Meet Me at the Lighthouse

by Mary Jayne Baker

  Anthony, the old romantic, took this as a signal to shuffle behind me and guide me next to Ross again. Ross took my hand and gripped it firmly.

  “I knew then she was different from any other girl, but I didn’t know…” He paused and looked at me. “…I didn’t know she was the one. I only found that out after she talked me into following my dream of opening a performance space for young musicians. And it took a lot of alcohol and at least one snog to convince me the perfect venue had been in front of me all along – my Uncle Charlie’s long-neglected lighthouse.”

  There were a few “awws” from the crowd. I sidled closer to Ross and gave his hand a squeeze.

  “Let me do the rest, sweetheart,” I whispered. “I can talk now.”

  “You sure?” he whispered back.

  “Partners, aren’t we?”

  “Always.”

  I cleared my throat, looking over the ocean of expectant faces.

  “Sorry about him, he waffles when he’s being adorable,” I said. “I’ll keep it short. Seven months ago a talented musician told me he had a dream, and I believed in it, and I believed in him. Enough to take a lot of risks, but I knew no one with that fire in their eyes was capable of letting me down. Over the summer I don’t know if the two of us saved a lighthouse and accidentally fell in love, or fell in love and accidentally saved a lighthouse, but that’s what happened. Through all the trials and tribulations, Ross and I managed to raise a phoenix from the ruins of the Cragport lighthouse. Today we’re proud to present it back to you.” I smiled. “As for the boy I got free with it, I’m keeping him for myself.”

  Ross pulled me into his arms for a kiss – which gave rise to more loud applause from the soppy sods watching. Between our snogging and Anthony’s pissed-up hamming, they were getting quite a show.

  When we separated, I turned to Anthony.

  “You want to do the honours then, Beau Brummell?”

  “I thought you’d never ask, my dear. I’m positively parched for want of whisky.”

  “Flask empty, is it?”

  Anthony ignored me. He held up a hand for silence and the noise died to a respectful hush.

  “Thank you all,” he said. “And now it appears the time has come, as our inelegant friend the walrus once observed. So it is with great pride that I declare this lighthouse –” he broke off to glare at a premature clapper – “in my own good time, sir, if you don’t have a more pressing engagement. I now declare this lighthouse… open! May God bless her and all who sail in her.”

  He took out his gold scissors to snip the ribbon, and as it flapped free in the wind a loud cheer echoed over the clifftop and across the bay. After seven months, or 30-odd years depending on which way you looked at it, the Cragport lighthouse lived again.

  Chapter 36

  Once we’d got everyone into the lighthouse, our team of volunteers took to their posts. I was on the second-storey balcony, meeting and greeting the VIPs – press, families of the band and others there by special invitation. I was just taking a breather, leaning over the brass rail drinking it all in, when someone tapped my shoulder.

  “Oh. Hiya,” I said to Claire, kissing her cheek by way of a hello.

  “Hi, Bobbie. Ross said I’d find you here.”

  “Where’s the new chap – Derek, was it?”

  She grinned. “Upstairs with Keith and Molly. Thought I’d throw him in at the deep end.”

  “Ha! Poor lad.” I gave her arm a squeeze. “How’s it going with you two then?”

  “Good,” she said, flushing slightly. “I mean, early days and everything, but yeah. I think we’re really… good.”

  I smiled. “Glad to hear it.”

  The band were starting up now. I could see poor Josh on the LCD screen in front of me, looking even more terrified than the night he’d played The Cellar.

  Ross got up on stage and whispered something to him. I don’t know what he said, but Josh did look slightly comforted. As soon as The Karma Llama’s drummer counted them in he was away, Kurting it up with the best of them. Coming through the speakers with the live sound combined, it sounded incredible.

  “Not bad,” Claire said with an impressed nod, raising her voice so I could hear her over the band. “So any news on Alex then? Please say no.”

  “He did come round a few days after the Tuxedo’s thing, but when Ross answered the door he left in a hurry. I think Alex was hoping he might’ve split us up that night. Not heard from him since, thank God.”

  “Well, glad it’s all worked out. Ross told me on the phone he was going to ask you to move in.”

  I flushed. “Actually he’s coming to me. But, er, better keep your voice down, I still need to break the news to my mum. She can be a bit – intense when it comes to micro-managing my love life.”

  “Ah, right. I’ll keep schtum then.” She drew an invisible zip across her lips. “How’re his ribs now?”

  “Healing nicely.” I stifled a smirk when I thought of our bedroom activities that morning. “I think he’s nearly back to full strength.”

  “Did they ever catch who did it?”

  “Yep. There was an eyewitness, the chap who called the ambulance. The police picked them all up the following week. Gang of teenagers from South Bay looking to start some trouble.”

  “Good. Hope they get what’s coming to them,” she said with a satisfied nod. “Oh, by the way, I brought something for you. Call it a housewarming present.”

  She was grinning all over her face, and I smiled uncertainly. “What is it?”

  “This.” She took a piece of paper out of her pocket. “Photocopied it before I set off.”

  I unfolded it and stared in disbelief.

  “Our decree nisi,” Claire said. “Got it in the post last week. Ross was bursting to tell you but I made him promise. Really wanted this to be my surprise.”

  “Oh my God!” I leaned across to give her a hug. “You sneaky buggers. Thank you.”

  “Just a few more months and he’ll be a free man,” she said, giving me a squeeze. “Happy launch day, love.”

  ***

  An hour later, the band were packing up to take a break. I could see Ross waiting in the wings, and I leaned over the rail so I could send him a smile.

  “Oi. You.”

  I turned to find a grumpy-looking Jess, a frilly apron over her little black dress and a tray of hors d’oeuvres hanging by a strap around her neck.

  “Ha! You look like a French maid.” I picked up a pastry thing from her tray and eyed it quizzically. “What’s this supposed to be, some sort of sex toy?”

  “That’s a saxophone, you cheeky cow.”

  “I knew it was a mistake letting you make the nibbles.” I popped the saxophone-dildo in my mouth and gagged.

  “Bloody hell!” I grabbed one of the complimentary proseccos she was carrying and drained about half in one go. “How much chilli did you put in the bastards?”

  She smirked at me. “Sorry, trade secret. But you’d better add chilli powder to the shopping list, we’re all out.”

  “Evil twin.”

  “Ugly twin.”

  I shot a nervous glance at Josh’s granny, chatting to Richie the Clean Beaches man not far away. “Look, don’t be handing those things out to the old folk. With that shape and flavour combo, you could end up with a cardiac arrest on your hands.”

  “I won’t. I’m taking a break anyway.” She unburdened herself of the tray and shoved it in my direction. “Want to hear my new housemate sing.”

  “Yeah, how weird is it he’s moving in?” I hung the tray round my neck and slapped her arm. “Thanks for being ok with it, sis.”

  “Well, I don’t want a man coming to break up the sister act just yet. Last time I let you out on your own you ended up getting taken for a ride by that knobhead Alex.” She nodded at the miniature Ross on the LCD screen. “He’s starting.”

  “Hi everyone,” Ross said into the mic with his usual wave. “Just a quick one from me, then The Karma Llama
are back for the last hour.”

  “Do Jailhouse Rock,” shouted a young heckler.

  There was a ripple of sniggers around the crowd. Ross’s secret had become something of an open one over the last few months. It didn’t bother him who knew now though, as long as I was ok with it.

  Ross smiled. “Sorry, lad, I’m afraid Elvis has left the building. No, I’ll only be doing one, then it’s back to Josh and the boys.”

  He played the opening chord on his guitar. “Ok, so this is Dark Sentinel. Copies available from the odd-looking bloke called Travis on the third floor – trust me, you can’t miss him – with 100% of profits going to Project Phoenix.”

  It was impressive how much more confident he seemed now – not just singing, but his public speaking. I blushed when I wondered if I’d played a part in that too.

  “Oh, sorry, quick bit of housekeeping first,” he said. “Plastics only on the balconies please, guys: no bottles except at the bar. It’d help our volunteers if you could put empty cups in the waste bins provided. Don’t lean right over the rails, we don’t want any accidents. And, er, special announcement for Janine Hannigan, I’m moving in with your daughter. Well, both of them, technically. Thanks.”

  “What?” Mum’s explosion from the balcony above mine could be heard around the lighthouse.

  After the laughter and cheers had died down, Ross grinned up at her. “Thought I’d tell you while you couldn’t get me. Sorry, love. Right.”

  He played the first chord again, and on the screen I saw his eyes close. Watchman for the lost…

  “What did he do that for?” I muttered to Jess once everyone’s attention was held by the music.

  Jess shrugged. “He knew he’d have to tell her some time. By the time she gets her hands on him she’ll have calmed down a bit.”

  “Spose.” I smiled. “Sweet, wasn’t it?”

  “Yeah. The man’s a bloody sweetness addict.” She cocked her head. “Hey, wasn’t that the last verse? Why’s he still singing?”

  She was right, he was still going, another chorus… and then he launched into a verse I’d never heard before.

  …Partner of my soul

  Best friend and keeper, anchored here

  Fall with me, deeper, disappear

  My pride, my ocean girl, my pioneer…

  The last note lingered in the air, then faded away.

  I shook my head. “He wrote me another verse for the launch,” I muttered to Jess. “You’re right, he is a sweetness addict.”

  “They’re like musical love letters, his songs, aren’t they?” Jess said.

  “God, I love the romantic bugger.” I sighed happily. “Some year, eh, sis?”

  “Been a big one for both of us, hasn’t it? Lighthouse, boys…”

  “…Anthony,” I said with a smile. “Where is he? He must be paralytic by now.”

  “No, he’s still upright, just about. He’s at the bar, drinking us out of Scotch and reciting poetry at Gareth.”

  “How is his poetry?”

  “Let’s just say if he was pinning his hopes on a laureate position to make up for the knighthood he shouldn’t hold his breath.” She shrugged. “He’s a nice old boy though. Wants me to go visit him sometimes. I think he’s a bit lonely in that big house with only the booze for company.”

  “Good for you.” I shuddered. “Still, rather you than me. Not sure I could cope with an epic poem on hydrangeas no matter how much whisky he plied me with.”

  ***

  The people were gone, the band had packed up and disappeared, the tidy-up was finished. The lighthouse was silent again. But to me it felt like I could hear it humming, feel it vibrate under my feet, alive with fresh purpose.

  Over the last seven months I’d almost started to think of the place as self-aware. I could picture it now, breathing a deep sigh as it was left alone with just me and Ross, its old friends.

  It was thoughts like that which made me wonder if this whole lighthouse business hadn’t turned me a bit strange…

  “Good job today, my boy in the band,” I said to Ross as we snuggled in the lantern room.

  “Good job you, Bobbie Hannigan from school.” Ross leaned over to kiss the top of my head. “Did ok in the end, didn’t we?”

  “Understatement of the year. At the risk of developing an Anthony-sized ego, we did bloody brilliant.” I looked up at him. “Although one downside, you’ve been summoned to Mum’s tomorrow for coffee and interrogation.”

  “Oh bollocks.” He looked suddenly nervous. “Think it’ll hurt much?”

  “Nah, she loves you. Quick grilling, threat of castration if you ever hurt me, then it’ll be back to happy families.” I leaned across to kiss his cheek. “And that’s for you, by the way. Thanks for my song, it was beautiful.”

  He smiled fondly, twirling a strand of my hair around one finger. “Well. Always manage to bring out the soppy bugger in me, don’t you, Hannigan?”

  “Wouldn’t have it any other way,” I said. “Oh yeah, got a present for you. In the absence of songwriting abilities.” I rummaged in my handbag and pulled out a flat oval object, gift-wrapped in foil paper. “It’s to go on the door. Been saving it till the end.”

  Ross ripped off the paper and blinked at me, touched.

  It was an engraved brass plaque I’d had made, just like the one on Gracie’s bench. The inscription read Project Phoenix, opened 6th November 2016. Dedicated to the memory of Anne and Charles Mason, who loved our town and one another.

  “It’s perfect, Bobbie.” He planted a soft kiss on my forehead. “You’re perfect. Thank you.”

  I flushed deeply, scuffing at the floor with one strappy shoe. “Something else for you,” I mumbled.

  He laughed. “And you told me off for too much present-giving. What now?”

  I fished in my bag for the USB stick I’d tucked into the pocket and handed it to him.

  He held it up in front of his face. “What is it?”

  “It’s a romantic thriller, since you ask.”

  “What –” He broke off. “Your book? You’re letting me read it?”

  “Yes. Be gentle with me, eh?”

  He stashed the stick in his pocket and pulled me into his arms again. “I won’t need to be, I know it’ll be brilliant. What changed your mind?”

  I laughed. “Well if you can write ten songs for me, this seemed the least I could manage. And… you’re right, I can’t hide forever. I don’t want to get to Anthony’s age and realise my biggest regret was not finishing the thing.”

  He didn’t answer. He just pressed his lips into my hair, which was better.

  Through the glass we could see the town in all its night time beauty, the many-coloured lights casting wibbly, glowing spears into the ocean’s midnight dark. Smaller lights clambered higgledy-piggledy up the hillside, little cottages full of little people.

  “Pretty old place sometimes, isn’t it?” I said quietly.

  “Yeah. Like you, my lighthouse girl.”

  I took his hand and massaged it with my thumb. “Why did you come home, Ross?”

  “Oh, I don’t know,” he said with a long sigh. “There’s something about the sea… gets inside you, salt in your veins. It always calls you back in the end.”

  I pressed the hand I was holding. “You’re a bit like that, you know. I never forgot you when you were away. You got into my veins along with the salt, Ross Mason.”

  He laughed. “Yeah, you remembered me so well that when I got back you didn’t recognise me.”

  “Well, you went and got all sexy, didn’t you?” I smiled up at him. “I mean it though, Ross. I never did forget you. There was still a little bit of me put aside for you when you got back… think that’s why it felt so easy to fall for you.”

  “You’re sweet tonight, my Bobbie.” He left another gentle kiss on top of my hair. “I love you very much, you know.”

  “Me too, Ross. I always will now.”

  “Aww. Give us a snog then, softie.” He tilte
d my face up to his for a deep, tender kiss.

  “So what shall we do now, sweetheart?” he asked when he drew back, his fingers playing in the nape of my neck. “Lighthouse, bed or pub?”

  I laughed. “‘Lighthouse, bed or pub’ could be the title of our memoirs.”

  “It could, couldn’t it? Hey, you should write it. Anthony was right, it is a good story.”

  “Really? You want everyone to find out we were bonking in it?”

  “Good point,” he said with a grin. “So come on, bonny lass, what’s it to be? For once in our lives we’re fancy-free. No lighthouse stuff to worry about, no Elvising to do, no big events to plan. For once, finally, it’s just me and my girl.”

  I smiled. “Buy you a tequila slammer, handsome? Let’s start the next adventure.”

  Acknowledgements

  A lot of people helped make this book, but the biggest thanks has to go to my agent Laura Longrigg at MBA, who saw its potential while it was still in first draft infancy and with her sterling editorial advice, helped me turn it from the book it was to the book it was meant to be. Likewise my brilliant editors at HarperImpulse, Charlotte Ledger and Sam Gale, for all their support, encouragement and help, and my wonderful beta readers, without any of whom this would have been a far weaker book: Mark Anslow (who was forced to plough through no fewer than three different drafts), Kate Beeden, John Manning and Kaisha Holloway.

  My nearest and dearest have been supportive and lovely as ever while I was in irritable writer mode: my partner Mark; friends Bob, Nige, Lynette and Amy; Firths, Brahams and Anslows all, and my long-suffering colleagues at Country Publications, who must be even more sick of hearing about this book than the last one!

  A massive thanks too to all my encouraging writer buddies, both online and off, especially the lovely ladies of the Wordcount Warriors Facebook group and the good folk from the Airedale Writers’ Circle.

  I’d also like to thank Andrew Mason for kindly responding to my request for information on Spurn Lighthouse’s recent renovation. And finally, last but certainly not least, a big thank you to the Marine Lake Cafe in Southport, who many years ago and without realising it, inspired a major plot point in this book!