Meet Me at the Lighthouse

by Mary Jayne Baker

  “It’ll only be for a little while, I promise. I’ll come home just as soon as I can afford it.”

  “Well, maybe you can afford it now.”

  He blinked as I filled him in on Claire’s offer to sub him some of her design work.

  “Bloody hell,” he said. “I had no idea she was doing so well.”

  “So can you stay?”

  “Well yeah, if it’s a big enough job. Did she really offer to do that for me?”

  “Yes. She says she wants you to stay here and be happy.” I blushed. “Says you love me.”

  He smiled. “I don’t think anyone can have missed that.” He patted the mattress. “Here, come sit with me.”

  “Am I allowed?”

  “If I say no, will that stop you?”

  “Ok, good point.”

  He shuffled to one side and I swung myself up onto the narrow single bed next to him.

  “Typical,” I said, smiling at him. “Up to your eyeballs in morphine and you’ve still managed to get me into bed.”

  “Well I’ve got a reputation to maintain.” He gave my neck a kiss, wincing as he changed his position. “Ow. Still, it might be a few weeks before I’m back to full sex god status.”

  I sighed. “Ross… you do really want to stay, don’t you? There’s not a bit of you that’s secretly disappointed?”

  He put one finger under my chin and twisted my face to his. “Not still jealous, lass?” he asked softly.

  “A little,” I confessed. “I do trust you. Claire too, she’s a lovely girl. But I can’t help being a bit jealous when I see the way you still care about her.”

  “Hey.” He leaned forward to plant a feather-soft kiss on my lips. “Claire means a lot to me: she always will. But I’m in love with you, Bobbie. My feelings for her… well, I want her to be happy. But that’s all, I promise.”

  “Really?”

  “Really. You’re the only one for me. Not sure I didn’t know that the night you forced me to drink a tequila slammer and sold me half a lighthouse. Not sure I didn’t know back at school, in a strange sort of way.”

  “Maybe I did too.” I reached up to draw one finger down his perfect face, around the contour of his cheekbone, my eyes flickering over his features. Maybe it was love talking, but he even looked good in the bandage. “You’re a pretty thing, my boy in the band.”

  He smiled. “There’s just me now, love. I’m not in a band any more.”

  “No. But I always remember you like that.”

  “You want to know why I love you, Bobbie?”

  “Because my incredible body drives you mad with lust?”

  He shrugged. “All right, yes. But not just that.”

  He took my cheek in his hand and stroked it tenderly with the tip of his thumb.

  “Ok, no joking, I’m being serious.” He pointed to his lips, pressed into a firm line. “See? Serious face. This is now a banter-free zone.”

  I couldn’t help smiling, but quickly settled my face into a deadpan expression. “Sorry, go on. Serious faces.”

  “All right, here goes then.” He took a deep breath. “I love you because you make me laugh. Because you’re sweet and beautiful and clever, and sometimes crazy, and always bossy. Because you bring out the best side of me and make me do mad, fun things.” He reached up to twist a strand of my hair around his fingers. “But mostly, I love you because life’s always been better those times it’s had a Bobbie in it. You make everything in my world new and glossy. Like our lighthouse.” He blinked, and I noticed a little droplet at the corner of one eye. “Thank you,” he said, so gently it was almost a whisper.

  “God, Ross…” I didn’t even bother to blink back the briny pearls that had started to fill my eyes, letting them trickle freely down my cheeks. “I love you so much. I can’t even…”

  “I love you too, Bobbie. More than anything.”

  “Well you better kiss me now, that’s all.”

  “Well then I will. Bossy.” He claimed my lips for a long kiss, his rough, tender fingers caressing my cheek and brushing away the tears.

  “It’s funny,” Ross said when he eventually drew away. “But when I was lying on the cliff wondering if that was it for me, the first thing I thought about was Charlie.”

  I stroked his hand, following each vein and contour with my fingertips. “Why?”

  “I don’t know. The cricket bat maybe, reminding me how he’d taught me to play.” He gulped down a little sob. “And I felt peaceful then, because I knew I’d be ok. I knew I couldn’t die with the lighthouse not finished and leave you to work on it alone. The universe wouldn’t let me.”

  I smiled. “That morphine really is strong, isn’t it?”

  “Yep. I’m high as a kite. Jealous?”

  “Maybe.” I leaned over to kiss his ear. “Thanks for not leaving me, Ross,” I whispered. “Don’t ever.”

  “They’ll never take me off you without a fight.”

  We were interrupted by the sound of the curtain drawing back. I drew away from Ross’s ear to find Jess standing there in her blue scrubs, arms folded.

  “And what do you think this is, Carry On Matron? Get your dirty mits off the patient, Roberta Hannigan. And get your feet off the bed while you’re at it.”

  I shot her an apologetic smile. “Sorry, Jessie. Still, my boyfriend did nearly die. He’s allowed a cuddle, isn’t he?”

  “Not the kind you like to give him, that could finish him off. Come on now, his family’s waiting.”

  “She’s scary when she’s at work,” I whispered to Ross.

  “She scares me all the time,” he whispered back. I giggled and clambered off the bed.

  “Will you come back later?” he said as I turned to go.

  “Yes, love, I’ll be right outside.”

  He smiled. “Thanks, my Bobbie. Love you.”

  “Love you too, Ross,” I said, ignoring Jess making gagging noises in the background. “Get better soon, eh? Me and you have got a lighthouse to finish.”

  Chapter 34

  Lying in bed one morning, I felt the ribbon of muscle that ran from my thighs to my neck tighten with an overpowering feeling of elation.

  The sensation came partly from knowing I was in love and that the person I loved loved me back. And it came partly from excitement, because today, finally, the lighthouse was opening and all those dreams we’d nursed for the past seven months would be real, solid – ours.

  But mainly it came from Ross Mason thrusting into me, making love to me with that mixture of tenderness and unrestrained animal energy I’d come to love in him. It came from the trembling tension in my nerves, taut as a guitar string, while my beautiful man pressed me closer and closer to orgasm.

  “Oh God, Bobbie,” he gasped into my ear when he heard me moan. “I’ll never get enough of you, of this… never.”

  I couldn’t answer; my talking breath was gone. He’d had it all, claimed it with his hot kisses and shivering touch, and now there was only the occasional brush of my lips and the throaty noises of imminent climax left for him. But he seemed happy enough with those. I pushed my hands up into his hair, coiling them through the rust-brown strands to press his scalp with my fingertips.

  “Luh…” I managed.

  He laughed at my lack of speech, that sexy panting laugh he had, his thrusts speeding up as he sensed us getting closer to the end.

  “Love you too, sweetheart,” he panted, guessing my meaning with the telepathy of lovemaking. “Jesus, you feel good, so… warm…” He let out a guttural groan, and I knew we were nearly done.

  “Kiss…” I gasped. I wanted his mouth on me, to feel his lips, his tongue, when any second the tremors from his body echoed into mine.

  “God, yes…” He gave me his lips and I let out a muffled moan into his mouth as I stopped holding back and let the orgasm take me, one of many but each somehow sacred because it came from him. I felt him harden in me as my shuddering flesh helped him join me at the peak, but he didn’t take his lips o
ff mine, pushing into me with his tongue and his body until I couldn’t bear it. God, he was addictive, that boy of mine…

  And just when it felt like I might explode with the sweet, pure pain of it and I had to pull away from his lips to cry out, the sensation ebbed into that gentle ripple of throbs that comes after and we sank into the mattress, cuddling tightly and panting into each other’s necks.

  “How did you get so good at that?” I gasped when we’d got our breath back.

  “Maybe you inspire me.”

  I cocked one eyebrow at him. “Really? Best you’ve got?”

  “Well I could say practice, but it seems in poor taste.”

  “Oh. Ok, slutty, I’ll take the first answer.”

  He shuffled his head along the pillow to nuzzle my nose with his. “Good,” he said softly. “Because it’s true. Never felt this way about anyone, Bobbie.”

  “Me neither,” I said, blinking back a happy tear. “I take it your rib’s feeling better.”

  “Noticed that, did you?”

  I pressed my lips against the tender area over his poor broken rib, the skin a brownish-purple now as the bruises faded. “So have you decided whether you’re going to play later?”

  He shook his head. “Don’t think I should. The young people are the focus, it’s not a vanity project. Let Josh and the lads have their time in the spotlight.”

  “You should do Dark Sentinel though. That one goes with the lighthouse.” I tapped the tip of his nose. “And maybe I can’t help showing off my talented boyfriend as well.”

  He laughed. “Well he better hope he doesn’t run into me then, eh?”

  “Stop being modest, you know how good you are.”

  “Only because you’re always telling me.” He looked down at me. “You know, one day you’ll have to let me return the favour.”

  “Sorry?”

  “Your novel. You told me ages ago you’d think about letting me read it.”

  “Oh. That. No… not yet, Ross. Let’s finish the lighthouse first.”

  “You know as well as I do we’ll never finish it. That’s who we are to this town now, the bloody lighthouse people,” he said. “Come on, I thought you didn’t need to hold anything back from me.”

  “Don’t push,” I said, frowning. “I’m not ready, ok?”

  He leaned up on his elbow. “You realise you’ve never told me what it’s about?”

  “Change the subject, Ross.”

  “Or start something new. Might remind you what you used to get out of it.”

  “I’ve asked you to leave it twice,” I said, my scowl deepening.

  He looked puzzled. “What, are you mad at me now?”

  “No… look, let’s get up. Lots to do today.”

  “Ok.” He still looked concerned. “You promise you’re not mad though? You’re always telling me to have more confidence in my stuff, I just want to do the same for you.”

  “It’s not the same.” I smoothed my frown with an effort. “I’m not mad, promise. I’ve just got too much on to think about it now.”

  “Right. If you’re sure.” He swung himself out of bed to find his clothes, still looking puzzled at my sudden shift in mood.

  The truth was, the more I thought about the manuscript sitting in my drawer, the more I was afraid of it. I could almost hear the little bastard, shuffling its leaves at me like the bloody tell-tale heart, origami edition.

  I couldn’t bear to look at it, still less let anyone else see it. This thing had come straight out of my actual brain, the one I kept in my head for use in emergencies. What if Ross didn’t like what he found out about me? What if he thought it was terrible? What if…

  God, I wished he’d just drop the subject so I could forget about the damn novel for the next year, or ten years, or the rest of my life.

  ***

  I was making the bed when I found it, tucked under my pillow. A flat, square envelope with “LISTEN” scrawled in biro on the front.

  “What’s that?” Jess asked when I went to seek her and Monty out in the living room.

  “CD. Ross left it for me. Him or the tooth fairy, anyway.”

  “What’s on it?”

  “Dunno yet.”

  She dislodged the dog and reached under the sofa for our old laptop. “Well, let’s find out.”

  “Looks like audio tracks,” I said when she’d popped the CD in the drive.

  I double-clicked the first file and Ivy Only Grows for the Wicked started. I hadn’t heard it since the night Ross and I became a couple.

  But this version was different. Polished, professional: Ross at his very best, not some Saturday night job with dodgy pub acoustics.

  “This is brilliant,” Jess said, looking impressed. “Not heard it before.”

  “This is the one he wrote for me.”

  We sat in silence, listening to the lyrics. The lighthouse, and us, and the feelings we had for each other. Firm, grounded, indestructible. That’s what I heard in it now.

  There were ten songs on the disk and we listened to them all. They were in Ross’s familiar, haunting style, but there was something… an emotion, a sound that was new to him. Something completely original, the essence of Ross Mason.

  By the end, Jess was staring at me with round, tear-filled eyes.

  “Did he really write you all those songs?” she asked quietly.

  “I think so. Me and the lighthouse.”

  “You lucky cow.” She nodded at the screen. “There’s one more, look.”

  “So there is.” I double-clicked the file.

  “Hi Bobbie,” said a shy Ross voice through the tinny speakers. “It’s me. But you probably know that, because… it’s me. Er…”

  I smiled at Jess. “Yep, that’s him.”

  “So, um, I call these The Lighthouse Tapes,” the pre-recorded Ross voice said. “I wrote them while we were working on the lighthouse, and because I had you for inspiration, I honestly think they’re the best things I’ve ever written.” He paused. “I know you’re there, Jessie. Hope you’re getting all this, your mum’ll want a report.”

  She grinned and gave the screen a little wave.

  “So anyway. Bobbie. I wrote these for you, and when I got out of hospital I had them all recorded to sell at gigs, maybe even send out to a few people in the industry if they’re really good enough. I never thought I could do it before, but… then I met you. And once I’d drunk a tequila slammer, renovated a lighthouse and played a set in front of hundreds of people, I started to think maybe I wasn’t just a pub singer or a corny seaside tribute act. Maybe I really did have something, like you’d always tried to tell me. And I’m proud I know you, and I’m proud you love me, and I’m proud you’re my Bobbie and I belong to you. And that together we seize every day, just like Gracie. Er, sorry for waffling.”

  “Pause it,” I whispered.

  “You all right?” Jess asked, stretching an arm around my shoulders.

  “Yes, just… God, Jess, he’s the one. Isn’t he?”

  “Well, yeah.” She smiled. “Always the last to figure it out, eh? Me and Mum had this conversation months ago.”

  I laughed. “I bet you did, psychic busybodies. Play the last bit then.”

  She hit the play button.

  “It was because of you I had the courage to do this.” Ross’s voice was earnest now, nerves lost in sincerity. “So don’t sell yourself short. You’ve got a talent too, and I believed in it long before we grew up and fell in love. I’m proud of you, and I believe in you. Never forget, lass, and never give up. I’ll see you later.”

  The mic crackled to sleep as he switched it off.

  ***

  When Jess and I arrived at the lighthouse that afternoon to prepare for the grand opening, Ross was outside with a paint bucket, examining the helter-skelter stripes for cracks.

  “Hi girls,” he said brightly, putting down his brush.

  God, look at him, carrying on as if nothing had happened. As if he hadn’t made me feel almost
sick with emotion. You’d think he recorded albums for women every bloody day.

  “Jess, turn around,” I commanded.

  “Right. Er, why?”

  “Because there’s about to be some snogging and I want to spare your delicate maidenly sensibilities. Stick your fingers in your ears too.”

  “Ugh. This is worse than when we shared a room.” She turned to face back down the clifftop path, blocking her ears and humming softly.

  I ran to Ross and threw myself into his arms, carefully avoiding the sore side.

  “Oof. Missed you too,” he gasped, winded by the impact. “What’s brought this on?”

  “As if you don’t know,” I whispered, squeezing a tear into his jacket.

  “You liked it then?”

  “You kidding? It was beautiful, sweetheart. So proud of you.” I looked up to flash him a loving smile. “Tell you what, in a year or so Peter Frampton’ll be boasting about how he once stood next to Ross Mason at a urinal.”

  “Heh. Let’s not get ahead of ourselves, eh?”

  “So how about a snog for your number one groupie?”

  He shook his head. “Groupies might be alright for the hoi polloi, Mick Jagger and those lads. I call my girls Rossettes.”

  “Yeah? How many have you got?”

  “Well, just you so far. But I’m thinking if the album sells well, I could have as many as two, even three.” He softened his voice. “I love you, you know. Wanted to show you.”

  “Me too, Ross.” I lifted my lips to his for a long, tender kiss, pressing myself as deep into his arms as I could burrow.

  “You know, I can still hear you,” Jess said loudly. “I can hear the sucking.”

  Ross pulled away to grin at her. “Alright, twinnie. You want to take over painting duty so we can go have a proper snog in our lighthouse?”

  “Alright, if you must,” she said, dropping her fingers from her ears and turning around. “But make sure it’s just a snog. People are coming to see a band, they don’t want to be greeted by your bare bumcheeks bobbing about on stage instead.”

  Ross shrugged. “We might get more donations that way though.”

  “Not off me you wouldn’t.” She slapped his arm as she came over to claim the paintbrush. “Nice songs, by the way. Think you’ve really got something there.”