Coming Home to Winter Island

by Jo Thomas

  ‘Ruby, we have to go,’ says the A&R woman. ‘The contract?’

  I glance down, then hold the envelope out to her. ‘Thank you, but no thank you. Being here on Winter Island has brought my voice back. It has taught me why I love singing and how it makes me feel. How it makes others feel. The memories it makes.’

  I look over at Hector’s chair.

  ‘But I won’t be signing the contract, or leaving the island, and neither will my grandfather. Teach Mhor and its distillery isn’t for sale.’

  A cheer goes up.

  ‘I’m going to stay and look after him, make sure he has the care he needs and oversee the gin business with the help of its shareholders here on the island. The island is at the heart of that business, and at mine too. So I’m sorry, but like I say, I won’t be signing with you.’

  ‘Okay,’ says the A&R woman slowly. ‘Well, if you change your mind . . .’ She smiles. ‘Though I can see you won’t.’

  ‘I may, however, set up the island choir again and collaborate with the care home to show how music can help people with dementia. Perhaps your record company would like to support that project to help raise awareness of music and dementia?’ I look at the producer.

  ‘Now that could be interesting,’ he says.

  ‘A Christmas single, recorded right here on the island?’ I say, and beam. ‘In the distillery. “Gingle Bells”, a Christmas medley!’

  ‘I’ll send over the paperwork,’ he says with a grin, and with that the two of them leave through the French doors and the helicopter blades start up again, blowing up the settling snow.

  Everyone is crowding around me and congratulating me. I look around for Lachlan, but can’t see him.

  ‘Are you sure about this?’ says my mum.

  ‘Never more so,’ I tell her.

  ‘You don’t fancy the yoga retreat idea then?’

  ‘No, Mum. I’m staying put right here.’

  ‘Well, I know your dad would have been happy about that,’ she says, and smiles as far as her Botox will let her. ‘I have to go. The minibus is going to give us a lift to the ferry.’

  ‘Don’t leave it another thirty-five years before you come back and visit.’

  ‘I won’t. I’m very proud of you,’ she says quietly, and tears spring to my eyes once more.

  ‘Jess?’ I turn to her, and she hugs me.

  ‘Looks like I’m a band member down, and those are blooming big boots to fill!’

  ‘You don’t mind?’

  ‘I told you, you have to do what’s right for you.’

  ‘Yeah,’ the others agree.

  ‘You’ve got to follow your heart,’ Moira adds, and I suddenly realise she is looking longingly at Gwilym and he back at her. This place really does make you see what’s right in front of you!

  ‘As long as we can come along as the support band when you record “Gingle Bells”!’ Jess says.

  ‘Deal!’ and we all hug again.

  The care home people are getting ready to go, busy saying goodbye.

  ‘Um, has anyone seen Lachlan?’ I look around.

  ‘Talking of doing what feels right for you . . .’ Jess raises an eyebrow. ‘I saw him leave, just after the helicopter took off.’

  I turn and run up to the attic, but it’s empty. All his belongings are gone. He must have been packed already.

  He thinks he has to go now! I realise. Now that the distillery’s up and running. I have to stop him! I turn and hurtle back down the stairs.

  Chapter Forty-eight

  Hector is fast asleep in his chair, and I’m not surprised after all that singing and excitement. I slip on the first pair of wellingtons I can see by the back door, and Douglas is up and beside me. Rhona stays close to Hector’s chair.

  ‘Good girl!’ I tell her, and she looks at me as if letting me know she’s there to keep watch over him.

  I pull the back door open. There are still locals milling around in the dining room, and the gin is flowing just the way Hector would want it to be. Everyone is in celebratory mood. Everyone except me, it seems. None of this seems right without Lachlan here as a part of it. Tears fill my eyes, and running is made twice as hard by my blurry vision and the whiteness outside. The snow is falling heavily now, the wind picking up and starting to swirl it. I stumble to the distillery to see if he’s there in his usual place, looking over the big still. I throw the door open hoping with all my heart to see him checking on his creation.

  ‘Lachlan!’ I call out, but the place is empty and dark. I know he’s not there. He’s gone. He couldn’t bear to stay another moment; like ripping off a plaster, the quicker he did it, the quicker the hurt would pass. I dip out of the distillery and close the heavy door, as heavy as my heart. The one person who should be here to celebrate is him. I’m not sure I can even do this without him.

  I turn to look at the bay and hold my face to the cold, feeling the sting of snowflakes on my cheeks and lips. I put my head down and run to the harbour, back to where I arrived only six weeks ago, just in time to see the ferry leaving in a wash of white horses. I put my hand up.

  ‘Stop! Lachlan! Come back!’ I shout as the snow falls all around me. ‘I can’t do this without you! I love you!’ But no one is listening.

  The ferry gives a cheery toot on its horn and many of the old folk wave back at me as it powers off towards the mainland. Slowly I lower my hand and watch it go, Douglas sitting at my side.

  Then, with the snow swirling, twisting and tumbling all around me, I turn and set off again. I’m stumbling and tripping but I can’t stop; I need to keep moving. I take my usual route around the island, following the burn, running as fast as the thick layer of snow on the ground will let me, trying to escape the voice in my head telling me how I’ve messed up. I should have told him when I first realised how I felt about him. I should have told him I didn’t want him to go!

  I run faster, tears falling from my eyes as I see the croft in the distance and wonder what will happen to it now. This was Lachlan’s family home. I draw closer, then pause. My vision is blurred with tears and snowflakes, but it looks like . . . I squint to try and see better . . . it looks like . . . and my heart suddenly leaps and twists all at the same time. It looks like the door is open.

  Chapter Forty-nine

  As I put my hand to the wooden door and push it open further, my heart pounds like it’s going to burst from my chest. And then practically explodes as I see Lachlan standing there in front of me, holding the pieces of the broken record. He looks up at me uncertainly.

  ‘I thought you’d gone,’ I say, my mouth dry.

  ‘Thought I should take a look at this place.’ He glances around. It’s the first time he’s been in here since he moved back, I know. ‘See how it’s been after all this time. I grew up here, you know. I can still see my parents here.’ He smiles.

  ‘And Isla?’ I ask tentatively.

  He shakes his head. ‘I can’t see her here any more,’ he says. ‘She’s happy and I’m happy for them both.’ He looks at me. ‘I could always . . .’

  ‘I don’t want you to . . .’ I say at the same time. We’re as nervous as each other.

  ‘I said I’d move out when the gin was made. I didn’t say where to.’ He smiles. ‘This is a good house. I could move in here. Then if you needed help . . .’

  ‘I don’t want you to go anywhere!’ I say suddenly. ‘Teach Mhor is about more than just Hector; it’s about you too. It’s your home, and you’re as much a part of the business as I am. I can’t do it without you.’

  ‘You could. Just like you sang again. You followed your instincts.’

  ‘I don’t want to do it without you. I don’t want you to go anywhere. Please say you’ll stay. Stay in the house. Be the head distiller. Stay! The three of us together.’

  He looks at me. Then he steps forward so that he
’s standing right in front of me and kisses me, and I know I’m finally home. Any doubts about my new life disappear completely. Everything I want is right here, right now, and my heart sings louder than it ever has before.

  Eventually he pulls back and looks at me, and I wonder whether we could just excuse ourselves from the last of the party, light the fire and spend the night together here.

  ‘Maybe we should go and see what Hector thinks.’ He smiles. ‘Tell him the news. See if he’ll let us both stay. He may get that wedding party he’s been hoping for!’

  As we pull the door to, our arms wrapped around each other and Douglas by our feet, I look at the croft.

  ‘You know, it would make a lovely home . . . but it would also be perfect for foraging holidays. You could teach people about foraging and run gin-making workshops.’

  He nods. ‘Or a recording studio?’

  ‘Oh no, I’m going to do that in the attic!’ I laugh. So does he.

  ‘Looks like I’m going to have to move rooms then!’ He raises his eyebrows and stops to kiss me again, the snow falling on my cheeks. And as I feel myself melt into his body, I know that tonight can’t come soon enough.

  ‘Come on, let’s go and talk to Hector,’ he says, his arm around me, steadying me in my oversized boots, laughing as we go.

  When we reach the back door, Rhona is standing by it barking, slowly, like a metronome.

  ‘All right, good girl. We’re back,’ I tell her, and rub her head. ‘It’s okay, I found him. We’re all here now.’

  We take off our coats and I step out of the wellies, still smiling. There’s laughter coming from the dining room, and it looks like Jess and the rest of the band are going to the pub with the locals. Coats and hats are being pulled on.

  ‘We’ll meet you down there!’ Lachlan tells them.

  ‘Don’t be too long!’ Jess waves a finger and gives us a knowing look, and we laugh. Rhona is still barking, slowly and methodically, and I rub her head again, then step into the warm living room, where Hector is still sitting looking out of the window, his tea and scone still untouched.

  ‘Hector,’ I say, walking over to him. Lachlan stops to put another log on the fire. ‘Hector,’ I say again, thinking he hasn’t heard me and beaming from ear to ear. ‘Have you heard the news? I’m not leaving, and neither is Lachlan. In fact we’re . . .’

  I pause and look at him, and straight away, I know.

  Chapter Fifty

  ‘Do you think he knew?’ I swallow. Outside, it’s snowing hard now. I don’t know why, but I put an extra blanket over Hector’s cold body.

  ‘Judging by the smile on his face, I’d say he knew everything,’ says Lachlan, his arm around me. He passes me a cup of tea and I can smell the whisky in it. ‘For the shock,’ he tells me.

  ‘So you’ll stay?’

  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 30th and 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.

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