by Jo Thomas
‘But Lachlan had promised Hector he’d find the missing recipe for the gin and bring the distillery back to life. He wanted to repay him for everything he’d done for him, taking him in after . . . after he returned to the island.’
‘Letting me stay on in the croft after Dad died. Even though I couldn’t stand the thought of being there after . . .’ He looks at Isla.
‘After you asked me to marry you. But I was already engaged,’ she finishes for him.
‘Yes,’ he says. ‘After that. But time has moved on, and so have I. Hector let me stay with him while I found my feet again, and now I’m repaying him. He wants to know the gin business is up and running again before he . . . It’s his last wish.’ He swallows, and I do too. ‘I couldn’t find the recipe. It was Ruby who unlocked the secret. She’s the one who realised it was all in his head and it was the music that made him remember.’
‘So we made a deal to get the distillery up and running and then sell the place. We had to crowdfund it to get the money to pay for his place. His legacy will still be here,’ I try and explain.
‘And then what?’ Isla says.
‘It’s time I moved on,’ Lachlan says. ‘Moved out. Left the island again. It’s time I let you get on with your own life.’
For a moment, neither of them says anything, then Isla nods sadly, as if finally letting him go.
‘And you?’ She turns her gaze on me.
‘I . . .’ I feel choked.
‘Ruby has her singing career to get back on track,’ Lachlan says. ‘This way, we all get what we want, and the gin business will provide jobs for the islanders, just like Hector wants. Please, Isla, don’t say anything to anyone else. It’s for the best: for the island, for everyone.’
She looks at him with soft tears in her eyes. ‘For everyone?’
He nods. ‘Like I say, we all get what we want this way. Jobs for the locals, a new start for you and Gordan without me moping around . . .’
‘As long as selling to some big mainland company doesn’t mean we’ll be swallowed up. I couldn’t be a part of that. Forgetting what makes us and this place special.’
‘We won’t let that happen,’ I say.
‘You have to be a part of this place to know what that means,’ and Isla turns and walks away.
Lachlan and I look at each other. We both got what we wanted, didn’t we? says a voice in my head. Well, nearly.
Chapter Forty
‘So each distillation can be divided into three parts,’ Lachlan tells everyone. ‘We need to separate out the heads and the tails, the bits that we don’t want to flavour the gin and spoil it, and keep only the heart.’ He looks at me as he says it, and I swallow. Stripping life back to leave just the heart seems to be exactly what being on the island has taught me. To live for now and for the people that matter. But in no time at all, I’m going to be leaving, and I have a feeling I will be leaving my heart behind.
For the next seventy-two hours, Aggie, the big old still, does her thing and everyone helps, following Lachlan’s instructions. The place is buzzing. We barely sleep. Lachlan takes catnaps in the distillery and I stay in the house with Hector to keep an eye on him. Despite the obvious pleasure he’s getting from seeing the distillery coming back to life, he’s tired, and much quieter than when I first arrived.
The night before the tea party, we get the baking organised, and then the gin is bottled and boxed and ready to go. The sun sets in a blaze of red and orange, reflecting across the still sea. It’s cold, much colder, and still, a hush over the island, like an audience waiting with anticipation for the show to begin. Everyone leaves to go to the pub, and Hector, tired but happy, goes to bed. Once he’s asleep, Lachlan leads me down to the shore, lighting lanterns around the dunes and the bonfire there, and then produces a bottle of special edition Teach Mhor Winter Gin from his canvas bag.
‘My heart,’ he says, and hands it to me. And I have no idea if he means what I hope he might mean, because if he did, I would tell him that he’s holding mine too in his hands.
He brings out oysters he’s collected, and we open them and drink from them, sipping and licking the salty juice from the shells. Our eyes never leave each other’s, lit up by the flames from the fire, and I feel like I’ve finally come home, that this is indeed the heart of the place, yet at the same time I know that our time together, the three of us, has come to an end.
Chapter Forty-one
The next day, I’m up early. But not as early as Lachlan, it would seem, and as I open my door, I can smell the sweet, warm aroma of baking rising up through the house from the kitchen.
I know we have a busy day ahead, but I want to go for just one more run around the island. After today . . . well, we still have a few more bottles to go to make our crowdfunding target. If we get there, I’ll be gone. If not, it looks like Jack Drummond will swoop in and try and get the place at as low a price as he can. Without the gin, the heart of the place, the property is practically worthless. I could only see as far as today, getting the money for Hector to go into the care home; doing my duty and then getting on my way to the voice healing retreat, thinking I was doing the best for everyone. But was I really?
I hurry downstairs, pausing on the landing to rearrange the curtains again. There’s so much to do, cleaning, laying up for the tea party and helping Lachlan, not to mention getting the boxes of gin ready to distribute if we make the target . . . if!
I reach over the banister and ease the old gold bauble from the deer’s antler, then run down the rest of the stairs. This is it. Today’s the day! I go over the list in my head as I straighten a mottled mirror on the wall, then hurry to the kitchen, drawn in by the smell of the freshly baked scones that Lachlan is taking out of the oven.
‘Morning,’ I say, popping a piece of broken shortbread into my mouth from the batch laid out on the cooling tray, expecting Lachlan to tell me off. But he doesn’t.
‘So . . .’ I clap my hands together. ‘Mrs Broidy is due in to clean, and the Cruickshanks are coming over to help set up . . .’
He’s looking at me, still wearing the oven gloves.
‘Mrs Broidy?’ I repeat, and glance at his face. ‘She’s not coming, is she?’ I say slowly.
He shakes his head. ‘Rang earlier. Said she had . . .’ he hesitates, ‘a touch of something and didn’t think she should pass it on.’
‘And Lena and Lexie?’
Silently he pulls off the oven gloves and puts them on the worn wooden work surface by the sink.
‘Got a touch of something?’ I raise an eyebrow and hope the tears of frustration gathering in hot pools along my eyelids don’t fall.
He nods.
‘They’ve heard, haven’t they?’
‘It wasn’t Isla. Jack Drummond was in the pub last night, asking about life here and the story of the house.’
‘They think I’m just here to get rid of the house and push Hector out. They think I’m selling out the island.’
He’s silent for a moment, then, ‘But we still have other people coming. The ferry’s due in at eleven. Maybe we’ll still make the target.’
‘You’ve worked so hard to make this happen.’ I look at him. ‘And now I’ve gone and blown it.’
‘You’re just doing what you think is right. And you are right. Hector needs more looking after and . . . and I need to move on. I can’t stay hiding out here forever, hoping life will come and find me.’
‘No, no, I didn’t mean that. This is your home.’
‘Only it’s not,’ he says flatly. ‘Look, we still need to put on this tea party.’
‘Why? What’s the point? They’re not coming, are they?’
‘It . . . we . . .’ He pauses. ‘We just do,’ he says firmly. ‘Because it’s what we said we’d do. We can’t give up now. This is the end of the journey. We owe it to Hector and to ourselves to f
inish the journey.’
I’m suddenly lost for words. That’s why we’re doing this. Not for me to go back to my life as I knew it, not for Lachlan to get over his broken heart, but for an old man who locked horns with his son and has spent a lifetime regretting it and hoping to see his family again. For a man who is much loved on this island and shouldn’t be forgotten.
I turn. ‘Excuse me . . . just going to get some air,’ I say, and head to the back door. Douglas is there, offering to be my running partner, to keep me safe within the family. I fling open the door, and despite the cold, cold air and the big white clouds rolling in, I step out, take a deep breath and start to run my familiar course. In the background I swear I hear the front door slam and the sound of the Land Rover starting up.
I run and run, listening to the sound of my feet on the road. And as I do, tiny, light white flakes begin to fall, floating softly from the thick clouds.
Snow, I think. Snow, and I hold my face up to it. I run past the little croft by the bay, closed up as usual, making me feel sad for it all over again. The snow is falling a little more heavily and I wonder whether to stop, but something inside me just keeps pushing me on. The icy flakes feel fresh, almost liberating, as if they’re washing away the past and making me feel like today is a new day.
I run on, beside the burn, the burn that follows the island’s varying terrain and was ultimately the map for the gin recipe. I push myself hard, and finally, as I reach the pub, my lungs dragging in air and my muscles crying out for a rest, I slow up, seeing Lachlan’s dark red Land Rover pulled up at an angle outside the shop and café. I stop and bend over, holding my knees, taking deep breaths, trying to slow my breathing, and as I do, I hear voices coming from the café. My cheeks pink as I realise that the topic of conversation is . . . me!
‘She lied to us. Pretending she was here to help get the distillery up and running, get the island back on its feet.’
‘Pretending to be your girlfriend . . .’ says another voice I recognise as one of the sisters.
‘Whoa! Wait!’ My heart jumps as I hear Lachlan’s voice. ‘Just wait a minute,’ and the other voices go quiet. ‘Ruby didn’t pretend to be anything. She came here because she had to. Because it was the right thing to do. Because she’s a good person. She could have left a long time ago.’
‘Why didn’t she then?’
‘Because . . . of me.’
‘Told you! She’s come here, let ya fall for her and now she’s buggering off.’
‘No, no, it’s not like that. She thought she had to come and sign papers to allow the house to be sold. The hospital said that Hector would be better off in a care home on the mainland, with his dementia and no one here to care for him.’
‘But you were here.’
‘But I’m not his next of kin. Ruby is . . .’
A silence falls over the gathering. I hold my breath.
‘You mean . . . she’s Hector’s . . .’
‘Granddaughter. Yes.’
All this time he could have told them, and he hasn’t. He kept his word. Now . . . well, it really doesn’t matter, I think. If the crowdfunding fails, I will have let everyone down, whoever I am. But somehow, hearing the words ‘Hector’s granddaughter’ fills me with a stirring of pride.
‘They’d never met. Her dad . . . well, you all remember Campbell, and you know that he and Hector argued and were both too proud to back down. Ruby never knew her grandparents or this place. When she got here, she realised that to do the best thing for Hector, she had to sell the house, but that meant me leaving it. And until I’d found the gin recipe that Hector could no longer remember, I wasn’t budging. Anyway, turns out Ruby’s as stubborn as her grandfather. She was determined to find that recipe and get the gin still working, and that’s exactly what she’s done. Hector’s business is up and running again, thanks to her . . . and you. This is what a community does.’
I bite my bottom lip. I want to say that it was him that made it happen. He knew where to go to find the ingredients, how to gather them and prepare them and get the still working. He took the pictures – and the video – that made the crowdfunding page so popular.
‘But now she’s selling it to that bloke from the mainland and we’ll just become an extension of his company.’
‘Ruby has tried to do the best for everyone: for Hector, for the island. There are bound to still be jobs. And she knew I needed to move on too.’
Silence falls over the group.
‘And all of you, you’ve benefited from her being here. Jack Drummond and his business partners are staying at the pub. The ferry will be busier than ever today, with any luck; the café too no doubt. When was the last time this island had some hope about what the future might hold?’
‘When Hector set up the still,’ says Mrs Broidy.
‘And now his granddaughter has done the same. And she’s back at that house, wondering if anyone is going to turn up this afternoon. After all her work, putting her own life on hold, it looks as if it’s all been for nothing. And if it has, what will happen to Hector? Life moves on for everyone. You just have to try and make sure it’s in the right direction. If you won’t do it for Ruby, or for me, do it for Hector. All of you have had a life on the island, and a good life too, because of him.
‘We’ve all made mistakes. Who here hasn’t? Hector certainly did, and not a day went by when he didn’t regret not making it up with his son. But we all deserve a second chance. Don’t leave it too late. Yes, maybe Ruby should have told you who she was, said what she was doing here. But she did what she did for the best reasons; she followed her heart. And helped put a few back together in the process.’
I take a big breath and lift my face to the gently falling snowflakes, then turn and run back to the house as if my feet have grown wings.
I shower quickly in the big tub and then start collecting up the mismatched vintage cups, saucers and plates we found when clearing out the cupboards, arranging them on the long table in the dining room at the back of the house. I open up the big double doors that connect the room with the living room, where Hector is sitting in his worn wingback chair looking out over the garden towards the distillery through the gently falling snow.
After a while, Lachlan arrives back, without a word about where he’s been. He stops and smiles at me.
‘Ferry should be in soon,’ he says. ‘Maybe there’ll be guests on it. We’d better get ready just in case.’
I nod, and together we lay out the plates and cake stands for the sponge cakes, shortbread and cheese scones he’s made.
‘I’ll get some gin from the distillery; we can pour it into shot glasses for people to try it neat, and offer tonic for those who don’t want it like that. I’ll just give the distillery a tidy too,’ he says, brushing his curly hair off his face. ‘We can give them a tour before tea, and tell them the history of the place.’
If anyone comes, I think, biting my lip. And I’m sure he’s thinking the same, but is putting on a brave face.
Suddenly the big bell at the front door rings out, making me jump. I wipe my hands and look around for Lachlan, but he’s already outside and heading for the distillery. His happy place, I think, and find myself smiling. And then thinking how sad it’s going to be for him to leave it and hand it over to the new owners. But I push that thought away, just for the time being.
I go to the front door and pull it open, hoping to see some of the villagers. And I don’t know if I’m disappointed it’s not them, or just thrilled to see who it is.
Chapter Forty-two
Jess and the rest of the band are standing in front of me!
‘Whaaa!’ I say, lost for words.
Jess is pulling off her sunglasses. ‘God, that was some journey. I think I left my stomach somewhere back in the middle of that big bit of sea!’
The others all agree. There’s Moira, our drummer, Gw
ilym, keyboards, and Ali, our double bass player. They huddle together for warmth. The sky is darkening and there’s a stillness in the air. It’s cold and crisp, and Jess is shivering in the snow falling around her.
‘What are you all doing here?!’ I say with a mix of surprise and delight.
‘Come to make sure you actually leave this time!’ she says. ‘Judging by the video on your crowdfunding page, I’m beginning to think this place is getting right under your skin.’
‘And the strange messages in the band group chat . . . all those GIFs and smiley faces!’ says Moira.
‘What? Of course I’m going to leave!’
‘And to see if you’re going to come back to the band,’ Jess adds. ‘I know what I said, but well, I was just, y’know, hurt. And I know you and Joe aren’t . . . any more. But that’s no reason for us to stop trying to succeed, achieve our goals!’ She smiles.
I can’t think what to say to her. I think about Joe.
‘How is Joe?’ I say, my throat tightening.
She shrugs. ‘Looks like you weren’t the only one keeping secrets. Joe likes to hedge his bets by all accounts. Sorry, Rubes. I should’ve told you. He and Lulu have been looking fairly close lately.’
‘Yeah, he thinks he’s found the winning lottery ticket this time!’ says Moira, and Gwilym nudges her sharply in the ribs.
‘It’s fine,’ I say, but I realise that’s exactly how I felt, like I was Joe’s winning lottery ticket. Clearly, when he saw he might not be able to cash in on me, he transferred his attention to Lulu. I should have seen it coming. It was only being here that made me view our relationship more clearly. There was nothing else in it other than my career. And when that looked like it was gone, Joe moved on.
‘How long?’ I manage to ask.
‘Think it started Christmas Eve,’ says Ali, and I remember Joe being out on Christmas morning, getting ‘a few bits’. I feel angry, but actually relieved too. It hurts, really hurts, but I know it’ll get better. I swallow, hard.
