by Jo Thomas
‘Wild goats?’
‘Local legend has it that there was a shipwreck, an Armada vessel. The goats swam to safety and have lived on the island alongside the deer ever since.’
I smile at the story, then look at the box of records and put my hand in to pull one out. I’d love to sit and go through this lot, but there really isn’t time. ‘We need to find that recipe, Lachlan,’ I say firmly. ‘I have to be gone by New Year.’
‘Hogmanay,’ he says.
‘Sorry?’
‘It’s Hogmanay. New Year.’
‘Yes. Then I need to be gone by Hogmanay.’
‘It’ll turn up,’ he says, and nods with a wink and a smile. ‘All in good time.’
My stomach flips over and I’m not sure why. Maybe it’s the thought of getting to Tenerife, recovering my voice, getting back to where I belong, on stage.
God, this man is so infuriating. We need to work quicker!
‘But we don’t have time, Lachlan. I don’t have time.’ A thought hits me. Sure, he agreed to move out as soon as we found the recipe and made the gin. But he also said he wanted to keep Hector at home for as long as he could. ‘Is it possible that you’re stalling for time here? Maybe you don’t want to find this recipe at all.’ I feel myself frowning. ‘After all, once we find it . . .’ he ignores me, and heads for the back door, ‘once we find it, you’ll have to move on too! Maybe you want things to stay as they are!’ I shout after him.
‘Maybe I do.’ He turns to look at me. ‘For Hector’s sake,’ he says, and I smart.
‘But he would be better off in the home!’
‘Says who? You?’ He opens the door. ‘Can you keep an eye on Hector while I go to the shed again?’
‘Of course,’ I reply tightly. I mean, it’s not like it’s that hard to keep an eye on him. He’ll just be sorting through cupboards like he has since I arrived here.
As Lachlan leaves, Hector arrives in the kitchen with the dogs. I pick up the photographs and hand them to him. Maybe, just maybe, they might trigger something in his mind.
‘I thought you might like to go through these,’ I say. He looks at me as if he has no idea what I’m talking about, then goes to one of the cupboards I’ve already searched and takes everything out again. Including the bottle of gin that we drank from on Christmas Day.
I look down at the bottles and jars Hector is going through with no idea what he’s looking for. I need to speed things up. I look at the bottle of gin again and I’m transported back to Christmas morning. I can smell the clean, salty air and taste the gin on my lips. I roll my bottom lip in as if tasting it all over again. Maybe there is another way.
Chapter Sixteen
Hector is back in the front room, which is now warm and toasty. He has decided to empty the cupboards all over again, looking for the recipe. I sigh. I’ll restack the papers later. There’s no stopping him once he starts.
While I wait for him to finish his rummaging, unable to resist temptation any more, I take the record player into the living room, where the fire is also lit, and has been every morning since I’ve been here. Presumably that’s Lachlan’s doing. I pick out a record, Ella Fitzgerald, one of my dad’s favourites, and put it on the turntable. It crackles, and I wait with bated breath; then the music begins to play and the sound of her voice fills the room. It lifts my spirits and my soul, making me feel anything is possible.
I go to the kitchen and pick up the gin bottle and take it back into the living room, where Ella is still singing. I’m desperate to sing along, but I know I can’t. I open the gin bottle and smell its contents. It smells like . . . gin. I can’t work out what’s in it. But I’m hoping someone else might.
‘Ah, you must be the new PA.’ Hector makes me jump as he comes into the room behind me. ‘I’m Hector Macquarrie,’ he says, sticking out a hand. ‘Thank you for coming over this morning.’
‘I, er, yes . . .’ I say.
‘See you’re getting acquainted with the gin!’ He picks up the bottle off the table in front of me and studies it. I watch him with interest. Then he looks down at himself – ‘Will you excuse me a moment?’ – and leaves the room again before I’ve had a chance to ask him what I wanted to.
I sigh, and turn up the volume on the beautifully crackly record player, drinking in Ella’s voice and the peace it brings me, letting it wash over me. I have always loved her singing and I think she definitely influenced my jazzy, bluesy-with-a-hint-of-country style. The track comes to an end and Hector suddenly comes back in . . . dressed! For the first time since I’ve been here! With a stick instead of his crutch. His buttons are all done up wrong on his cardigan and there’s an egg stain down his front, but he’s dressed. A tie hangs loosely around his neck.
‘There!’ he announces. Ella launches into another song, and he doesn’t seem to mind, so I leave her playing but turn the volume down a little.
‘Um . . . can I help you with that?’ I point to the tie.
He looks down and I wonder if he’s about to lose it again. But instead he looks at me and smiles.
‘That would be very kind. Can never remember how to tie the damn things! I can see you’re going to be a great asset. Sorry, what did you say your name was?’
‘R . . . Rubes, everyone calls me Rubes.’
‘Right, Miss Rubes.’ He smiles and lifts his chin for me to tie his tie, just like my dad used to do, and I find myself transported right back there. Dad could never tie a tie properly either, despite insisting on wearing one nearly every day. ‘What would I do without you?’ he used to say. But it was what I was going to do without him that was the real question. I was lost without him, singing and music the only constant in my life once he’d gone. And if I don’t get my voice back, I’ll be lost all over again. I’ll only have Joe left. I’ll message him in a bit. Maybe we shouldn’t wait for me to get my recording contract . . . maybe, I think, we should get engaged now. Have the party, celebrate being together. That’s what we should do! I think, my spirits lifting as the music fills the room.
‘Thank you,’ Hector says when I’m finished, stepping back and standing in front of the mottled mirror above the fire. He nods approvingly, then turns to the bottle of gin. ‘Ah, I see you’ve been getting acquainted with the product,’ he says.
The track comes to an end, there’s a crackle and then the next one begins.
‘I was just wondering what’s in it,’ I say tentatively, desperate not to let this new, lucid Hector slip away from me. This Hector who could actually sort everything out for us right now! I’m on tenterhooks.
‘Ah, as do my rivals, dear girl, as do they!’ He lets out a deep, hearty laugh. ‘It’s the recipe that makes it so successful. I only hope my son will realise it and stop this foolish talk of leaving the company and the island.’ He frowns and starts to looks stressed. ‘He has all the skills to take over from me one day. He has talent. I hope he comes to appreciate what he has here.’ He taps the bottle.
‘I’m sure he will,’ I say quickly, having no idea what I’m talking about, but wanting to keep him in good spirits. I wonder if Dad knew that his father thought he had talent, and how he felt working as a security guard on the front desk of a big office block all those years. Never took a day off sick. Always smartly turned out and polite. He was known by all the employees and he knew each of them by name. It was a secure and steady job and allowed him to be home in time to meet me from school every day. He was always there. But would he rather have been here?
‘Well, maybe we should toast your first day with a tot,’ Hector says. Leaning on his stick, he makes his way to the kitchen, arriving back with two glasses; clearly he knew exactly where to find them.
‘Um, well, yes . . . like I say, if I’m to work for you, it would be good to know the recipe,’ I say, growing in confidence. This is it! He can remember! He’s going to tell me! Seeing the gin bottle has broug
ht it all back. It looks like we’re nearly done here after all, and I’ll be in Tenerife way before New Year, back on schedule. And then I intend to tell Joe my new plan . . . for us not to wait, but to seize the day! Enjoy what we have, not what’s round the corner. I feel elated that coming here has made me realise that that’s the right thing to do, and smile to myself as Hector pours two glasses.
‘Have a seat.’ He points to the chair next to the fire and I sit in it. It’s a lot lower than I was expecting, but once there, it’s like sinking into a marshmallow, and I feel like I could stay there all day. But I mustn’t let myself get too comfortable. I have work to do. I try to shuffle myself to the edge of the seat as I take the glass of gin that Hector hands me.
‘Well, you have all your basic ingredients, which you know,’ he says, putting down the bottle.
‘I’m not sure I do.’
‘That stuff’s simple, but you’ll need to make sure you keep the orders coming in. The dried ingredients from our suppliers. There’s carda—’
‘Wait, I’ll get a pen and paper.’
‘Good idea, you’ll need those at all times. First rule of being a good PA. But I’m sure we’ll soon lick you into shape!’ He laughs deeply again, and I have to shake myself and remind myself it’s not my dad I’m hearing. I wish I had the courage to ask Hector what happened between them. Why he played no part in my dad’s life . . . or mine, for that matter. ‘As I say,’ he continues, ‘the basics are simple . . .’ and he reels off a list of spices. ‘Got that?’ he asks, standing in front of the fire, the dogs staring up at him with matching profiles.
‘Yes!’ I say, beaming. ‘Wait! I’ll be right back!’ I need that pen and paper, now! I push myself up out of the sagging seat with an oomph and hurry to the door.
‘It’s the other five that make this special,’ he says as the song comes to an end.
‘Other five?’ I turn and look at him.
‘Yes. The basic ingredients are simple, but it’s the five special ones that make it . . . well, special. That’s what captures the spirit of the island in the bottle.’ He looks from the glass to me and I’m transfixed for a moment.
‘Just wait there. I’ll get that notepad.’
Hector pours himself another large glass. ‘Just a small one, to celebrate your first day,’ I hear him saying.
‘Lachlan! Lachlan!’ I call, running to the back door. I quickly grab a coat from the rack, step into some wellies, then open the door. The sharp wind, which I’m getting used to expecting, comes at me and bites me on the nose as I set off towards the red outbuilding, feeling and probably looking like a drunk duck in the oversized boots.
‘Lachlan!’ I feel my throat tighten and break again. Bugger!
I make it to the outbuilding and pull at the heavy door. This time, it opens. I step inside and look around at the high-ceilinged room. It’s huge, and in the middle of it is a big piece of kit that looks like it could be one of Caractacus Potts’ inventions from Chitty Chitty Bang Bang.
‘Hey! What’s up?’ Lachlan appears from round the back of a huge copper drum, making me jump.
‘It’s Hector!’ I’m out of breath and very croaky, and suddenly feeling wildly excited.
‘What?’
‘He’s . . . well . . .’ I can’t think what to say.
‘He’s what?’
‘He’s . . . He can remember everything! Including the gin recipe!’ My smile widens. ‘He can remember the gin recipe!’ I repeat, and Lachlan runs to the door, clearly keen to see for himself. I follow as fast as a drunken duck can, the wind still nipping at my cheeks and lips. He beats me to the back door and throws himself in through it. I follow, stumbling and tripping, to find him standing in the living room doorway with his back to me.
‘See! See what I mean?’ I say in hushed tones as I slip out of the boots.
‘You said you’d keep an eye on him,’ he says, not turning round.
‘Yes,’ I beam. ‘And not only have I done that, but he’s . . . well, he’s completely back to how he was. Although, of course, I don’t know how that was, obviously. But see for yourself. Ask him. He can remember the recipe for the gin . . . the basics and the five special ingredients that “capture the spirit of the island in the bottle”.’
Lachlan turns slowly round to face me.
‘Hector’s gone,’ he says flatly.
‘What? You’re joking, right?’
The look on his face says he’s doing anything but.
I elbow my way into the doorway next to him. I can smell woodsmoke on his jacket.
The record player needle is clicking in its groove, signifying that the record has come to an end. But other than that, there is nothing and nobody in the room.
Chapter Seventeen
‘We have to find him!’ Lachlan’s face is etched with worry.
‘Oh God! What have I done?’ I say quietly to myself.
He turns slowly towards me. ‘What exactly do you mean?’
‘Well . . . I just thought . . .’ I start to roll my hands over each other nervously. My throat tightens. He stares at me, his eyes narrowing. ‘I just thought . . .’ I’m feeling hot all of a sudden, very hot.
‘Quickly! We’ve got an old man with dementia possibly out in the freezing bloody cold. Anything could happen!’ he says angrily, and I feel like crying. But I can’t. This is my fault and I have to put it right.
‘I’ll find him!’ I say.
‘What . . . did . . . you . . . do?’ he says slowly and clearly.
‘I just thought . . . maybe if he could smell the gin, taste it like we did on the beach, the recipe would come back to him.’
‘And did it?’
‘Yes! That’s when I came to get you!’
The record player clicks and clicks. I step forward and remove the needle and set it back in its home position.
‘And he was drinking gin, you say?’
‘Just one . . . or two.’ I sniff.
‘And where’s the bottle now?’ He looks around, as do I.
‘I don’t know. He must have taken it!’ I look at Lachlan and he holds his hands to his head, then runs them through his long curly hair.
‘We need to find him. He’s not well. He’s forgetful, and if he’s drinking as well . . . The dogs are probably with him, but his balance isn’t good even on that crutch—’
‘He’s not on the crutch . . . he’s on a walking stick,’ I say, my voice thinning out as my throat tightens with tension.
Lachlan turns to the back door and grabs two torches. He checks they’re working, then hands one to me.
‘It’s going to be getting dark soon. We need to find him. But let’s start with the house.’ He takes the wide wooden stairs two at a time. I follow. ‘I’ll do the first floor, you check upstairs! Hector?!’ he calls, opening each door in turn.
I turn to the door to the next level and put my hand on the cold latch. I hesitate for a moment, feeling like I’m intruding on Lachlan’s private world. But we have to find Hector. This is my fault. I fling back the door and run up the narrow wooden stairs. I stick my head into the room that is clearly Lachlan’s bedroom, and catch a glimpse of the amazing views from the window in the sloping ceiling, across the loch and beyond to the sea. Then I check an unused room that seems to be a storeroom, and the bathroom with its big old rolltop bath. Hector isn’t here. I run back down the stairs, practically colliding with Lachlan on the landing.
‘Sorry.’ I jump back, as does he, and shake my head. ‘Not there.’
‘I’ll check the cellar!’ he calls, running downstairs. I follow and head to the kitchen and the door I’m presuming is the cellar. He’s out of there as soon as I arrive, pushing back his hair. ‘We’ll check the outbuildings next, and the distillery.’
Again I follow him, down the path to the outbuildings. He pushes open the do
or where I found him earlier.
‘Hector! Hector!’ we both shout, and somehow my voice lets me.
‘What is this place?’ I ask as we move around the big copper drum and into a back room.
‘The distillery. Where the gin was made. Well, first whisky, then gin. That’s what I was doing when I asked you to keep an eye on Hector. Trying to get the still up and running again and make the wash, the basic clear alcohol.’ He sounds cross. I can’t reply. ‘Why couldn’t you just have waited?’ he asks. ‘We’d’ve found the recipe!’
‘I just thought . . .’
‘That you could rush it. Get it sorted and get to your retreat thingy. I know! You have a plan! But there’s an old expression: what’s meant for you won’t pass you by. If we’re meant to find that recipe, it’ll happen.’
I can’t say anything. His words sting. Maybe it’s the truth in them that hurts the most. Tears prick my eyes. Hot and embarrassed.
‘Let’s get in the car,’ he says, grabbing keys from the work surface covered with jars and pots and large test tubes of who knows what.
‘Maybe you could show me around tomorrow,’ I say with a croak. ‘I’d like to know more. That’s if . . . unless . . .’
Neither of us finishes the sentence. Instead, he leads the way, leaving the door unlocked in case Hector returns, and we both run to the old red Land Rover on the drive.
‘He was here, Lachlan. Not that long ago. He wanted chocolate bars, but he didn’t have any money. I’ve put it on the account.’
‘Thank you,’ Lachlan says as we stand in the shop. ‘Take it from my wages.’
I look at him.
‘Lachlan does more than anyone around here, what with his work with the class at the school, and the food he cooks for the café,’ says Lena with a proud smile.
‘And looking after Hector,’ adds Lexie.
‘He could’ve left us a long time ago. It’s not been easy for him since—’
I’m not sure if Lachlan’s embarrassed by the praise or just worried about Hector. He quickly puts a stop to the conversation.