Meet Me at the Lighthouse

by Mary Jayne Baker

  She shrugged. “Dunno, feminine intuition? Trust me: whatever she’s feeling, he’s moved on.”

  I watched him laughing at something Claire had said, putting his arm round her shoulders briefly to give them a fond squeeze just like he did with me.

  “Hmm.” I dragged my gaze away with an effort. “Look, you better go relieve Jess in the first aid tent. The next band’ll be starting in a minute, I’ll have to show them where everything is.” I sent another dirty look in the direction of Ross and Claire. “In the absence of anyone to help.”

  “All right, I’ll leave you to it.” She patted my arm. “And try to knock the jealousy on the head, eh? You can’t let what happened with Alex or your dad ruin this for you. Just remember, she’ll be gone soon. Then his divorce’ll go through and everyone can live happily ever after.”

  “I know, I know, you’re right. I’m just being daft as usual.” I gave her a swift one-armed hug. “Thanks for looking out for me, Mum. I do appreciate it, you know, even when you’re a right pain in the bum.”

  “Aww.” She returned the hug. “It’s worth being a pain in the bum to see you happy in the end. Just make sure you don’t bugger it up, that’s all.”

  ***

  “You took your time,” I shouted over the music when Ross came back nearly half an hour later – not that I was counting. “Could’ve done with your help showing these guys how the equipment works.” There was a blues and soul outfit on now, belting out an Aretha Franklin cover. I’d been doubtful when we’d booked them but they were actually really good. The singer had lungs on her that could bring down a zeppelin.

  “Sorry,” he said, looking guilty. “Got chatting about the old days, lost track of time a bit.” He scanned the arena. “Where’s Travis anyway? He was supposed to be helping look after the bands.”

  I snorted. “Over there, doing what he does best. Well, worst.”

  Travis, nicely recovered after his encounter with Anthony earlier, was sitting on a picnic blanket by a girl, leaning towards her with an oily smile on his face.

  Ross blinked. “Is that Connie Hainsworth from school?”

  “Yeah.” I nudged him. “How does it feel to watch your former conquests getting Travised?”

  “Heh. I did sleep with her, didn’t I? Should probably do the chivalrous thing and rescue her.” He shrugged. “On the other hand, let Trav have his shot. He’s bound to strike lucky one day.”

  I tutted. “You’re a bad boy, Mason. She’ll be all right, as it happens. Her husband’ll be back in a minute, I saw him go to the bar just before Travis turned up.”

  “Poor Trav. Oh well, he’ll just try his lines on the next lass.” He patted my shoulder. “Try not to be too upset, eh? I know you thought he only had eyes for you.”

  I sighed theatrically. “If I can, Ross. If I can.”

  ***

  Two hours later, the hippy duo on stage – the same one we’d seen at The Cellar – had just announced their final number. Ross’s hand slipped into mine and I gave it a firm squeeze. His set was next, and I could see from the flushed cheeks that his stage fright had reached fever pitch.

  “Don’t be scared,” I said. “You’ll be brilliant. You’re always brilliant.”

  “How the hell do I let you talk me into these things, Hannigan?” he hissed, his glazed eyes fixed on the 200-strong crowd. He put on a high-pitched voice and waved his hands about dramatically. “‘Oh, hey Ross, remember me from school? Let’s have a tequila slammer and buy a lighthouse, then maybe later you can make a tit of yourself in front of a fuckload of people ahahaha!’ Think I’ve worked out who the evil twin is.”

  I elbowed him in the ribs. “Stop taking the piss. I did not say ahahaha. It’s not really that much scarier than the pubs, is it?”

  “Are you kidding? There’s three times as many people here as the biggest gig I ever played. And in the pubs they aren’t even paying attention, it’s just background music for a booze-up. This crowd –” he gulped – “these bastards are actually listening.”

  “Good. Then they’ll realise how talented you are, won’t they?”

  “I hate you, Bobbie. You know that, right?”

  “Look, you know once you’re up there you’ll be fine. The music in your head’ll start playing and carry you away, same as always.”

  He turned to face me, looking surprised. “How do you know that’s how it feels?”

  “Shines right through your face,” I said, smiling. “How come you still get scared, if that’s how it always happens?”

  “Recurring nightmare. Got this bone-crushing fear that one day the music won’t play and I’ll be left gaping like a turbot in front of a crowd of disgusted punters.”

  “And has that ever happened?”

  “No. But it’s only a matter of time.”

  “Well, here’s something to bring you luck.” I rummaged in my jeans pocket and handed over the present I’d got for him.

  It was a 50p piece with a hole drilled into it, threaded onto a keyring. He dangled it in front of his face, looking puzzled.

  “I don’t get it, Bobbie.”

  “It’s your 50p,” I said softly. “The one you gave me the night we got drunk. Thought it’d remind you… you know, why we started all this. Like my boat does for me.”

  “Seriously, you kept it? That’s really… God. You’re very sweet.”

  “When I’m not being bossy,” I said with a bashful smile.

  “Isn’t it illegal to deface the queen’s image though?” he asked as he tucked the keyring away. “Think it’s technically an act of treason. Possibly a hanging offence. I mean, I’ll miss you, but the law’s the law.”

  “Yeah, and after that I burned a book of stamps and nibbled a swan. What you going to do about it, Mason?”

  Ross laughed. “Think I’m supposed to make a citizen’s arrest and drag you to the Tower. But it’ll have to wait.” He pressed a kiss to my forehead. “Thanks for making me laugh, love. Makes it harder to be nervous.”

  “That’s my thing today apparently,” I said. “So how about a proper kiss before you go up?”

  “Mmm. Now that’s the kind of luck I can work with.” He pulled me into an embrace and brought his lips to mine.

  After a minute I broke away. The hippy people had finished their final number. Crunch time.

  “Your turn, Fonzie.” I brushed a clinging Monty hair off his leather jacket and stood on tiptoes to peck his nose. “Ok, your collar’s straight, your fly’s up and you look handsome as sin. Get up there and give ’em what for, Ross Mason. Make me proud.”

  “Er, right. I’ll try.” He grabbed his guitar case, looking nervous again. “Break a leg, yeah?”

  “Think I’m supposed to say that to you, aren’t I?”

  “Oh. Well, never mind, I don’t really want to break my leg. If I can get off without being pelted with rotten veg it’ll be as much as I can hope for.” He shot me a weak smile. “See you on the other side, lass.”

  He turned to mount the stage, throwing me a final panicked rabbit look as he climbed the steps.

  I was right, of course. As soon as Ross touched his guitar, he was away. Confident and calm, whispering against his mic like the crowd wasn’t even there.

  He was down to play a 45-minute set, all his most popular numbers. I was relieved he’d decided not to do Ivy Only Grows for the Wicked. Claire was lurking somewhere in the crowd, and for some reason it didn’t feel right, having her hear my song.

  Speak of the devil… it was when Ross introduced Dark Sentinel at the end of his set that I realised the missus had threaded her way out of the throng and was standing at my elbow. She was slightly unsteady, her top even lower than it ought to be and her breasts heading chinwards with the aid of a push-up bra.

  “Bonnie. All right?” Her voice was slurred, and I wondered what number the large red wine she was holding was.

  “Come on, you know it’s Bobbie.”

  “Ok, just a joke. You should get yourself a sense o
f humour, darling.” I saw her scanning my outfit, not bothering to hide her sneer this time. “Like what you’ve done there. Heard retro was coming back in, very daring of you.”

  Ugh. Did this stuff come out of a book? Any minute now she’d tell me it was almost flattering.

  “Makes you look quite slim. From a certain angle.”

  Yep, there it was. I glared at her, but remembering my promise to Ross, I forced a smile.

  “Come on, you’ve had a few drinks. Let’s drop the megabitch routine, eh? It’ll only upset Ross. Don’t want that, do you?”

  “No.” She blinked groggily. “No, I want to make him happy, like I promised. I… I messed up before, didn’t I? He went away.” She glared at me. “D’you make him happy?”

  “I hope so, yeah.”

  “I could do that. I used to do that.”

  “Well, people change. You weren’t right for each other, that’s all.”

  “People change. Right. What’s his favourite colour then?” she demanded. “Bet you don’t even know.”

  “Well, no, I…”

  “It’s aquamarine. Blue-green, like the sea. And his favourite film’s This is Spinal Tap, and he likes raspberry sauce on vanilla ice cream but chocolate sauce on mint, and penguins make him laugh because of how they walk, and Toy Story 2 makes him cry but he’ll never admit it. And when he smiles his eyes sort of glitter and light his whole face up. Did you know all that?”

  “The last one, I guess… look, what’re you trying to prove, Claire? It’s not a competition.”

  “You’re sure about that, are you?”

  I pressed down another wave of irritation. “You’re drunk or you wouldn’t say these things. Let me call you a cab.”

  “Why’re you being nice to me?” she said. “You’re sposed to hate me. Go on, hate me, you know you want to.”

  I shrugged. “Maybe I don’t know everything about Ross, not yet, but I do want to make him happy. And I know he cares about you.”

  Her eyes had clouded, and I could see her attention had wandered away to somewhere else in her drunken, sprawling mindmap.

  “And what if we were right for each other?” she said absently. Suddenly, she burst into tears. “What if we were and I ruined it? Oh God, Bobbie…”

  “Er, hey… don’t do that.” I patted her shoulder, feeling helpless.

  So this was weird, right? Me, comforting my boyfriend’s wife while she sobbed. Yep, sounded like my life.

  “Don’t cry, love,” I said gently. “It’ll look different tomorrow. That’s the booze talking.”

  Suddenly the head that had sunk down to her chest shot up. “What’s this song? Did he write it?”

  “Um, yeah,” I said, bewildered in the path of her rollercoaster mood swings. “He wrote it for the lighthouse. We’re selling it to raise funds.”

  She glared at me. “He didn’t. He wrote it for you. Didn’t he?”

  I blushed. “He did write me one, but this isn’t it.”

  “It is,” she snapped. “The lighthouse… he means you, I can tell. I’ve heard all his songs, the man’s a wossit addict – metaphor, that’s the badger. Listen.”

  Ross was singing the chorus, in tones hymnal and laced with longing.

  …My dark sentinel

  My friend and my support

  Hold to me, my sentinel

  Embrace me ever safely into port.

  At the dying of the day, at the ending of the light

  Keep my fear at bay against the lapping night…

  Was she right, was it about me? Was the lighthouse always about me somehow… about us? I wondered if Ross even realised, or if the idea was just there, lurking under his subconscious. Me and him and the lighthouse…

  Claire was tottering ever more unsteadily at my elbow. She’d just downed the last of her wine and was glaring at me with unconcealed resentment.

  “Come on,” I said firmly. “That’s enough for today. I’ll call you that taxi.”

  “I don’t want a taxi. I’m fine here.” She jabbed a finger at me. “You just want to get me away from him, don’t you? I saw you staring at us before.”

  “Look, I’m not his keeper, Claire.” I pushed back a half-smile when I realised what I’d said. Ugh, keeper… it really was always lighthouses with us, wasn’t it? “If he wants to see you, he will.”

  She looked at me suspiciously. “You’re not even jealous?”

  I laughed. “Well, I never said that. I’m not Supergirlfriend. But it’s his decision who he sees, not mine.”

  To my surprise, her face broke into a grateful smile. “Really? You’re jealous of me?”

  “Er, yeah, I guess. I mean, you’re his wife.”

  “Wife… that’s right, he loved me once. Enough to promise…” She scowled. “It was supposed to be us against the world. How the hell did it all end up here?”

  “It’ll look different in the morning.” I took her elbow and guided her towards the exit. “Time to go home now.”

  She blinked unfocused eyes at me. “Will you come?”

  My eyebrows skyrocketed. So, what, we were friends now? God, this woman could make drunken mood swinging an Olympic sport.

  “You remember who you’re talking to, right?”

  “Don’t want to be on my own. We can go for a drink and talk about my Ross some more.” She blinked in confusion. “I mean your Ross. Something like that.”

  I felt a stab of pity. She looked so vulnerable, her glazed eyes wide and her boobs about to pop out.

  “Here, you’re going to have a wardrobe malfunction,” I said gently, helping her adjust her top. “I’ll see if my sister can ride back to the B&B with you. You’ll feel better after a lie-down, promise.”

  Chapter 23

  When I’d finished putting Claire in a taxi, instructing Jess to stay with her until she was safely back in her room, I was hoping that was it for drama. All I wanted was for the rest of the festival to pass off uneventfully so me and Ross could get tidied up and go home for a cuddle.

  No such luck, of course. I felt someone pluck my elbow as I strode down the side of the marquee and turned to find Alex, smiling vacantly.

  “Oh. Hi,” I said. “Glad I ran into you. I wanted to say thanks for sorting those generators. You’ve saved us a fortune on hire fees.”

  “Anything for you, Bobs.”

  I frowned at the flirty comment, and the slightly slurred way it was delivered. Alex seemed to be sagging, the blue eyes peeping through his Wayfarers just a little too bright.

  “Have you been drinking?”

  “Not much.”

  I knew instantly it was a lie. Alex had always been good at carrying his drink, but I’d lived with that man for nearly nine months of my life and I could tell we were in bottle-of-wine-and-best-part-of-another territory.

  “Well, at least we must’ve made a killing on the bar this afternoon,” I muttered to myself.

  “What?”

  “Nothing. Look, do you want me to get you a taxi? You look like you’re all festivaled out.”

  “Not yet. I want to talk to you.” He put one hand on my shoulder. It felt uncomfortable, like he was pinning me in position.

  “Alex, please,” I said in a low voice.

  “Just give me a minute.” His eyes flickered earnestly over my face. “I meant it, Bobbie, what I said at the painting party. I really have changed. You believe me now, don’t you?”

  I tried to shrug off his hand, but he shifted his weight to hold me there.

  “Can you let go?”

  “I told you, in a minute. Let me say what I’ve got to say first.” He took a deep breath. “Is it true then?”

  “Is what true?”

  “What I heard earlier this afternoon. You and Ross.”

  I coloured. “What of it?”

  His lip curled in disgust. “Oh God, you’re sleeping with him?”

  “He’s my boyfriend, if that’s what you mean. Look, could you let me get on?”

  Alex’s brow
knotted into a worried frown. “You don’t love him, do you?”

  “I… yeah.” I flushed. It was the first time I’d said it out loud, although I’d known for a while in my own head. Funny the first person to hear it should be this one. “Yeah, I love him.”

  His face tightened in pain. “More than you loved me?”

  I felt an instinctive stab of pity when I saw the hurt in his fast-filling eyes. But then I remembered who it was. What he’d done.

  “I don’t owe you an answer to that. Just go home, Alex. I can’t talk to you when you’re like this.” With an effort I pushed the heavy hand off my shoulder and turned to leave, but he grabbed my arm to hold me back. When I tried to pull away he gripped hard with his fingers and spun me round to face him.

  “Please, Bobs, just let me say my piece then I’ll leave you alone. I love you, you hear me? No one could ever love you as much. Not Ross, not anyone.”

  I recoiled like I’d been shot. “You don’t mean that.”

  “More than I’ve ever meant anything. I never stopped.”

  “Seriously? That’s what all this has been about? Jesus Christ, Alex!” I shook my head in disbelief. “And you tell me like this, today. What the hell is wrong with you?”

  “I wanted to tell you before, but it… it felt too hard. Talking to you so often these last few months about the lighthouse – it just brought it all rushing back, how we used to be together. When I heard about Ross I knew I had to –”

  “Alex, please, my arm. You’re hurting me.” I made another attempt to writhe free, but he just held on tighter.

  “Ok, so it was a lie, what I said that night at the painting,” he said. “I mean, it wasn’t a lie about wanting to make things up to you, but it was a lie about not wanting to win you back. Because I do want that, Bobs, even though I know I don’t deserve it. It was never about the lighthouse, that was just an excuse to see you: it was always about you. I need you.” He flinched in pain. “It’s not really too late for us, is it?”

  “What? God, yes!” I struggled again to pull my arm free of his grasp, but his fingertips dug painfully deeper into my flesh. “Let me go, Alex! I mean it, don’t touch me. You’re scary when you get this way.”

  “Just one more chance to earn your trust again. I swear you won’t regret it.” His features twitched feverishly. “I keep finding things in the flat… they’ve still got your smell on them, it’s driving me insane. Just give me another chance to make you happy, please. It’ll be all about you this time.”