by Jo Thomas
I take the record off and slide another one from its sleeve, lining up the needle. The crackle begins again and then the music starts to play, and as it does, there’s another noise, a strange whooshing and dipping sound. I look at the disc revolving on the turntable and wonder if it’s warped. But it doesn’t look warped. The noise seems to be getting louder, and the chatter in the room seems to be growing too. But the room’s getting darker, very quickly. Is it thunder? Another storm rolling in without warning? A snowstorm? The days have been so calm and cold, with fiery red skies in the morning, purple sunsets, and a sugar frosting covering the fields, sand dunes, heathland and forests like a Christmas card. A storm now would certainly be out of nowhere, but nothing is impossible here, I’ve come to learn. I’ve come to learn a lot about this place since I’ve been here, I think suddenly with a twist in my heart.
I look round, and everyone seems to be standing at the windows, staring out. Lachlan is standing next to Isla and smiling. My heart gives a further wrench. The sky is getting much darker and the rumbling is almost deafening. What on earth is going on?
Chapter Forty-five
I push up against the window in between my mother and Jess, and follow their gaze upwards. The record player is all but drowned out now by the noise and the light practically obliterated by the helicopter descending from the sky, landing on the lawn. My mouth drops a bit.
‘You look like you’re catching flies, darling,’ says my mother.
‘Who’s that?’ says Jess.
‘I have no idea,’ I reply.
‘You must have some idea; it’s got to be one of your crowdfunders,’ Jess says, not taking her eyes off the settling helicopter and its swirling blades.
But as I look around, everyone I was expecting is here. Even Jack Drummond, who is looking very interested in the new arrival.
‘Maybe it’s landed here by mistake,’ I say, ‘what with the snow.’ But the snow is only just starting to settle. I turn and see Lachlan and Isla grinning at each other and high-fiving, and I can’t help but feel totally bewildered.
‘Who is it?’
Everyone shrugs. Lachlan finally walks over to me, grinning. Oh God, what if this is how he and Isla are leaving, making a dramatic exit like my mum and dad did. His work here practically done. But not quite.
‘We haven’t reached our target, not yet,’ I blurt out, and he looks momentarily confused. Then he smiles again as the door of the helicopter opens.
‘What, did you think I was off the moment we hit the crowdfunding target?’ he laughs.
‘Well, aren’t you?’
He looks at me. ‘That was the deal. But not by helicopter.’ He nods as a pair of legs emerges from the door and a man in sunglasses gets out, followed by . . . I catch my breath.
‘The A&R woman! What’s she doing here?!’
And Jess squeals.
I stare up at Lachlan and can’t even manage the words to ask how this has happened.
‘The video,’ he says. ‘It just got shared and shared. You saw what happened to the crowdfunding after I put it up.’
He looks out at the two figures ducking under the blades and making their way to the French doors.
‘They messaged the page. Asked if you’d be singing here today.’
‘I didn’t see that,’ I say, trying to recall it.
‘That’s because I replied. I knew that if you knew about it, you’d worry. As it is, you just have a room full of old people, locals, friends and family to entertain.’ He shrugs and smiles. ‘And a passing A&R person and record producer.’
‘So you’re not leaving?’
‘Not yet. I made a promise, didn’t I? Not until the distillery is up and running.’
He smiles at me again, and suddenly I realise that the very last thing I want right now is for him to leave and never to see him again.
‘I . . .’
I want to tell him, but as I try to speak, the French doors are flung open and a huge blast of cold air comes in, together with a few flakes of snow and the two new arrivals. The man rubs his leather-gloved hands together.
‘I hear there’s some gin to try.’ He beams a very white smile. ‘And as I’m not driving . . .’
My mother shoots forward and hands them both drinks.
‘Thank you, and you are . . . ?’
‘Stella. Stella Macquarrie,’ she says, using her married name rather than her stage name!
‘Are you part of the band?’ he asks.
‘Oh, er, no, I’m . . .’
He sips the gin and then looks at it. All his focus now on the glass. ‘This is good,’ he says, ‘really good.’
‘Made here on the island with local botanicals, including seaweed from the beach just over there.’ I find myself going into autopilot. He nods.
‘And you are?’
‘Ruby Mac,’ I reply, my mouth going dry. ‘And this is Jess. She’s our band manager and songwriter.’
Jess is behind me, putting out a hand. ‘If only we’d known you were coming. The band, I’m mean, we’re not set up,’ she says, excited and pained all at the same time.
The man smiles. And then the A&R woman speaks.
‘It’s okay, Jess. It’s Ruby we’ve come to hear. We heard she was going to be singing here this afternoon.’
‘Oh,’ says Jess, and I feel her spirits plummet.
‘Did you . . . ?’ She points at me and at the new guests, her eyes hurt.
‘No, I did,’ says Lachlan, introducing himself to the A&R woman. ‘Local forager and apprentice distiller,’ he adds.
‘Well if you made this, I’d say they’d better make you the head distiller!’ says the record producer, and Jack Drummond steps forward.
‘That’s a conversation we should have,’ he says, and suddenly my heart lifts. What if he wants to take Lachlan on as head distiller? That would be perfect! I smile. Today suddenly got better!
‘I’m not singing what I usually sing with the band,’ I tell Jess quickly. Somehow I feel I want it to be okay with her.
‘Do what you have to do, Ruby,’ she says quietly, and turns away and walks to the other side of the room.
I look at Lachlan, who nods encouragingly. ‘Do what you have to do,’ he repeats, taking the jug of gin and tonic from my hands.
I look round at the piano, next to the record player.
‘They’ve come to hear the Ruby they saw on the video,’ he reminds me, just in case I’m in any doubt. ‘The song you sang at the beach.’
I think about the song, one that has meant so much to him over the years. Will this finally mend the broken pieces of the record between him and Isla?
‘Sing it like you sang it then,’ he says.
I nod.
‘Okay, everyone, as promised, we have the fantastic Ruby Mac to sing for you.’ Lachlan holds out his hand and everyone starts to applaud. I take a deep breath. I’m going to do this just the way I planned it, and not change a thing just because the record producer is here. I’m going to do it my way. Sing it from the heart. And with that, I walk over to Hector, who is sitting in his wheelchair. I whisper to him, then wheel him over to the piano.
‘Mrs Broidy? Would you?’
She nods and hurries forward to where I’m standing, Hector sitting in his wheelchair next to me. The Cruickshanks from the shop shuffle in beside the piano, just like on Burns Night.
Mrs Broidy looks at me, and I find my hand slipping into Hector’s as she begins to play. At once I feel my nerves disappearing, and without thinking, I begin to sing. As I do, Hector gets unsteadily to his feet and joins in, taking my other hand, word perfect. My whole being fills with happiness, and there’s a huge smile on my face to match his, and tears in my eyes. The small choir joins in gently behind us, but it’s mine and Hector’s voices that can be heard most clearly.
; As the song comes to an end, Hector looks straight into my eyes. Then he lets go of my hands and cups my face with his own. Tears are filling the soft skin of the rims of his eyes and finding their way down the crevices and creases of his cheeks, just like the water from the mountain stream.
All around me I can hear clapping, but it’s muted, as if far away. All I can see is Hector, looking straight into my eyes.
‘You came!’ he says shakily, and I nod. ‘My granddaughter! You came!’
‘Hello, Grandad,’ I say, and the words catch in my throat.
‘I knew you’d come . . . one day.’ And he plants a wet, teary kiss on my cheek. ‘I always knew you’d come!’ he repeats. I help him back into his wheelchair and towards his favourite seat looking out over the lawn. ‘Not sure about your mode of transport, though!’ He nods to the helicopter on the lawn, and laughs.
Then Mrs Broidy plays again and we all join in. ‘Looks like the island choir is back together,’ she smiles, and I suddenly wonder if they’ll keep going once I’m gone.
We sing a rousing rendition of ‘The Bonnie Banks o’ Loch Lomond’ and finish with ‘Auld Lang Syne’. Hector looks happy but exhausted from the exertion. Lachlan comes over with a cup of tea and a cheese scone for him, but he doesn’t really respond. He seems to be thinking deeply as he looks out beyond the helicopter on the lawn.
‘You were brilliant, fantastic,’ says Lachlan, suddenly hugging me.
Over his shoulder I see Isla, who smiles at me. When he puts me down, I say, ‘So, you and Isla . . .’
‘She was the only one who knew about these guys coming. I knew I couldn’t tell anyone else, but I couldn’t keep it to myself either. I saw her in the café today.’
‘So you’re not . . . ?’ I raise my eyebrows.
‘No, Ruby. It’s over. She and Gordan are having a baby. They deserve to be happy without me moping around making them feel bad. I need to find some happiness of my own now.’
Just as I go to reply, the producer and the A&R woman come over.
‘Is there somewhere we could talk?’
‘Um, sure,’ I say, looking at Lachlan, who nods his head towards the kitchen with an encouraging smile.
I lead them through the small crowd, who all stop me to tell me how beautiful the song was, many of them with tears in their eyes. My mum is now wearing her sunglasses, and is dabbing at the corners of her eyes. I’m not sure I’ve ever seen my mum cry. A song that hasn’t been heard on the island in a long time, brought back to life; a song that I remember my father singing to me, and that his father must have sung to him. A song from the sea.
Jess is standing by the door. I look at her, feeling like I’ve betrayed her, like I’ve stolen the most precious thing from her.
‘It’s okay, Rubes.’ She smiles like we’re two lovers who realise they have fallen out of love and are walking different paths in life but will stay cherished friends. ‘Do what you have to do.’ She gently squeezes my arm.
I turn towards the hallway and lead the two visitors into the kitchen, wondering what my dad would’ve made of today, and whether we’ll ever see another day like it here.
Chapter Forty-six
Holding the contract in my shaking hand, I look at them both.
‘So it’s a record deal, you sign to us,’ says the producer.
‘Just me?’ I confirm.
‘Just you. Doing what you did out there today and on the video. The girl from the island.’
‘Oh, but I’m not . . .’ I stop myself. Because suddenly I feel very much a part of this island, and I want to make them all proud. I suddenly feel very hot. ‘Could you give me a moment?’ I say. ‘I just need some air.’
The producer looks at his watch. ‘We don’t have long,’ he says. ‘By the way, that gin . . . how much more did you need to sell to make your crowdfunding target?’
‘Just another case and we’re there.’
‘In that case, I’ll take a case!’
I turn and head out into the hall, where Lachlan is waiting.
‘We’ve just sold the last case! We did it!’ I whisper with excitement.
‘We did it!’ he beams. ‘What’s that?’ He looks down at the brown envelope in my hand.
‘Just something I need to think about,’ I say. ‘I’ll only be a minute.’
I turn to the big front door, remembering how I pushed it open that first night in the storm. And now the fire is lit in the hall and the fairy lights and lanterns are shining one last time before we take them down tomorrow. Everything will look very different then. I slip outside and take some deep, deep breaths, breathing from my butt once more, trying for some semblance of control. And look what happened last time I tried to control what was happening: I ended up here and just let life take me where it thought I should go. I think of the mountain burn and my early-morning runs. I’d give anything to be out on one of those runs right now.
I breathe in deeply again.
‘Hello!’
I jump about a mile in the air. It’s Jack Drummond, from the drinks company.
‘Sorry, I didn’t mean to scare you,’ he says. ‘Just thought I’d take a moment to look around.’
‘It’s beautiful, isn’t it?’ As I speak, my breath comes out like smoke from a fiery dragon. The snow is falling more heavily now, and my teeth are chattering.
‘It is. And you sang beautifully too, if I may say so.’ He smiles.
‘Thank you.’
‘You have your orders in?’
‘We do! We’ve just met our crowdfunding target, so the gin run can happen.’
‘Excellent! Now that you have, I take it you’d like to sell this place with the distillery?’
‘That’s the plan!’ I try and sound happy.
‘Well, then we at Drummond’s would very much like to buy it. Let’s talk figures over the next few days. I’m sure we can come to an agreement. Like I say, we’re very keen to buy, before anyone else gets the chance.’
I bite my lip. This is everything we could have hoped for, I think, and wish I could feel over the moon. Maybe I’m just in shock. Or it’s the cold.
I look at the brown envelope in my hand.
‘So, will you be offering Lachlan a job too, as head distiller?’ I say, unable to resist.
He nods.
‘Lachlan will be carrying on making Teach Mhor gin? That is excellent!’ And this time I do feel a surge of excitement. ‘I want to know everything that’s going on and when it will be launched! I could sing at the launch . . . if you want me to,’ I add hastily.
‘That would be wonderful. Though I don’t know if he’s taking the job yet. He said he had to think about it.’
‘Think about it? What’s there to think about? He’s brilliant at it!’
‘Exactly. And he said he had to move to the mainland anyway, so it makes sense.’
‘Perfect,’ I say, then pull myself up short. ‘Sorry, did you say the mainland?’
‘Uh huh, we’re based just outside Edinburgh. You must come and visit our set-up there. Bit bigger than this.’ He smiles.
I frown. ‘But the gin, it’ll be made here?’ I confirm. And he shakes his head.
‘We’ll make it at our base. Much easier. It’ll still be branded Teach Mhor gin, though. We’ll do some lovely labelling with a picture of the house, maybe an old photograph. List the ingredients, maybe use a map of the island to show where they’re usually found.’
‘Usually found?’
‘Yes, once we’ve got the recipe, we can use our own suppliers. I mean, water’s water, right?’ He laughs.
‘No, not right,’ I find myself saying. ‘The water comes from the waterfall up the mountain. It runs into a burn that flows across the island and the flavours are gathered on its journey out to sea. That’s the point!’
‘Excellent
story, excellent story!’ He nods.
‘It’s not just a story,’ I say, suddenly horrified. And right there, I see the future of this place. ‘It’s about Winter Island. So you can shut your eyes and taste the place. What about the crowdfunders? The people who have supported us? Jobs and business for the island?’
‘We’ll make sure everyone who’s bought into the crowdfunding gets their gin, and then we’ll buy them out with a gift of goodwill.’
Someone clears their throat behind us. I turn to see Lachlan standing at the front door.
‘The ferry’s leaving soon. People have to go,’ he says.
I turn back to Jack Drummond. ‘It’s much more than an excellent story!’ I say, my hands and my voice shaking.
Chapter Forty-seven
I walk slowly back into the busy dining room, where Mum and Jess are serving more gin. Hector is in his chair still, looking out over the bay, his tea and scone untouched.
I walk up to the microphone. Jess’s voice is in my head: Do what you have to do.
‘Thank you, everyone, for coming today.’ The room falls silent. ‘Thank you to all those who dug deep and helped us reach our crowdfunding target!’ A small cheer goes up. I take a huge breath, pulling up my chest and my backside. ‘Many of you know that I came here for one reason and one reason only . . . to sell Teach Mhor.’ There’s a ripple around the room. ‘As Hector’s next of kin, I had to agree to sell the house so he could move into the care home.’ I see Fraser in the audience and a small smile tugs at the corner of his mouth.
‘Away from the island,’ shouts one of the Cruickshank sisters, and I nod.
‘But in order for that to happen, the gin business needed to be revived and the recipe had to be recovered. Today, we’ve done that. And I have got exactly what I have dreamt of and worked towards for the past fifteen years, right here . . .’ I look down at the envelope in my hand. ‘But I know it wouldn’t have happened if I hadn’t come here and met . . .’ I look at Lachlan, unable to say it out loud, ‘if I hadn’t met Hector, my grandfather. I realise that he and my father were just like the stags out there locking horns, and I only wish they’d seen sense a long time ago. Before it was too late.’