sigh. ‘He forgets to look at the dates on them, and if he eats them, he’s sick. And,’ he adds, ‘he’s diabetic. Cakes, biscuits . . . he’s mad for them but can’t control his sugar levels. I keep telling Mrs Broidy, but she takes no notice. Or maybe she can’t remember either.’

  I find myself blushing and floundering slightly. ‘Right, well, I’m sure the nursing home will be able to look after his diet. So,’ I breathe from my buttocks, lift my chin and take control of the situation, ‘could you please organise somewhere to live so the house can be sold?’

  He stares at me and drops a final ready meal into the bin with a clatter. I look at it and wonder where to get some more, and whether I should contact this Mrs Broidy. I know it’s not really my problem, but I do need to make sure the old man is being looked after until he can go into the home. Perhaps we could write the use-by dates on in big marker pen.

  ‘So . . .’ I draw in breath again, ‘are you going to tell me what you’re doing here?’ I’m suddenly desperate to find out. Is he just freeloading off a vulnerable old man? In which case, the sooner he’s gone the better. But then I think about the kippers that morning at breakfast, caught and smoked by Lachlan, and cooked to perfection. Is he genuinely just here out of the goodness of his heart? He couldn’t really be putting his life on hold to help out an old man when there’s nothing in it for him, could he? He has to be up to something.

  He doesn’t reply, and I plough on. ‘So, you’ll move out and then the house can be sold? It’s the right thing for Hector.’ I look at him. If he really is doing this out of the goodness of his heart, then he’ll want what’s best for Hector too.

  He stares back at me with his flecked eyes, and I swear there’s a tiny smile at the corner of his mouth. ‘Yes, I’ll do what’s right for Hector,’ he says. ‘And no, I’m not moving out.’ He moves away from the kitchen work surface he’s been leaning against and picks up his big canvas bag. ‘Now if you’ll excuse me, I have things to do.’

  He walks out, whistling, leaving me standing in the huge high-ceilinged kitchen. What the . . . ? Who is this man, and what is he doing here? And what’s in that bag he carries around with him?

  I follow him into the living room, where he’s stoking the fire. The two black Labs look up at him from their place in front of the hearth. ‘I’ll just be outside,’ he tells Hector, then he walks right past me, raising his eyebrows and nodding his head, and, still whistling, opens the back door and swaggers towards a single-storey red-brick building behind the house.

  Of all the arrogant, jumped-up, ignorant freeloaders! I think, fury bubbling up inside me. I have a ferry to catch this afternoon. But there is no way I can leave with this man ensconced here. What on earth am I supposed to do now?

  Chapter Seven

  ‘No, wait!’ I go to run outside after him, then look down at my feet. I flick off my still soggy shoes and survey the line of wellington boots by the back door. I’m sure no one will mind if I borrow a pair. Who is there to mind? Not Hector, that’s for sure, who’s emptying the cupboards either side of the fireplace, clearly still looking for something, as he has been since I arrived. The dogs are sitting upright now, as if on guard duty. And I suddenly wonder what’s going to happen to them once Hector leaves here and goes to the care home. Will he still get to see them? Maybe I’ll ask the solicitor, just so I know they’re going to be well cared for, like their master.

  I open the back door, which is marked with scratches from dogs’ paws over the years. I wonder if Dad’s dog – the one he had when I was little, that moved with him when he left the island – made some of them. Outside, it’s stopped raining. It’s cold, but the air fills my lungs and the breeze gently strokes my face. A big difference from last night. In fact, a lot of things look different from last night, including there not being any ghosts, simply a lodger in the attic.

  ‘Wait!’ I call again, but Lachlan holds up a hand and carries on walking towards the red-brick building and the barns beyond it. And beyond that is water. Long green grasses edge the sandy shore, where waves are gently lapping, and there are small clusters of rocks at the far reaches of the cove where it opens out into the sea. In the distance I can now see the outlines of the neighbouring islands, silhouetted by the silvery winter sun. I’m suddenly blown away by the spectacular view. It’s breathtaking.

  As I stand and stare, there’s a sudden vibration in my coat pocket. My phone! We must have signal again! I try to pull it out, tying myself in knots in my eagerness to answer it. Finally I release it and sigh with relief. It’s Joe.

  ‘Hello? Joe?’ I say as I press answer.

  ‘Ruby? Is that you? Where are you? I’ve been worried sick. No one’s heard from you, not Jess, or the band group chat, and the voice retreat say you haven’t arrived. What’s going on? Are you okay?’

  ‘I’m okay,’ I croak, and tears suddenly spring to my eyes.

  ‘Rubes? What’s happened? Are you on your way to the airport?’

  Just hearing his voice makes me realise quite how far I am from my life and everything I know. Away from Joe, the band, even from performing. Out here I’m not Ruby Mac, the singer. I’m not even Ruby Macquarrie, Hector’s granddaughter. I’m . . . well, nobody.

  I have no idea how to tell him I’m not at the airport. That I’m not on the way to Tenerife to find my voice again. That I’m still here, on this remote island, and that, I find myself realising, I can’t leave until all this is sorted. I can’t just go knowing there’s a squatter in the attic and the house can’t be sold whilst he’s there. I can’t walk away leaving that freeloader to live there at Hector’s expense and help himself to whatever is left of Hector’s home and memories. I may not know Hector, but I do know what’s right. And this isn’t!

  ‘Rubes, can you hear me? Did you sign the paperwork? Are you on your way to Tenerife?’

  I watch Lachlan disappearing. I can’t just let him go. I have to sort this. I have to leave. I have a flight to catch this afternoon!

  ‘Yes. All signed and sorted. I’ll be leaving shortly. Don’t worry, it’s all in hand,’ I lie with a blush. It’s the first time I’ve ever lied to Joe, I think. Apart from the odd white lie when I’ve been out with Jess and told him I only had a couple of drinks, because he thinks it’s no good for my voice. He’s probably right. I should’ve listened.

  ‘I have to go, love you,’ I say into the phone. ‘I’ll ring when I’m at the airport.’

  ‘Make sure you do,’ he replies.

  ‘Oh, how’s Lulu doing?’

  ‘Great!’ I can hear the smile in his voice, then it suddenly drops. ‘I mean, not as great as you. But doing fine. Keeping everything ticking over till you get back.’

  ‘Oh, good,’ I say, and suddenly feel a bit teary again, wishing I was home, back with the band. ‘Tell them all I’m fine and I’ll be in touch soon.’

  ‘Love you,’ he says.

  After he’s hung up, I stare at the phone as if watching my life from inside a glass bottle bobbing about in the ocean. I look back at the swaggering figure of Lachlan. There’s only one thing standing between me and getting ashore, and that’s him, I think furiously. I ram the phone back into my pocket and start marching after him.

  ‘Hey! Hey!’ I shout impulsively, only remembering I shouldn’t when my voice cracks and strains. ‘Wait!’ I wave my arms, but he doesn’t respond. The arrogance of the man! I feel myself getting hot with fury. How dare he?

  I launch myself forward, stomping after him. I’m not sure if it’s my mood that’s making me walk like this, or the boots.

  ‘Hey!’ I attempt to call again as I march. Than
k goodness for the wellies. Much more sturdy than the soggy court shoes. ‘Lachlan, wait!’ I croak, then break into an unsteady run. I haven’t run in years, but it feels really quite good. The blood is pumping round my body and I feel a surge of energy. I jog down the path towards the low buildings. The wind is sharper here. Fresh. There’s a spritz of sea salt in the air.

  Lachlan turns to me, rolling his eyes. ‘Yes?’

  It’s like I’m some irritation in his life, and I’m infuriated even more. But I take a deep breath of the salty, fresh sea air and swallow to try and get my voice lubricated.

  ‘You have to move out,’ I say simply. ‘I’ve told you. I need you to agree to go so the house can be sold. To get Hector into the care home.’

  He gazes out across the water at the waves gently breaking on a cluster of rocks. Then he turns back to me and sighs beneath the scarf wound around his neck.

  ‘And I’ve told you. I’m not moving out. I’m staying.’ He looks at the bay. ‘I have an agreement with Hector.’

  ‘Yes, the solicitor told me. Hector has said you can stay as long as you need to. Well, now you need to go.’

  ‘I can’t go yet. I need to be here.’ He looks back out to sea.

  ‘You mean you’re freeloading off him!’

  He steps towards the big metal door of the red-brick shed and unlocks it.

  ‘Believe what you like. But you don’t know anything.’ He looks at me with his flecked green eyes, his long hair whipping round his face. Then his expression hardens and he says, ‘You haven’t been here.’

  And that hurts. I don’t know why. I barely knew ‘here’ even existed until I got the call. My father rarely spoke about the place. It was like it was locked away in a box inside him and nothing could unlock it, not properly. He did mention it a few times, like he’d opened the lid just a chink but wasn’t brave enough to flip it back completely. My mum never mentioned it either. Only that she’d come here to stay with a friend, a musician who’d found inspiration and was suddenly making a name for herself. Instead, my mum met my dad and got pregnant. The island wasn’t part of my world then and it isn’t part of my world now. I can’t feel guilty about what I didn’t know.