Meet Me at the Lighthouse

by Mary Jayne Baker

  I needn’t have worried. When I reached the clifftop he was waiting, looking a bit green around the gills but with a welcoming smile on his face. The sea breeze was whipping his hair around his face just as it had… God, had it really only been yesterday we’d met again?

  He looked bashful as I approached.

  “Er, hi,” he said, scuffing at the grass with one toe.

  “Hi yourself.”

  “You feeling as rough as I look?”

  “Worse.” I shook my head. “Can’t believe I let you talk me into that tequila slammer.”

  That seemed to break the ice. He laughed.

  “Foul and hideous lies. But suppose I shouldn’t expect any less from the girl who’s inflicted the hangover from hell on me.”

  There was an awkward silence for a second.

  “So, do you remember?” he said at last.

  The lighthouse plan or the kiss? I leaned down to let Monty off his lead, a handy excuse to avoid eye contact. The little dog flung us both a dirty look before galloping off to chase his tail round the lighthouse.

  “I’m here, aren’t I?” I said eventually.

  “And do you – you didn’t just come to give me my 50p back?”

  I shook my head. “I told you, Ross, I think it’s a great idea. That wasn’t the booze talking. I’m in if you are.”

  “I am if you are.”

  I laughed. “Then that makes four of us.” I nodded to the lighthouse. “If it’s possible, that is. Let’s check out the damage before we get too carried away, eh?”

  Ross pulled a key out of his pocket and unlocked the old door. I noticed a brand new sliver of pink graffiti across it as I followed him in.

  Oh God… my stomach muscles went rigid as I cast my eyes over the inside. It was worse than I’d expected. Much, much worse.

  Everything was the same shade of mottled pearly grey all over, like a three-week-old orange that had been left in the sun. And as for the smell… Christ. A herd of cats could’ve spent a year pissing into every nook and it would’ve been more fragrant. The glassless windows meant hordes of seagull visitors had left a slimy layer of droppings over every surface.

  The spiral staircase running up the middle was a slide of rubble, moss poking through every crack. Burst, festering sandbags were piled haphazardly at the base, along with a load of rancid wood and rope that might once have been lobster pots. The whole building looked like an unsalvageable mess of rock, guano and plant matter.

  “Jesus, Ross!”

  “Yeah, I know…”

  “Is it even safe?” I asked, running one fingertip along a wall. My finger actually sank into the wet, powdery dust that seemed to cover everything. Pulling out a tissue, I wiped it off in disgust.

  “Well there’s no asbestos or anything, I asked Charlie. Just dirt and rot. Still, don’t think we should spend longer inside than we have to.”

  “Oh my God…” I felt suddenly lightheaded and my stomach flipped uncomfortably. Turning to the door, I stumbled blindly through, blinking dust out of my eyes.

  Outside, I sank against the lighthouse’s sloped wall and burst into tears.

  So that was it. The adventure was over before it had even started. That… that was it. Well, it had been a nice dream while it lasted.

  Monty bounded up and put his little paws on my lap, blinking sympathetic brown eyes, but all I could do was stare at him through a fog of brine and disappointment.

  Ross appeared at the door. “Hey, no need for that,” he said gently, coming out and sitting down on the grass next to me. Seeing a rival comforter had arrived, Monty turned his tail to us and trotted off. “It’s not so bad.”

  “Not so bad, are you blind? It’ll cost a fortune to get that place sorted out. How could Charlie let it get like that?”

  “He hasn’t been up here since Aunty Annie died.” He slipped an arm round my shoulders. “It was hers, you know. Think that’s one reason he wants rid: sick of those letters from the council, reminding him she’s gone and it’s still here.”

  “Poor Charlie,” I said with a sigh. “But it doesn’t matter. We can’t do it, Ross. The place is beyond repair.” I turned to bury my head in his shoulder and gave way to sobs.

  “Come on, what happened to that girl from last night, the one who robbed me of 50p and told me we could do anything?”

  “She… sobered up, that’s what,” I gasped through the tears. “Sobered up and hit that bastard called reality head-on.”

  “Don’t say that.” He reached up to stroke my hair. “Honestly, I wasn’t just trying to make you feel better, it really isn’t so bad. We can do it.”

  “You… really… think so?” I sobbed into his coat.

  “I really do. Come back inside a sec, let me show you.”

  I wiped my eyes on his collar, stood and followed him back in.

  “See? Structure’s fine, all the stone apart from the staircase,” he said, blowing a layer of dust away and knocking against a solid-sounding wall. “And look.” He took a few long strides across the floor. “You were right, it is bigger than I thought. Must be 30, 35 feet across.”

  I sniffed doubtfully. “You think it could work then?”

  “Yep. We’ll have to get someone to survey it, but I’m certain it’s basically sound.” His eyes sparkled as fervour for his pet project took hold. “Can’t you just see it, Bobbie? A stage down here, two or three viewing balconies, and then maybe a little bar at the top where the old lamp is, looking out to sea.” He stopped to relish the image he’d conjured, a smile fluttering on his lips.

  To be honest, I couldn’t see it. All I could see when I looked around the lighthouse was dirt, decay and a hell of a lot of work. But I couldn’t help smiling at the enthusiasm shining in his face.

  “It’ll be a new lease of life for the place,” I said. “That’s if we can pull it off.”

  “We can, I know it.” He came over to squeeze my shoulder. “You and me, lighthouse girl.”

  “Yeah, but –” I broke off into a fit of coughing as some of the dust got into my throat.

  “Come on, let’s get out of here,” Ross said, guiding me to the door.

  “But how will we do it?” I asked when we were back in the fresh air. “I mean, even if it is salvageable, the state of it… where will we get the money?”

  “You said yourself there are grants we can apply for. It is a listed building. And I’ve got some savings I can invest if things get desperate, sort of an emergency fund.”

  “You’d really do that?”

  “Absolutely. I told you, Bobbie, I’ve been dreaming about this for years. This is my chance to make a difference and I’m going for it heart and soul.”

  I looked into his passion-kindled eyes. He was really prepared to fight for this, wasn’t he?

  I thought about the money I had sitting in my building society account. Jess and me had never known our dad, but he’d left us each £10,000 in his will when he passed away three years ago. I’d never been able to bring myself to touch it; it felt dirty, somehow. But the lighthouse project, something for the town…

  “I’ve got cash I can invest too,” I said. “My dad left me ten grand.”

  He stared at me in surprise. “Really, that bastard left you money?”

  “Yeah. Deathbed guilt, I think.”

  “But Bobbie, this is my dream, not yours. Your dad left that for you.”

  “I don’t want his money. Let it go to a good cause; I’ll never spend it.”

  “But –”

  I raised an imperious hand. “Don’t try to talk me out of it, Mason. There’s no point arguing when I get the bossy face on.”

  He smiled. “So I remember. Seriously though, you don’t want to talk it through with Jess or your mum first? I won’t hold it against you if you back out.”

  “Look, we shook on it, didn’t we? If we do this, we do it together. Musketeers never say die.”

  “That’s Goonies. But I take your point.” He slapped me on the shoulder
. “Well, lass, if you’re really positive, I can match that. In for a penny, in for a pound, eh?”

  “Are you sure you can afford it, Ross? I know freelancing can be unsteady.”

  “Oh, I’ll cope. Anyway, there’ll be the equity from my old flat once it finally sells, plus some joint savings of mine and Claire’s. I won’t have access to those until the divorce goes through, but at least it’s on the horizon.”

  I stiffened under his arm.

  “What?” I said quietly.

  “There’s nearly six months yet until we can get the ball rolling. Even when these things are amicable it has to be two years’ minimum legal separation. Don’t worry though, I’ll have enough in the meantime with a bit of careful budgeting.”

  Divorce… oh Jesus Christ, he was married! Oh God, I didn’t snog a married man!

  Ross frowned at my glazed expression. “Everything ok, Bobbie? You’ve gone all quiet.”

  “Yeah.” I summoned a smile. “Yeah, course. Just thinking.”

  “Look, about last night. I mean, kissing you and everything – sorry. I shouldn’t have done it when we were like we were.” He grinned. “Obviously under the influence of tequila your charms just overwhelmed me.”

  “Last night was last night,” I mumbled. “Nothing to beat yourself up over.”

  “So can we go out again, do things properly this time?”

  God, I needed to bail out of this conversation. Married! How could I not have known he was married? That changed everything.

  “I’m not sure it’s such a good idea while we’re working together,” I said at last. “And while you’re – your personal life. Let’s just focus on the lighthouse for now.”

  “My personal life… with Claire, you mean?”

  “Yeah. Better to wait for your divorce till you plunge back into the dating scene, don’t you think?”

  He frowned. “Never really thought about it like that. We’ve been separated 18 months… I suppose the actual paperwork just feels like, well, paperwork.”

  “Still, it doesn’t feel right to me. I’m sorry, Ross, I can’t; not now. Maybe ask me again in six months, eh? That is, if you still want to.”

  “We’re friends though, aren’t we?”

  I shook my head. “More important than that. We’re partners.”

  Chapter 5

  Back at the cottage, Jess had finally dragged herself out of bed and was enjoying Chillout Sunday in front of the telly. I chucked myself down and dropped my head to her shoulder.

  “What’s up with you?” she asked, giving the wind-tangled strands tumbling over her PJs a vague pat.

  “Hangover. God, Jessie, I’ve had the weirdest 24 hours.”

  “Tell me about it. Hey, want to play ‘Guess where they stuck the vegetable’ with last night’s A&E loiterers?”

  “Let’s do news first. How’d it go with Gareth?”

  She pinkened slightly. “Not bad. I mean, he didn’t get lucky or anything, just a bit of a fumble. Seems a nice lad, for a rugby player.”

  “One night nice or second date nice?”

  “Second date nice,” she said with a soppy smile. “We’re going for a drink tonight. Proper drink this time, I’m not working. Maybe I’ll get to find out why he’s got ‘Tripod’ on the back of his rugby shirt.”

  “Heh. Knowing your luck he’ll just be a really keen photographer. All right, let’s do the thing.” I lifted a hand for her to high five. “Ow! Not so hard.”

  She looked down at my head on her shoulder. “So now your news. What did you and Ross Mason get up to last night, apart from what by the state of your eyes I’d say was a pretty heavy session?”

  “You had to ask. Listen, Jess, this is going to sound bizarre, but… I may have just slightly, I mean accidentally, while I was pissed…” I groaned. “Me and Ross’re going into business.”

  When I’d filled her in on the lighthouse plan, I was expecting a pretty vocal reaction. But Jess just stared.

  “Well? Aren’t you going to say anything?”

  She didn’t answer. I picked up an open box of Maltesers from the table and waved them under her nose like smelling salts.

  “Helloooo? Is my sister in there?”

  Eventually she picked her phone up from the arm of the sofa and started tapping at the screen.

  “What’re you doing?” I asked.

  “Googling what I need to do to have you sectioned under the mental health act, since you’ve clearly gone totally off your chump.”

  I sighed. “It does sound a bit insane, doesn’t it?”

  “A bit?” Jess looked up from her phone to twitch an eyebrow at me.

  “It’s just… well, it’s some excitement, isn’t it? I’ve been bored stiff for months. Bored of my job, bored of blokes, bored of this stupid small town…”

  She snorted. “If you’re bored get a hobby. Take up bloody… I don’t know, decoupage or bondage or something. Better still, finish your damn book.”

  I flinched at the reference to the long-neglected novel.

  “Honestly, Jessie, I really want to do this.”

  She narrowed her eyes. “This is about him, isn’t it?”

  “Who?”

  “Come on, don’t play innocent. You’re talking to someone who’s known you since we shared a womb,” she said. “Ross Mason. You fancy him. We both know you never lure a bloke on to the slammers unless you’re trying to get into his knickers.”

  I winced. “That’s the other thing I wanted to talk to you about. Did you know he’s married?”

  Her eyebrows shot up. “Christ, seriously?”

  “Well, separated. They’re filing for divorce as soon as they’re allowed to. Ross just casually dropped it into conversation today as if he thought I knew.”

  She shook her head. “See, this is why everyone should be on Facebook. How else are you supposed to stay on top of 500 old schoolfriends’ relationship statuses?”

  “And last night… God, I was this close to going to bed with him, Jess. I feel awful.”

  “You didn’t know, did you?”

  “I should’ve. Molly must’ve mentioned it a dozen times.”

  We both went silent for a minute, and I knew we were thinking the same thing.

  “Are you remembering –”

  “– when Corinne came?” I said. “Yeah.”

  We never met our dad, James, before he died; not even once. Mum’s relationship with him had been all over by the time she found out she was pregnant, which according to family legend hadn’t stopped Grandad having to be narrowly restrained from punching the guy, and he’d never shown any interest in us after that. When we got older and learned the whole story, the feeling became more than mutual. But the day Corinne had come to visit loomed large in my little kid memory.

  She’d been pretty – beautiful really: a tall, willowy woman in middle age, with silvery skin and long, silken hair, prematurely white, like something out of a fairytale. We were only seven, but we could tell by the way Mum paled when she answered the door that it wasn’t a welcome visit.

  They’d been closeted in the kitchen together for nearly an hour when they eventually emerged. Mum’s cheeks were wet, and Corinne’s eyes looked red-rimmed too.

  “Can I have five minutes with them?” Corinne asked Mum quietly. And there was a sort of hungry, longing expression in her eyes as she looked over to where me and Jess were watching cartoons obliviously on the rug.

  Mum looked uncertain, but eventually she gave a slight nod, and Corinne came to kneel by us. I don’t remember all she said, but I remember her hugging me, and a whisper, very faint: “You should’ve been my little girl, you know.” She pressed a tenner each into our hands – more money than we’d ever had in one go, back then – and she was gone. Although she and Mum grew close in later years, the two of us never saw her again.

  After she left, Mum called us to her on the sofa and cuddled us like she’d never let go. It scared me. I think I was half afraid Corinne was going to come back
and take us away, for some reason I didn’t understand.

  “Who was that lady, Mummy?” Jess asked.

  “A kind person I hurt once. Her name’s Corinne.”

  “How did you hurt her?”

  “Well, chickie, her husband lost his job because of something I did and it made her very sad.”

  “Why did you do it then?”

  Mum smiled and stroked Jess’s hair. “Oh, I was too silly to know better. It was a long time ago.”

  “What did she hug us for?” I demanded.

  “Didn’t you want her to, my love?”

  I shrugged. “It was ok. She smelled nice. She doesn’t know us though.”

  “She’s lonely, that’s all. The man she’s married to goes away a lot, and she doesn’t have any children.”

  “That’s mean to leave her on her own.” Jess looked thoughtful. “If I was her, I’d get married to somebody different.”

  Mum sighed. “So would I, Jessie.”

  “Did you know her a long time, Mummy?” I asked. She always encouraged us to ask any question we liked, and gave a frank answer whenever she could.

  Mum shook her head. “This is the first time we ever met. I used to know her husband.”

  “Was he your friend?”

  “Sort of. He’s your dad.”

  “Oh.” I pondered this new information for a second. “Hey, can I have a Jaffa Cake?”

  And that was that.

  “But this isn’t like that, Bobs,” present-day Jess reminded me. “Ross is getting divorced.”

  “So was James. That’s what the lying git told Mum, anyway.” I shook my head. “I know it’s not the same, but… well, I think the two of us know better than anyone that you don’t mess about with married men. People get hurt.”

  “He’s only married on paper though. If he’s here and she’s in Sheffield, it has to be over, doesn’t it?”

  “Still, it’s not right. You wouldn’t.”

  “No. I’d want to wait till it was all signed and sealed, I think.” She examined me carefully. “You’re just friends then, are you?”

  “We’re… partners.”

  “And this lighthouse malarkey is nothing to do with you fancying him?”