Meet Me at the Lighthouse

by Mary Jayne Baker

After he’d arranged with Gabbie to stash his guitar behind the bar until morning, we jumped off our barstools and he pulled my arm through his.

  “Thanks for tonight, Ross,” I said as we weaved unsteadily through the empty tables. Most of the Saturday crowd had long since abandoned the place in favour of nightclubs or bed. “Best birthday I’ve had in ages.”

  “Best night I’ve had in ages. You’re fun, Hannigan. Although doubt I’ll be saying that tomorrow.”

  “Pfft.” I waved a dismissive hand in front of my face. “Bugger tomorrow. Tomorrow can do one.”

  “God, you’re sexy when you’re being a mean drunk. Come on.”

  ***

  We stumbled along the shingle arm in arm. The creamy glow from the vintage-style lampposts above us, mingling with the multi-coloured neon of the amusement arcade, made the beach’s chalky pebbles look faintly radioactive.

  “Don’t look now, but there’s a murder of seagulls putting the evil eye on us over there,” I muttered, jerking my head towards a gang of glass-eyed birds perched on one of the coloured beach huts.

  “Nah, murder’s crows. Seagulls’re –” Ross squinted over at them – “er, a bastard.”

  I giggled. “Really, that’s the collective noun: a bastard of seagulls?”

  “Well it is if we’re basing it on that little bruiser,” he said, nodding towards the bastard of gulls. “Looks like he just got out of borstal.”

  I followed his gaze to a mean-looking thug of a bird, clearly the leader, yarking at us with a nasty look on his squat face.

  “God, you’re right,” I said, shuddering. “Reminds me of that Hitchcock film. What’s it called, with all the birds?”

  “Um, The Birds?”

  “Not that one.” I paused. “Psycho, that’s it. Lad looks like he’d beak you to death in the shower in a heartbeat.”

  Ross laughed as I mimicked his gory, beaky shower death with my nose on his arm, complete with blood-curdling sound effects.

  “Stop pecking me, strange girl.” He twisted my face to one side to free himself from my relentless nose attack.

  “Scared the birds away though,” I said with a grin. “Let’s sit on Gracie’s bench a minute, watch the waves.”

  The old bench had been a favourite place for kids to come for a smoke and a snog back when we were at school. In memory of Gracie Hasselbach, who seized every day, from her loving husband Harry – I must’ve read the plaque a thousand times.

  We sank on to the slatted wood. Ross slung one arm around me and I let my head fall to his shoulder.

  “So what’s the thing with you, Ross Mason?” I asked softly, staring out over the gently swelling silver foam.

  “Which particular thing are we talking about?”

  “Any thing. The main thing.”

  I felt the broad muscles of his shoulder shift under me as he shrugged. “The music, I guess. Not that I’ve got any delusions of hitting the big time. I just… well, I had this idea. Or more of a dream really.”

  I looked up at him. “What?”

  He laughed, looking sheepish. “Nah, I can’t tell you. It’s daft.”

  “Ah, go on. What’s said between two people trashed on tequila slammers stays between them, that’s the rule. It’s like doctors and that hypocritical oath.”

  “Hypocritical oath, right,” he said with a grin. “I wouldn’t let your sister hear you call it that.”

  “Come on. Promise I won’t laugh.”

  He sighed. “Well, it sort of goes back to when we were in sixth form. Me and the lads used to play the pub circuit round town.”

  “Yeah, I remember. Went to see you a few times.”

  He looked down to where my head was cradled by the arch of his neck and shoulder, gazing dreamily at the lapping tide. “Did you? Didn’t notice you.”

  “No, you never noticed me in those days,” I said with a smile. “You were the boy in the band. Enough lasses seemed to go for that to knock me right off the radar.”

  He planted a kiss on top of my hair. “Shows what you know. Just because I was working on my aloof and brooding act doesn’t mean I didn’t notice you.”

  “Didn’t spot me at the gigs though, did you? Had my rock chick hair on for you and everything.”

  “Well, I was concentrating. I’m professional like that.” He laughed. “Terrible, weren’t we?”

  “Yeah, you weren’t great,” I admitted. “I mean, you were good. That sausage-fingered keyboard player though… ouch. What was it you called yourselves?”

  “Oh God.” He pinched the bridge of his nose. “It used to change pretty regularly, but for most of Year 13 it was… oh God.”

  I smirked at him. “Come on, ’fess up.”

  “Ok. Nietzsche’s Jockstrap.”

  I sputtered into laughter. “Where the hell did that come from?”

  “Our bassist Chris was a philosophy student. Thought it’d impress lasses.”

  “And did it?”

  “It did actually. Turns out teenage girls are just as stupid as teenage boys. I was doing alright for myself for a bit.”

  I nudged him. “So I recall, slutty. Hey, weren’t we talking about something else?”

  “What?” His brow knotted into a booze-muddled frown. “Oh yeah, you asked me about my thing.”

  “And what is your thing?” My hand flew to my mouth. “You’re not reforming Hitler’s Y-Fronts, are you?”

  “Ha, Nietzsche’s Jockstrap. No, luckily for the pub-goers of Cragport that ship’s sailed.”

  “What then?”

  “You really promise not to laugh? Because we artistic types are sensitive flowers. And you’ve already been pretty rotten about my band name.”

  “Well, that you had coming.” I looked up at him. “Tell me, Ross.”

  He sighed. “I just… I had this plan. Or more a castle in the air, something to keep me dreaming when things seemed bleak.” In the glow of neon I could see his eyes glittering. “I want to set up a music charity for kids. Something to encourage young acts who want to fight the X-Factor clone wars, help them to everything they need to get a start – rehearsal space, workshops, open-mics, all that. Everything we wished we’d had.” He looked down at his trainers with an embarrassed smile. “Like I said, it’s daft. And probably never going to happen, unless I buy that winning lottery ticket.”

  I lifted my head off his shoulder to look at him. “Why is it daft? Sounds a brilliant idea.”

  “You know how much something like that would cost?”

  “No. How much?”

  He frowned. “Ok, I don’t know exactly. I just assumed it’d be lots.”

  “What, you haven’t even costed it up?”

  “Well, no, not properly. Suppose I’ve avoided it. Putting a price on it’d just push the whole thing further away.”

  “So you don’t really want to do it then.”

  “Yes, I want to, but…” He laughed. “Hey, you’re good at this. What is it you do when you’re not writing?”

  “Teacher. Adult education.”

  “Ha! Should’ve guessed, bossy.”

  “What’s your day job when you’re not playing pubs then? I thought your mum told me you were an artist or something.”

  “Nothing quite that glamorous, unfortunately. Freelance graphic designer.” He sighed. “I dunno, Bobbie. There was a time I really thought the music thing might happen. Started putting money away, looking into venues. But I could sense Claire wasn’t keen, so it got pushed to one side.”

  “And now that’s not an issue.”

  “No.”

  “Then stop making excuses and do it. I’ll help, I’m good at planning.”

  He flashed me a grateful smile. “Would you?”

  “Course, whatever I could do. We need more creative stuff for kids round here.”

  “Thanks, love.” He gave my ear an affectionate flick. “You know, you’re pretty cool.”

  I didn’t reply. I was staring out to sea, watching the distant lights of a plea
sure cruiser making its final trip of the day.

  “Bobbie, you ok?” he said, waving a hand in front of my eyes. “I can call us a cab if you need to get home.”

  “I bought a lighthouse today.”

  He laughed. “I know, crazy girl. What’re you going to do with it?”

  I fell silent again, letting my pupils lilt up and down with the shifting silken waves.

  “Oh God, you’re not going to do the eccentric writer thing and live in it, are you?” he asked.

  “No…” I turned to face him. “I’ve got a lighthouse, Ross.”

  His eyes flickered over my face and I saw his expression change. “Oh no, Bobbie. No. That’s just… it wouldn’t work.”

  “Why not?”

  “Give over, there’s about two foot of floor space. You could barely fit a cymbal in.”

  “I bet it’s bigger than you think. Anyway, there’s plenty of room. You know, vertically.”

  “What good’s that? I can’t push it over.”

  “You could install platforms though. Then the music would sort of… drift up.” I stood. “Let’s stumble along a bit. Feel like I need to walk off some booze.”

  He curled an arm around my shoulders as we continued our meandering way along the seafront.

  “So?” I said. “What do you think?”

  “I think it’s the most ridiculous idea I ever heard.” He bent to kiss the top of my head. “And you’re a ridiculous girl.”

  “Ridiculous girl with a lighthouse.” I stopped walking for a moment to face him. “I’m serious, Ross. A music venue in a lighthouse: with a unique selling point like that, we’d have investors falling over themselves. Bet there’s loads of grants we could apply for, my mum’d know…” I fixed him in an earnest, drunken gaze, not quite believing what I was about to suggest but hell, diving in anyway. “Let’s do it. You and me.”

  “God, you’re not even kidding, are you?”

  “Nope.”

  He let out a short, shocked laugh. “That’s crazy, Bobbie. I mean, seriously off-the-chart crazy. Practicality aside, we haven’t seen each other in ten years. We hardly know each other, in a lot of ways. What makes you think we could pull off something like that?”

  “Nothing to lose by giving it a shot, is there?” My mouth spread into a grin. “Come on, mate. For once in your life, take a chance on something wilder than a tequila slammer.”

  His brow had tightened into a thoughtful frown. “Would you really take a risk like that? On me?”

  “Course. You’re a talented guy, Ross, I know you could do it. And it could be something really good for this town.” I reached out to take his hands, seeking his eyes in the dim light. “Hey. I’ll trust you if you’ll trust me. Let’s have an adventure.”

  He smiled. “Well, I do trust you. Still, I don’t know… there’s the space, for one thing. And the money. Then the shape, the acoustics could be way off…”

  “We can work round it.”

  “But it’s your lighthouse. Your birthday lighthouse.”

  “Yep. And I’m offering you, Ross Mason, your very own half-share. I’m going round your Uncle Charlie’s next week to get the deeds signed over. If you’re up for it we can ask him to put the paperwork in both our names.”

  “God… is it crazy you’re actually starting to make sense?”

  “Yeah, it’s crazy. Still a great idea though. Come on.” I held out my palm to him.

  He looked down at it. “What’s that for?”

  “You have to give me 50p. For your half. Then we can say it’s a deal.”

  “Oh.” Ross fished in his pocket for some change, looking bewildered and excited all at once. He rummaged out a 50p piece and handed it to me, then burst out laughing. “Are we really doing this? I mean, you hear these stories about people getting hammered and waking up with their best mate’s name tattooed on their arse or handcuffed to a lamppost, but never with half a lighthouse.”

  “Well now people can tell that story about you. Shake on it.”

  He held out his hand and I gave it a firm press. “Look forward to working with you, partner. Get the key off Charlie and I’ll meet you up there tomorrow at 11, ok?”

  “Jesus. You really do mean it.” He lifted a palm to his forehead. “Think I’m starting to feel that tequila. Did we just decide to do something completely insane or is it the DTs starting?”

  “Yep. And we shook on it so it’s legally binding according to the law of the playground. Plus –” I held up the shiny coin he’d given me – “got your 50p. No going back.”

  “Good. Probably the booze talking but I’m pretty sure this is the best idea ever. Me and you and the lighthouse…” He squinted up at the old lighthouse on the cliff, blanketed from view by the darkness. “It is, right?”

  “Has to be. In vino verity and all that.”

  “Er, don’t think that’s how that saying goes. Verity was in our year at school, wasn’t she?”

  “Oh yeah.” I giggled and stumbled towards him, the heady combo of wine, tequila and sea air suddenly landing me a punch square between the eyes.

  “Whoops. Careful, tiny drunk,” Ross said, laughing as he caught me.

  I gazed up at him through cloudy eyes, fluttering my lashes in a way I hoped looked flirtatious rather than sleepy. “So slammer’s hit you at last?”

  “Yep.”

  “And you’re pretty smashed, all told?”

  “I’d say so.”

  “How about that birthday snog then, if we’re as drunk as each other?”

  His mouth curved at one side. “Does sound nice, with the sea and everything. Still, feels like I’d be taking advantage.”

  “Ah, go on, Gentleman Jim, nothing we haven’t done before. Call it a business snog. Can’t seal a deal properly with just a rubbish floppy handshake.”

  “Oh right. I’ll have you know that when sober, my handshake is as firm and manly as my lovemaking, darling.”

  “Wouldn’t know, would I?”

  “Not yet,” he said, his voice suddenly gentle as he pressed me closer. “But there’ll be time for that. Let’s just enjoy right now, eh?” He reached up to stroke my hair away from my face, caressing my cheek while he pushed the escaping strands back. His fingertips on my skin felt rough, hardened by guitar strings, yet gentle too. I loved the way the tickle sent little vibrations through the nerves in my face. “Oh… go on then, lass, if it’s just a business snog. It is your birthday.”

  “Ha, I win. Knew I’d crack you in the end.” I let out a dizzy giggle. “Crack you like a big handsome walnut.”

  “Yep. Caught in the nutcracker of your charms.”

  “Ok, let’s stop with the walnut thing now.”

  “Yeah, think we’ve exhausted the nut-based flirting.” He stroked a gentle palm down my hair. “Hey,” he said softly. “I really like you, Bobbie.”

  “I like you too, Ross.”

  He brought his lips to mine and we held each other close as we kissed, listening to the leisurely waves plashing against the pebbles behind us.

  Chapter 4

  Next morning, I woke with the thundering of the mighty ocean in my ears, an army of goose-stepping jackboots kicking the backs of my eyeballs and a fuzzy sort of numbness around the mouth. A hangover, basically. And a bloody nasty one at that.

  I winced as unwelcome memories of the night before assaulted me. God, I didn’t really call Ross a big handsome walnut, did I? And tequila slammers, ouch – what had I been thinking? I was getting too old for this.

  Oh shit… there was another thing, wasn’t there? The lighthouse… we were going to…

  I glanced over at the dressing table. Yep, it’d really happened. There was Ross’s 50p, glinting wickedly as it reflected the chink of spring sunlight intruding through the blinds.

  My eyes shot wide open and I grabbed my phone to check the time. 10am! I’d agreed to meet Ross at the lighthouse at 11. I jumped out of bed, grimacing with pain as my head adjusted to the change in gravity, and star
ted rummaging around the cupboard for some jeans.

  Would he even turn up? If our lighthouse plan had seemed unlikely under the influence of countless wines and a tequila slammer each, it looked nothing less than full-on surreal in the cold and sober light of day.

  I stopped rummaging for a moment. Full-on surreal… yeah, that about summed it up. In the space of one day I’d managed to buy a lighthouse, drunkenly get off with a man I hadn’t seen since I was 18 and invite him to go into business with me. And the weirdest thing was, the idea didn’t seem any less appealing now I’d sobered up. It seemed exciting. Exhilarating.

  For so long now, life had been the same. Not that it wasn’t rich enough, in its way. There was my job at Cragport Community College: that could be pretty rewarding. Some of the adults who enrolled for GCSE and A-Level English hardly had any formal education to start with, just a love of the subject and a determination to succeed. It was pretty incredible, taking them from the faltering, fawn-like things they often seemed when they started to bright, confident people ready to tackle the next step in their lives. And there was Jess, Mum, Monty… but still, it was all so boring, every day like every day like every bloody Cragport day. No new faces, no new experiences. No new anything.

  And now, suddenly, there was adventure, excitement, my very own Five on a Treasure Island moment. And there was Ross Mason, the boy in the band. Witty, warm, smiley Ross, his dancing eyes full of passion and fun, who’d somehow become part of it all. In spite of the hangover I felt my heart leap with that fluttering feeling: a path to travel, a step beyond the mundane.

  The only thing was, I wasn’t sure whether the leap went with Ross, the lighthouse, or both. The two things seemed to be knotted up somehow, and I couldn’t see where one ended and the other began.

  Ok, I knew it was insane. I knew the project would be difficult, maybe impossible. Expensive. Time-consuming. But it’d made my heart jump. God only knew how long it’d been since that last happened.

  Bugger caution. I was doing this.

  ***

  As I walked to the lighthouse, a sulky Monty in tow, I wondered whether I’d find Ross there. Assuming he even remembered our plan, there was no guarantee he wouldn’t have changed his mind about the whole thing now all the booze was out of his system.