Christmas by the Lighthouse

by Rebecca Boxall

  ‘That’s a pressure in itself, isn’t it? Everyone you talk to in those early years says, Enjoy them while they’re young. They grow up too soon! and I remember thinking, But you’re not the one being kept up half the night and trying to catch sick in a bucket when they’ve caught yet another bug! Though it is true, what those irritating people tell you – they are the best years in so many ways.’

  ‘Did you work when your kids were small?’ Cat asked.

  ‘Oh yes, I was only eighteen when I had them and my husband was training to be a teacher. We needed some income. I was a barmaid for a while but I’d always loved writing, so when a position came up at the local paper I applied for it. I’ve no idea how, but I got it. It was really tough, trying to make it fit in with the children, and during school holidays the childcare costs weren’t far off what I was earning. But I liked the feeling of independence it gave me – earning my own money and doing something I loved. I thought it was probably a good example to set the boys, too, although I was always feeling guilty – like I couldn’t give my all to anyone.’

  ‘Yeah, I know that feeling. I want to know more about the kind of journalism you do but I’m dying for a pee. I’ll be back in a sec,’ Cat said, grabbing her bag.

  ‘I’ll get some more drinks in. What would you like?’

  ‘Vodka and coke again, thanks,’ Cat replied, heading towards the corridor that signed to the ladies.

  Jude and Eddie placed their order with Summer, too, and while Eddie started chatting to a work colleague he’d bumped into, Jude took the opportunity to head to the loo himself. He followed the sign towards the corridor, turned the corner and stopped dead still. Cat was talking on her phone in Portuguese surrounded by three men with skinheads, who were blocking her way to the ladies. Jude saw her hastily put the phone in her bag.

  ‘You here to clean the toilets?’ one of them asked her. ‘That’s all you porko Portuguese are good for, isn’t it?’ he sneered.

  Jude was expecting Cat to shoot them down in flames with one of her usual blunt and feisty ripostes but she just stood there, looking petrified, completely silent. Jude saw red.

  ‘What the hell are you arseholes doing?’ he shouted, storming towards them.

  ‘Oh, hey up! It’s the knight in shining armour! She clean your toilets, too, does she? Bet that’s not all she does.’

  That was it. Jude swung for the ringleader, socking him on the nose, which immediately began to spurt blood in a cartoonish fashion.

  ‘What the . . . ?’ the man replied, his hand dabbing at his bloody face. ‘I think you’ve broken my nose, you cock!’

  Jude braced himself for a proper fight. It was only him against the three of them and he felt a moment of trepidation, thinking back to that devastating evening when Melvin had stabbed him in the stomach, but then, unexpectedly, the men shot off, cursing as they ran towards the door, determined to have the last word.

  ‘I’m on probation – otherwise I’d be finishing you! I could have you!’ the ringleader shouted at Jude as he made his exit.

  ‘Ow!’ Jude said, belatedly, his fist feeling sore and bruised. ‘Cat, are you okay?’

  ‘Shit, yeah . . . I’m shaken up, but bloody impressed. Jude, I can’t believe you put yourself in danger like that for me.’

  ‘Don’t be daft,’ he said, but as they went to rejoin the others Cat was full of praise for Jude’s bravery.

  ‘He was amazing!’ she told Eddie and Summer, who were horrified this had all been going on without them even realising it. With the story told, Cat realised she still needed the loo.

  ‘I’m coming with you,’ said Eddie. ‘I’ll guard you!’

  With Eddie and Cat out of earshot, Summer asked Jude for details. He was still shaking from the adrenaline rush, but he felt a sense of achievement, too, at how he’d instinctively dealt with the situation.

  ‘What were they doing?’ she asked.

  ‘Being threatening. Being racist. That’s what really got me. I thought back to Di telling us all about the Nazi occupation. I remember her saying how, to her, it seemed as though the war was essentially one of tolerance versus evil. And then you get tossers like those guys, being so bloody intolerant and racist.’

  ‘There’s more of your ancestors in you than you first thought,’ Summer smiled. ‘Ah, here’s our food at last. Jude, I love your friends!’

  ‘I hoped you would. But we mustn’t stay too late. I need to be fresh for the final thing on the bucket list tomorrow!’

  ‘I can’t believe it’s the last one. You don’t ask for much, do you?’

  ‘I’ve no need to. The time I’m spending with you – it’s better than the most extravagant bucket list I could have ever come up with.’

  ‘Pass the sick bowl,’ Eddie teased as he and Cat rejoined them, bringing Jude and Summer right back down to earth.

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  JUDE’S BUCKET LIST:

  9. DRIVE A FLASHY CAR

  ‘So you’re a TVR enthusiast, then, are you, Mr De Carteret?’ the man asked. He had a raspy voice and looked like a sly fox. He had a tiny head, with gingery hair pasted down with gel, and narrow eyes that were unfeasibly close together.

  ‘Well, in theory,’ Jude explained. ‘I’ve never been able to afford one. Until now,’ he added, no doubt remembering that, in order to test-drive one, he needed to pretend he might actually buy it.

  ‘What are you thinking then? The Griffith, the Tamora?’ the fox asked, leading Jude along rows of shining cars. Summer peered inside them. They were immaculate – little fox obviously spent hours polishing all the steering wheels. ‘The Cerbera, maybe?’ the salesman continued. ‘Or . . .’ He paused for dramatic effect. ‘The Tuscan!’ He stopped and presented with a flourish an electric-blue convertible that even Summer, who had no interest in cars, was impressed with.

  ‘It’s kind of space-agey,’ she remarked, running a hand along the paintwork. Jude was speechless. He looked as if he were mesmerised by its glamour. Eventually, he seemed to get a grip. ‘Can we take this one for a test drive?’ he asked, clearly trying to sound nonchalant.

  Five minutes later they were sitting in comfort on pristine leather seats that gave off an almost erotic scent of wealth and privilege.

  ‘I’m shaking,’ Jude said, grinning at Summer. ‘I have never in my life even sat in a car like this, let alone driven one.’

  ‘I’ll drive, if you like,’ Summer teased.

  ‘No way!’ Jude laughed, and he switched the engine on. ‘Listen to that!’ he said next, at the deep roar of the throbbing vehicle – so strong their bodies were vibrating.

  ‘Here we go!’ And that was it – they were off. Right out of the garage and, with a few clunky changes of gear, off towards the Avenue, where it seemed as if Jude was struggling to keep the car down to the legal maximum limit for Jersey – forty miles an hour. Moments later, they hit traffic and ground to a halt.

  ‘This would be so frustrating,’ Jude said, glancing across at Summer, whose hair was all over the place.

  ‘You’d have to nip across to France all the time to give the car a proper spin, wouldn’t you?’

  ‘Yeah, I guess the regular expense of the ferry would be nothing if you owned a car like this. Can you imagine?’

  ‘How does it feel to drive?’

  ‘Incredible!’ Jude grinned, though the smile was taken off his face a moment later.

  ‘Wankers!’ a group of young lads shouted towards the car from The Burger, at the end of the Avenue.

  ‘What the . . . ?’ Jude asked, looking at Summer. ‘Why are they calling us wankers?’

  Summer laughed. ‘It’s the car! They think you own it. Jealousy. No one wants someone else’s wealth and success flaunted at them so obviously. An electric-blue TVR – it is a little attention-seeking!’

  It didn’t stop there. Every ten minutes or so during their test drive they spotted people flicking the bird at them or shouting abuse for no good reason. A couple of youths even threw chi
ps at them as they drove along the Five Mile Road.

  By the time they arrived back at the garage, Jude looked as if he were relieved to be shot of the thing.

  ‘It’s been a real lesson,’ he said, turning to Summer. ‘The car’s amazing – but not the baggage that comes with it. I can see now that my parents are on to something with their humble desires in life. Keeping things simple keeps you nicely under the radar.’

  Summer laughed. Seth’s greatest desire had always been to own a sports car (in his case a Lamborghini) and she was fairly sure he’d have put up with the jealous comments rather than keeping things simple if he’d had the money for one.

  ‘How did it go?’ asked Mr Fox, when Jude and Summer emerged from the TVR. ‘Would you like to come into my office to discuss payment plans?’ He lifted an arm, showing off a large sweat patch staining his blue shirt.

  ‘Actually, I’m going to need to speak to my bank first,’ Jude told him, and Summer dug him in the ribs. ‘But I loved it! Incredible car!’

  ‘But wait!’ the man called as Jude and Summer hotfooted it back to Jude’s very mediocre and entirely non-attention-grabbing car. ‘My business card!’ he called out. ‘I haven’t even given you my business card!’

  Jude began to drive past and, out of sympathy, Summer reached out through the window and took the card.

  ‘Thanks,’ she smiled. ‘We’ll be in touch!’ she called back.

  ‘That’s what comes of telling fibs and trying to be grand,’ Jude said as he settled back into the comfort of his own battered car seat. ‘You have to deal with car salesmen and have abuse hurled at you wherever you go!’

  ‘It was fun, though! What shall we do now?’

  ‘I’m just going to pop home and pick up my post, if that’s okay. Then we’d better head back and take Prinny for a walk.’

  ‘Jude,’ Summer said.

  ‘Yes?’

  ‘You looked seriously sexy driving a TVR.’

  Jude turned his head towards Summer and smiled. ‘Want to try out my squeaky bed again?’ he asked, as he turned into the parking area beside his block of flats. And they did, laughing hysterically when the neighbours above knocked on the ceiling again.

  But later the same day, back at Mandla, Summer realised something had changed, the light-hearted mood of earlier in the day usurped by a darker, gloomier feeling.

  ‘Are you okay?’ Summer asked Jude, more than once.

  ‘Yep,’ he replied each time.

  But he wasn’t okay. Summer was certain about that.

  PART THREE

  FALLING APART

  MID-AUGUST–NOVEMBER 2017

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  JERSEY, AUGUST

  SUMMER

  The day of the test drive had heralded a disturbing shift in Jude’s demeanour that started to cast a shadow over their time together. Summer couldn’t work out what had changed.

  They were taking Prinny for a walk along the cliffs one morning. Jude was in a particularly sullen, silent kind of mood.

  ‘Jude, come on. Please talk to me. What is it? You haven’t been right for days now. You have to talk to me. Maybe I can help?’

  Jude remained silent, but eventually he stopped and sat down on a nearby bench. ‘It’s nearly time . . .’ he mumbled.

  Summer felt instantly sick. Had his symptoms suddenly worsened? How had she not noticed?

  ‘Time to . . . ?’

  ‘To see the consultant again. Another scan and assessment. Ever since I met you I’ve tried not to think too much about the reality of it all, but when we drove to the flat the other day to pick up my post I saw I had a letter from the hospital. I read it while you made supper. Summer, I’m so afraid.’

  Summer felt an incredible sense of relief. ‘You must talk to me, you muppet!’ she said. ‘Of course you’re scared. It’s completely natural. When is it?’

  ‘Tomorrow.’

  ‘Then it’s nearly done,’ she told him and she gripped his hand. ‘Let’s keep really busy until then. Try not to think about it. Come on, let’s head back to Mandla and give Cat and Eddie a call. We could invite them round for dinner?’

  Jude smiled – a slightly slow and reluctant one, but a smile nonetheless. ‘Okay,’ he agreed with a sigh. ‘A barbecue? That’ll keep me busy.’

  ‘Ideal!’ Summer agreed. ‘It’s the perfect night for it too. I can’t believe how amazing the weather’s been since that very first day I arrived here.’

  ‘You’ve got a skewed vision of the place now,’ Jude told her as they walked back along the cliffs hand in hand, Prinny gambolling along in front, inadvertently tripping them up every couple of minutes. ‘It’s not always sunny, you know!’

  ‘Don’t believe you!’ Summer laughed, but the next day she experienced her first ever taste of what islanders called ‘the dreaded fog’.

  She woke early and, seeing Jude was finally sleeping after a restless night, she crept out of bed and went through to the kitchen to find Prinny and let him out. The dog was reluctant to move, but eventually hoisted his body out of the comfortable, cushiony bed and followed Summer obediently through the living room and on to the terrace. He scarpered off to the patch of green beyond to do his business and Summer soon lost sight of him in the murky conditions. She whistled and he came hobbling back, taking himself inside promptly while Summer remained on the terrace and breathed in the dense and misty atmosphere. It was spooky, suddenly having no view whatsoever. They were blanketed in grey. She soon realised there was little point in hanging around outside – not only was it cold and eerie, but it was quickly turning her hair into a frizz ball.

  When she returned inside, she found Jude in the kitchen.

  ‘The weather!’ she said. ‘It’s like pea soup out there!’

  ‘Ah, the dreaded fog. I hope my parents will be able to get in tomorrow. You know, there used to be a foghorn at the lighthouse to warn ships they were close to shallow reefs, but the powers-that-be decided it was unnecessary in this technological age. Shame, though, in a way. I can imagine there would have been something quite soothing about lying in bed here and listening to the foghorn sounding.’

  ‘I suppose all the ships have GPS and radar nowadays. Pity, though – I’d have liked to hear it. Now, remind me, what time’s the appointment today?’ she asked.

  Jude was now boiling the kettle and assembling two blue-and-white stripy mugs. Summer loved watching the way he made tea. It was one of her favourite things to do, observing the different way people set about making tea and then sampling the results, but with Jude it was particularly pleasing because, for a man who wasn’t remotely fastidious, he was extremely methodical about tea-making.

  ‘It’s at midday. Ages away. Shall we take Prinny for a walk, or do you think we’ll fall off the cliff in this weather?’

  ‘We’ll be all right. We know it like the backs of our hands now. Let’s go after breakfast.’

  They took their usual route, along the path behind the cottage and then up a series of steps to the cliffs – always good for the glutes. But the air was strange and moist – it seemed harder to get their breath – and when they reached the top, instead of a lovely view, they came face to face with a dead rabbit. Summer screamed as she nearly trod on it, and grabbed hold of Jude. The glassy eyes staring blindly up at them were horribly unnerving.

  ‘It all feels like a bad omen,’ Jude said eventually. ‘I don’t normally believe in all that sort of stuff but the weather, the rabbit . . . I’ve got this horrendous ball of dread sitting like a dead weight in my stomach. What if the tumour’s ballooned and I’ve only got weeks, or days even, to live? I’m not ready to go, Summer. I’m just not ready.’

  ‘Oh Jude! Come here,’ said Summer, pulling him into a hug. ‘Here,’ she said, reaching for the long necklace she always wore, pulling it off and looping it over Jude’s head.

  ‘What does it mean, the pendant?’ he asked.

  ‘It’s a Claddagh necklace. It represents love, loyalty and friendship. We
moved to Ireland when I was twelve, down near Wexford, and I made friends with a wonderful Irish girl – Ciara. When we left for America when I was fourteen, she gave me this. We’ve always stayed in contact. And the necklace has always brought me luck. It’s yours now.’

  Jude touched it. ‘I wondered about it . . . I thought maybe Seth had given it to you. It feels warm,’ he smiled. ‘The weight of it feels anchoring. It makes me feel better. Stronger.’

  Summer just wished she could offer him so much more.

  Jude reverted to a bag of nerves a couple of hours later, as he sat in the hospital waiting room and jiggled his leg up and down so much that another patient asked him if he’d mind cutting it out. In the end, Mr Vibert’s secretary appeared, looking kindly and sympathetic.

  ‘Would you like to follow me, Jude?’

  ‘Shall I come with you or stay here?’ Summer asked. She saw the answer in Jude’s eyes immediately. He didn’t want her with him when he received the news. ‘I’ll wait here,’ she said. ‘There’s a gossip magazine! I can read that. Jude, good luck,’ she said and she kissed him.

  The next hour was agonising. Summer flicked through the pages of the magazine without registering even the pictures, let alone the sycophantic narrative accompanying them.

  Then, all of a sudden, Jude reappeared in the waiting room, his face as white as a sheet. Summer’s heart sank into her toes. Oh shit.

  ‘What’s the news?’ she whispered.

  ‘Well, the bastard tumour’s there – the same as before. On the plus side, it hasn’t grown any larger at this stage, which the consultant’s putting down to the healthy lifestyle I’ve been living since I met you. I knew you were good for me, but I didn’t realise quite how good!’

  ‘Well, that’s great news!’ Summer smiled. ‘Does that change anything?’ she asked, hopefully.

  ‘Not in itself, no. He’s still giving me less than a year to live . . . Unless . . .’