From a Distance

by Raffaella Barker

  How could he have been idiot enough to think that he, Kit, a newcomer, could ask a community to give up their time for little more than a square meal? And where was that, come to think of it? He’d left three messages for Luisa, and heard nothing. His back ached from lugging furniture around. He had a banked-up series of emails from Cornwall, politely asking what decisions he would like taken in his absence, and whether the meetings that loomed with the accountants should be rescheduled to allow him time to recover from his ‘sabbatical’. The disdain was palpable. Kit ignored it, but he couldn’t ignore the question that beat in his own mind. What on earth was he doing here?

  It was a sunny morning, and he thought he could hear a sky lark. Kit shoved the decorating materials outside, left the front door unlocked, just in case, and took himself off for a walk. He needed to think.

  He returned just before ten o’clock to find people in his garden, the trestle tables promised by Jay and Bruce set up in a horse shoe, and Luisa picking cornflowers and arranging them in jam jars.

  ‘I didn’t think you were coming,’ he found himself flinging his arms wide and then hugging her in greeting.

  Luisa’s eyes widened, but she kissed him on the cheek, smiled, and stepped back. ‘Hi, there. We didn’t think you were here.’

  Kit rubbed his hands through his hair, hiding confusion by keeping his eyes on the ground. ‘Sorry. Sorry, I don’t know what—’

  Luisa touched his arm. ‘Don’t worry, we weren’t going to leave you in the lurch, you know.’

  Kit looked up at the Lighthouse. All the windows were open, he could hear voices from each floor. ‘I really didn’t expect this—’

  Luisa handed him a bacon sandwich. ‘Here, I saved you one.’

  He bit into it and groaned, the bread soft and light around salty, crumbly bacon and a sliver of butter. ‘Bloody delicious,’ he said.

  ‘We didn’t know if you were here this morning, so we started anyway. I hope you don’t mind.’

  ‘No. Please. Amazing.’ He spoke through a mouthful, and was about to offer her a cup of tea when she turned on her heel, calling over her shoulder, ‘I’ve got a lot to finish off, I’ll be back later.’

  By lunchtime, the top room was painted. Kit found Luisa, barefoot again, fanning herself and sitting on a straw bale, eating an apple.

  ‘Ah. No shoes.’ He sat down next to her. ‘I’d better return them.’

  She wriggled her toes in the grass. ‘I’ve got to try to be less of a gypsy,’ she turned towards him, flipping up her sunglasses. A fleck of paint on her cheek ran into her hair. He was reaching out to wipe it before he realised what he was doing.

  ‘Paint. You’ve got paint on your face.’ Just in time he’d managed to divert his thoughts, and point instead of touch her.

  ‘Have I? Where?’ Luisa grimaced, held her sun­glasses in front of her and rubbed at her skin. The half moons at the base of her nails were pale. Her teeth were white and even, she smelled of sunshine and fresh paint.

  She was speaking, he realised, and he wasn’t listening, ‘What? Yes. Yes. Whatever you like. I’m with you entirely.’

  Luisa giggled. ‘I was asking if you’ve got a favourite bedroom lined up.’ She didn’t wait for his answer. ‘I really love this place, you’ve made it yours so quickly. I hardly know why we’re painting it, to be honest. It’s so pretty already. Where did you get all the furniture?’

  ‘That’s a compliment.’ Kit shifted as he peered into the basket she had at her side. ‘I can’t take a lot of credit though, the stuff was mostly here, I just hauled it out of the shed, and then made a return visit to that junk shop I told you about, and another about three miles further on. They’re good here, really good.’

  Luisa drummed her fists on her knees. ‘Oh, I wish I’d known!’ she cried. ‘I’d have come with you. I love that kind of shopping, I’m looking for fifties Formica for my van, to put outside and create a kind of cafe atmosphere.’

  ‘Ah, now I may be able to help you,’ Kit raised an eyebrow at her and flicked through the photos on his phone. ‘I saw this yesterday at another place. The chairs are piled up at the back. I really like the colour, don’t you?’

  ‘Oh look!’ Luisa had swooped to see the screen. ‘That green is great. I’d love to look at them.’

  ‘I’ll take you. Just name the day.’

  ‘Name the day for what?’ Both Kit and Luisa jumped as Tom appeared in front of them. He dropped a hand on Luisa’s shoulder. ‘Anything to drink, Tod?’

  Luisa returned Kit’s phone to him. ‘Thank you, I will.’ She pressed his forearm briefly and leaned to rummage in a basket at her side. She pulled out a bottle of water with a flourish. ‘God, it’s hot today isn’t it? The paint’ll be dry after lunch. Oops, missed!’ A splash ran down her hand as she passed Tom the bottle. She licked the water off the back of her hand. Kit’s gaze flicked between her mouth and her eyes, then rested on Tom.

  The day softened to dusk as a fluid riff of saxophone notes drifted out of Luca’s speakers, and the bats began their habitual swooping dance around the Lighthouse. Kit was exhausted. He had painted two round ceilings single-handed and countless small window frames, never exactly part of any of the teams at work, but joining in everywhere he could find a space and a spare paintbrush. With Mae’s help, he’d dragged straw bales into position, and now the table was ready, covered with sheets and decorated with the jars of cornflowers. Sparks shot through pluming smoke as Luisa lit the barbecues. Kit found her wielding a blow torch at a metal brazier, ‘That looks serious,’ he said.

  ‘It’s meant for crème brûlée,’ Luisa twisted her hair off her neck with her free hand, and leaned over the fire. ‘I don’t know why people bother with matches.’

  ‘Let me help you.’ Luisa’s neck was damp, tendrils of hair catching in her earrings, the light catching her fine gold chain. Gilding the lily, Kit thought. Taking the blow torch from her, he moved to the next brazier. ‘I love the smell of woodsmoke, don’t you?’

  She nodded, gazing into the flames. ‘I’d like to find a way to have a fire on board the ice-cream van.’

  Kit blinked. ‘Really?’

  ‘I was thinking about the elements. You know: earth, fire, water, air. All that, and I thought I could make something work so I could make bacon sandwiches and marshmallows as well as ice cream.’ She balanced a log on the fire he had just lit and they moved to the last brazier.

  ‘Why not?’ Kit had been ready to laugh, now, he found, he was ready to help her. ‘You could do it. You need a bit of a business plan to get your ideas harnessed, but it sounds good to me. You’ll be up and running before you can blink.’

  ‘Really?’ There was a note of hope in her voice that he found endearing.

  ‘Really.’ he smiled. ‘I tell you what, I’ll get my company manager to give you a call and talk you through the strategies you need. Don’t worry, it’s not impossible, you know.’

  A smile fluttered briefly across her face. ‘I keep getting stuck. Somehow it never gets off the ground,’ she said. ‘It’s really great hearing what you think, after all, you actually run a business, so you know from the heart what it’s like.’

  ‘Hey Mum, can you come and see if these are done?’ Mae called from where she was turning sausages over the fire.

  Luisa sighed. ‘I’d love to talk to you about this again?’ she said. ‘If it isn’t too tiresome?’

  ‘It would be a pleasure,’ he said. ‘I think you’ve got a great idea.’

  The radiance of the smile she gave him left Kit reeling as she walked away.

  Snatches of chatter fell from the windows above.

  ‘Wow, have you seen this room. It’s a lot better now.’

  ‘Look, you can see right the way down the coast. Yarmouth looks like Las Vegas tonight.’

  The voice was Dora’s. He liked Dora. Earlier in the evening he’d found her by herself, cross-legged on a patch of grass near the clifftop, facing the sunset. She looked up when she heard him.


  ‘Hi, this is a really peaceful place you know.’

  Kit gazed back towards the building, figures grouped, music and laughter drifting around them.

  ‘I know, I can’t take any credit,’ he said, ‘it seems to have its own energy. Life force, even.’

  Dora nodded. ‘It’s true. There are people like that, you know, who just make a difference by showing up. Who change things.’

  Kit was curious. ‘Change things?’

  Dora sat down again, wrapped her arms around her knees. ‘I was in love with someone like that,’ she said.

  ‘Hey, Mummy!’ Maddie appeared out of the dark and pounced down on the grass, breathless. ‘You know I’m having a striped house when I grow up, even if it’s not as tall as this one. I’m going to be a lighthouse keeper and make sure it stays lit up for ever.’ She leapt up and danced away again.

  ‘Maddie’s already one of those people,’ said Kit.

  Dora smiled. ‘I met Aaron when Maddie was two. He taught music technology at a university out to the east of London, and used to cycle there.’

  Kit stretched out on the grass next to her, her profile outlined against the sunset. Pretty girl, he thought, and wondered what the magical element was that made him fancy Luisa and see Dora as a nice friend.

  She had hunched up her shoulders. ‘A lorry hit him on a roundabout in Silvertown. In the inquest the driver said he never saw him, it was as if he was a phantom already.’

  Kit winced. ‘When was this?’

  ‘Oh five years ago, a bit more.’ Dora stood up and shrugged, lightening the mood as she listened to a melody breaking from the speakers by the Lighthouse. She gestured towards the sound. ‘I always thought Aaron would have written a song about it if he hadn’t been the person who—’

  Kit had squeezed her hand. ‘He was a keeper of the flame. A good thing to be, unforgettable.’

  Nodding, Dora squeezed his hand back.

  Kit had, for a while, lost sight of Dora and Maddie in the melee after that, but when he glimpsed her in the throng, he felt both protective and appreciative. He had, he thought, made a friend.

  By eleven, the party was in full swing. Luca and another lad his age had climbed out at the top below the lighthouse glass, and wedged themselves between the rail and the light. They had binoculars, and their commentary floated down to Kit. ‘This is like reality TV. Look. Here comes Jay Hopkins, back from a slash behind the tree.’

  ‘Yeah, and he’s forgotten his flies.’

  ‘I said it was reality TV.’

  Below, Kit laughed to himself. Out in the firelight, Mae turned up the music.

  No curtains on any of the windows, but Kit had a strong sense that it was late when he woke on Sunday morning. Groaning, he reached for the glass of water he habitually placed next to his bed. It wasn’t there. God, he must have been drunk. He dragged himself to the window and looked out at the remnants of the party. It was messy. Decadent, but also rustic. He’d never seen himself as one to embrace bucolic life, but that, like much else, appeared to have changed. The wheelbarrow which had contained the beer barrel had tipped over, allowing the barrel to roll drunkenly into a table, tipping it up in a trail of chaos. The cloak of unreality brought by a hangover was a blessing, he thought, peering at the ketchup-smeared plates dotted around the grass, and on the wall. He felt no anxiety as he noticed glasses half full of forgotten drinks, smoke blackened storm lanterns or the dish of butter wiped to a smear and decorated with cigarette butts. He pulled on a shirt and jeans, adding sunglasses as a precaution before he left the bedroom. He couldn’t see a thing to navigate the stairs, but he was damned if he was going to take them off, the light was sure to be bright outside. He staggered down, holding on to the walls. He found he still wanted to dance. He had danced for the first time in God knows how many years, and from the moment Luisa pulled him to his feet and got him moving, he’d loved it. Thank God the neighbours had been there, or they might have called the police.

  Bruce Hopkins had made something of an entrance, walking up through the blue flax field in a yellow suit as the sun set behind him. Maddie thought the yellow suit made him look like the Cowardly Lion in The Wizard of Oz, and Kit couldn’t get the image out of his head. Whether the image, or the drink had made him more comfortable with Bruce, he’d ended up with his neighbour among a circle sitting around the dying embers of the fire, swapping bike versus vintage car stories. Bruce, he vaguely remembered, had been surprised to hear Kit’s mother had no known connection to the area. He was insistent that no one could just randomly own a lighthouse, especially a woman from the other side of the country. Kit couldn’t remember how they’d left it, but he had a feeling Bruce would be looking for some answers and, come to think of it, he wouldn’t mind some himself. That could all wait. Right now he needed coffee and breakfast a lot more than he needed answers.

  He wondered who would be in the house this morning. His money was on Luca and the fairy-like girl who’d arrived late on a bicycle, with a whippet puppy in a straw basket. Tom, who had started the evening by taking on the role of barman, had brought Kit a drink as he was turning steaks on the barbecue and rolled his eyes towards the front door. ‘Luca’s brought along a new flame,’ he said. ‘I teach her History of Art, she’s called Jemma, but everyone calls her Shrimp. She’s full of tricks and he’s falling for every one of them.’

  Kit and Tom had watched, unnoticed, as the girl gazed at Luca, twirling her hair around a finger, pressing the puppy close to her. Luca remained hypnotised as she filled his arms with first the puppy, then a fluffy dog bed, and then various scarves and trailing bits of fabric. The puppy looked embarrassed, Kit thought, and frankly, it had his sympathy, as did Luca.

  The girl tripped towards the bar.

  Kit nudged Tom. ‘Look, she’s leading him up the garden path.’

  Tom laughed. ‘Christ, you’re not wrong. Ah well, we all have to go through that phase, don’t we?’

  They’d got on well, he and Tom. Kit examined his conscience, and regretfully decided there was nothing he needed to hide from his new friend. He and Luisa had danced, but she’d danced with Bruce Hopkins too, and he’d danced with Mae and with Dora. It had been a great evening. Humming, Kit opened the door to the kitchen. Sure enough, there was the fairy, eating yoghurt straight from the pot and muesli out of the box. Like Kit, she was wearing dark glasses.

  ‘Hi,’ she whispered. The little whippet was curled up on a cushion. The fluffy pink dog bed was nowhere to be seen. As well as Luca, who was making coffee, and the girl, there was a huge vase of sunflowers on the table and a pile of Sunday newspapers. The girl occupied the only chair in the room. Kit wondered how long it would be before Luca found her as irritating as he did.

  ‘I’m Shrimp’ she said and stretched a tiny pale hand towards him.

  It reminded Kit of a pipe cleaner. She reminded him of a pipe-cleaner doll, he decided. His focus alighted on the puppy. ‘Has she spent the night there?’ he asked.

  ‘No, Dora brought you that cushion. She’s outside, getting chairs.’ Luca passed Kit the cup of coffee he had made.

  ‘Dora? What’s she doing here?’ Kit strode to the door, the sun was suspiciously high. ‘Jesus, what time is it?’

  ‘It’s almost midday. You’ve slept all morning,’ piped Shrimp. ‘I’m about to go, but thank you, it was such a cool party. I love your place here, you’re so lucky, you know.’

  ‘So I’m told,’ said Kit politely.

  Scooping up the puppy, Shrimp beckoned Luca, and they began assembling her scattered bangles and scarves. Kit was delighted she was leaving. Then he felt mean. She wasn’t bad, she was polite, and pretty, and neither of those was a thing to hold against a girl. He stepped into the hall, and trod in something soft.

  ‘Urgh! Shit! That sodding puppy! Christ,’ he yelled, and hopped outside, cursing Shrimp under his breath. His phone beeped.

  A message from Luisa.

  Swell party Kit, and BTW thanxxxxx for chat, I am really e
xcited, and you’ve made such a difference.

  The damp grass and lazy pigeons, the hiss of the sea and the light dancing high above him flowed through Kit like oxygen. He sighed, cleaned his foot, and wandered right round the Lighthouse. Pleasure, all a pleasure, he wrote, and pocketed the phone again. He must remember to give her details to Hannah. What were PAs for if not to help his friends?

  An unexpected and blissful sight greeted him where the party had been. Dora and Maddie had cleared the tables, and several black dustbin bags bulged in a heap near the Hopkins’ red truck, which had the look, impossible to pin down but unmistakable, of a car abandoned the night before. The tables were empty, and Dora had just shaken the last of the dust-sheet tablecloths. Maddie sat nearby, wrapped in a pink fluffy dog bed.

  ‘Dora, what a saint you are.’ Kit realised as he stretched his arms to hug her, how truly fond he had become of his new friends. He was blessed. Especially now he didn’t have to clear up.

  ‘Oh Kit, we thought we might miss you. We’re going in a minute to have lunch with Luisa, but we brought you a present.’

  Kit shook his head. ‘You don’t need to do that,’ he said. ‘You all made the party a success, I just provided the Lighthouse.’

  ‘But that’s the best part!’ said Maddie.

  Dora nodded, patting his arm. Kit noticed how fragile her wrists, her forearms, her collarbones were. Her touch was feather light. ‘You made time for all of us,’ she said. ‘Thank you, what you said was so thoughtful.’

  ‘What did he say, Mummy?’ Maddie tugged at her waist.

  Dora hesitated. ‘He was kind, that’s all,’ she said lightly. ‘But mainly, Kit, we had so much fun, and Maddie was up early, so we thought we’d come and clear up to say a big thank you.’

  She was like a hind, or a doe, he never knew the difference. Maddie, with her big eyes and bouncing personality was a real-life Bambi. He saw Dora, like his mother, bringing her child up alone. Tragic that Aaron had come along and then gone like that. But at least she had loved him. What had Luisa told him? Maddie’s father had remarried and lived in the Midlands, he visited occasionally, and had just taken her camping for the first time. Dora had all the responsibility of moulding a child’s life without a partner to share the anxieties and the triumphs. He had only been small, probably younger than Maddie, when his mother met his stepfather but, even so, he had always been aware that Joseph, with his pipe, his beard and slow speech, had saved her, and therefore him.