by Jane Jesmond
‘Ay. They’ll want to know but there’s no sign of a break-in to the lantern room.’
‘Have you got the key for it?’ Nick asked.
Gregory pursed his lips.
‘No,’ he said. ‘I don’t have the key. Trinity House, see, they don’t want me poking around up there. I know that lantern better than anybody but they’d rather send out one of their technicians all the way from Plymouth if there’s a problem.’
‘Hello,’ Nick said, glancing at me. His voice was neutral. ‘I see Gregory has given you the mystery boot.’
‘No, Mr Crawford, I didn’t give it to her. She found the other one.’
‘It’s Nick, Gregory. Not Mr Crawford. And who is she? You might introduce us.’
Everything about him was light and pleasant. I was almost sure he hadn’t recognised me.
‘Oh ay. Forgot. She went away before you came here. This is Jenifry Hammett.’
For a moment, I thought about letting it go but I’d have to give my real name if the police asked me.
‘It’s not Hammett, it’s Shaw. You know that, Gregory.’ And to Nick Crawford, ‘Hammett is my mother’s name. My father’s is Shaw. Everybody here knows my mother. They forget I have a father too. And Jenifry’s a bit of a mouthful. Most people call me Jen.’
Nick’s expression didn’t change but I felt his gaze intensify as if someone had turned a bright light onto me while I waited to see what he’d do.
‘Jenifry.’ He said the syllables one by one. ‘It’s a very pretty name. Pleased to meet you. So your brother is the Kit Hammett who’s renovating Tregonna?’
‘Yes. He uses my mother’s name. It’s complicated.’
‘I can see that. You do seem quite a complicated person, Jen Shaw.’
I couldn’t read him. Not his face. Nor his body. His hands – the things that give most people away – were still and relaxed by his side. I told myself to watch out. He was a little bit too in control of himself but at least he hadn’t said anything in front of Gregory.’
‘How about you, Mr Crawford?’ I said with as much calmness as I could dredge up. ‘What brings you to our little community?’
‘Call me Nick,’ he said. ‘No one calls me Mr Crawford. And, anyway, I feel like I know you already.’
The corner of his mouth twitched as he spoke. Amusement? I thought so. I hoped so. His words were a gauntlet he’d thrown down, lying between us, tempting me to play. Despite everything, I felt my lips curve in an answering smile. Playing with Mr Crawford would be fun. No doubt about that. A whisper of curiosity about him distracted me from the worry he might give me away.
More feet on the gravel and this time it was the policeman. As the uniform approached I realised I knew him. Knew him very well. Shit, double shit and super double shit. Talan Rashleigh. The boy with the whitest of white blond hair at school. Kit’s friend, Talan. And my first boyfriend. My boyfriend for a long time. Two years and eight months, to be exact. He’d seen me through the crappiest period of my life. Well, the crappiest period until now. I was fourteen when Kit went to university and Pa left on another expedition. It took me a while to realise he wasn’t coming back. I don’t remember how long. I only remember the emptiness in Tregonna when it was just me and Ma trying to be a family. By the time I was fifteen I was desperate to get away. Talan was my escape. Crammed into a little cottage, his parents were lovely to me, and Talan, with his love of the countryside, his exploring, his shooting and his walking, had half-filled the gap left by Kit. I repaid Talan for all of his kindness and patience and love by leaving as soon as I was eighteen, when Kit asked me to come to London to help him set up Skyhooks, his specialist rigging company. I hadn’t seen Talan since.
‘Talan,’ I called out straightaway, walking towards him, letting him recognise me before he reached the others. I owed him that at the very least.
He was startled. I could tell from the falter in his purposeful trudge and the sudden flattening of his features. His face never had much colour and I remember him burning on the mildest of sunny days. He said it was because he came from a long line of miners who never saw the sun. Now he’d seen me his cheeks were tinted pink, though the skin around his mouth was white as if the blood had been pressed out of it.
I babbled to cover the moment.
‘Talan! How lovely to see you. And you’re a policeman here, now. When did that happen? How’s your mother? And Kelly?’
Talan didn’t call his sister Kelly. Like me, she had a Cornish name she’d adapted when she moved to London, but right now I couldn’t for the life of me remember what it was.
‘Fancy running into you today,’ I babbled on. ‘I was on my way to see Kit and Sofija. And Ma, of course. Have you seen them recently?’
I sounded like the kind of gushy girl I hate but it gave Talan time to get hold of himself and as I stumbled on, he lifted a hand to stop me.
‘I was just speaking to Kit,’ he said. ‘He’s in the village but he said he’d call in to see if Gregory needs a hand. He didn’t say you were coming down.’ And then he smiled. ‘Mum went to live near her sister in Padstow and Kelynen has come home. It’s nice to see you, Jen.’ And he walked past me to the others.
I considered my options. Make my excuses and leave before Kit got here? It was hardly the ideal setting for a family reunion. Except Talan would be sure to tell him he’d seen me and that would be worse. Better to stay and tough it out. Stay calm and not let Kit provoke me into anger. Although I wasn’t feeling very tough or calm. Yet, if I went, I’d never find out what Gregory and Nick were going to tell Talan about last night.
I stumbled after Talan, wincing as the loose stones slapped the sore patches on my feet. They were discussing the door when I joined them, their shoulders hunched against the breeze.
‘It wouldn’t have taken much to break it. The wood’s rotten.’ This was Nick.
‘Ay. It’s needed replacing for years.’
Talan peered inside. ‘You’ve washed the floor, Gregory.’
‘It was dirty.’
Talan sighed. ‘Have you polished the handrail too?’ The bite of his words surprised me.
‘You wouldn’t have got anything useful from it,’ Nick said. ‘Think how many visitors there’ve been.’
‘Never mind. Did you find anything?’
‘The boot,’ Nick said. ‘He found the boot.’ He pointed to the boot in my arms.
‘No, she found that one. Outside, wasn’t it, Jenifry?’ Gregory opened the chest at the bottom of the steps and brought out my other boot. ‘I found this one inside. Up on the viewing platform.’
Now I understood what Gregory had been going on about earlier. All that talk about pairs. My brain was mush, I thought. How had I managed to lose one boot on the platform floor? Luckily no one knew they were mine because I could really do without being arrested for breaking and entering.
Talan held out his hand for the boot.
‘Small, isn’t it? Maybe youngsters?’ he said.
They all looked down at their feet except me.
‘What happened exactly?’ I asked.
‘Someone broke into the lighthouse last night. Smashed the bottom door and left the top one unbolted. Mud everywhere but it was a foul night. Whoever it was left their boots behind,’ Nick said. And he looked at my feet. Had he noticed they were bare last night?
‘How strange,’ I said. ‘Why would anyone break in? There’s nothing to steal, is there?’ I forced myself to meet Nick’s eyes, but they were as hard and smooth as marble and I couldn’t penetrate his look.
‘It’s not the first time you’ve reported a break-in, Gregory,’ Talan said.
‘Me?’ Gregory looked surprised. ‘I’ve never done such a thing.’
‘Not a break-in exactly. But people on the viewing platform.’
‘Oh that. It was nothing. A mistake. It’s not
easy to see what’s up there. Not when the beam’s shining in your eyes.’
Nick and Talan looked at him. Exasperation appeared on Talan’s face; I still couldn’t read Nick’s expression.
‘Not what you said at the time, Gregory,’ Talan continued. ‘We had a patrol car going past the lighthouse every hour for a few nights because of your report.’
‘Really?’ I said. ‘Wasn’t that a bit excessive? For a few kids having a bit of fun.’
Talan turned to me and I nearly laughed. He looked like a caricature of a policeman. Sort of ponderous and self-important.
‘A couple of bodies washed up near here around the same time, so we were taking reports of anything strange very seriously. Not that we don’t always take every report very seriously. Especially a report of unauthorised people in a dangerous building.’
He gave me a meaningful look which I tried to make sense of, but couldn’t. Then, clearly thinking he’d put me in my place, turned back to Gregory.
‘My tarp,’ Gregory said.
‘Pardon?’ Nick said.
‘Stole my tarp, they did. It was over the map thing up there. The buggers took it. And the bit of rope I used to tie it on.’
‘A blue tarpaulin?’ Nick asked.
I looked at the low ceiling of clouds and the wind-tossed grasses and the cuts on my hands and thought of the tarpaulin, too big to leave in the hotel bathroom and stuffed in the boot of my car.
‘Ay, blue.’
‘That rings a bell. Where have I seen a blue tarpaulin recently?’
I gave him a quick glance and he raised his eyebrows at me.
Talan interrupted.
‘It’s a common colour for a tarpaulin, Mr Crawford. I don’t imagine they broke in to take it. Sounds like some local kids taking the mick. But you were right to phone us. The lighthouse is still important for local shipping.’
‘Still?’ I said.
‘GPS,’ Talan said. ‘Most people use GPS.’
Gregory muttered something sour under his breath.
‘I’ll take a quick look upstairs, though.’
‘It doesn’t look as if the door to the lantern room has been messed with,’ Nick said. ‘Gregory and I checked it before I came to the station.’
‘Ay.’
‘I’ll make sure, and someone from Trinity House’ll be along later too. They’ll have to check inside.’ He filled his lungs and took hold of the stair rail, then turned to Nick. ‘Was it you or Gregory who discovered the break-in?’
‘Gregory.’
Talan waited. He waited for Nick Crawford to explain what he’d been doing at the lighthouse. It was a policeman’s tactic. How funny. Talan is a proper policeman. For a short moment I thought Nick wasn’t going to answer. Then he narrowed his eyes and spoke.
‘I was out early this morning,’ he said. ‘Went for a run in the car to get some bread in Craighston.’ I snatched a quick look at him but he was focussed on Talan. ‘And on my way back, I stopped at the lighthouse. For a quick walk. And to call in on Gregory. He’d just found the door broken so we had a look round together and then I went to the station. It seemed a bit over the top to call 999.’
‘What did you find?’
‘Nothing really. The boot, like we said, and the stairs were wet and muddy. The door had been splintered round the lock, but it wouldn’t have taken much to do it.’
I was sure Nick had put two and two together and realised the strange woman he’d met the night before had come from the lighthouse.
‘Do you often stop by the lighthouse?’
The suspicion in Talan’s voice surprised me. I knew Nick Crawford hadn’t told him everything but I couldn’t see why Talan doubted him.
‘Ay, he does.’ This was Gregory.
‘Gregory makes a good cup of morning tea.’ Nick added.
It was enough for Talan and he started up the stairs. He was not as fit as he could be, I noticed, and he took his time.
We waited in silence. Each of us, I thought, wanted one of the others to leave. I wanted Nick to go, so I could finish questioning Gregory. Nick, I guessed, wanted Gregory to go so he could question me. And Gregory? I didn’t know. Symmetry would suggest he wanted me to go, but actually I thought he wanted all of us to go and leave him in peace. By the time Talan came down, the silence between us had solidified.
‘Doesn’t look as though they tried to get into the lantern room. Did you see or hear anything last night, Gregory?’
‘Nope.’
‘Nothing whatsoever? You didn’t hear them breaking the door down?’
‘Nope.’
‘The door’s the other side of the lighthouse from the cottage,’ Nick said. ‘And the walls are thick.’
‘And you, Mr Crawford, did you see anything unusual? Maybe you were out and about getting some fresh air last night.’
I held my rib cage still, waiting for his answer.
‘No,’ Nick replied. ‘Not a thing. But then I didn’t go out. Who would if they didn’t have to? In a storm like that?’
I breathed.
‘Jen?’
I stared at Talan and I realised I was being asked to account for myself too. Shit. I’d have to lie, too.
‘No, nothing, Talan. Knew nothing about it. I popped by this morning to see Gregory. On my way home.’
‘You drove up from London overnight?’
‘No, I drove up yesterday. But I stayed at The Seagull. Tired, you know. And I couldn’t get hold of Kit.’
Talan switched his weight from one foot to the other and back again. He wanted to leave but something was keeping him there.
‘Walk with me to the car, Jen,’ he said in the end. ‘And tell me what you’ve been up to. It’s been a long time.’
The path was too narrow to walk side by side so I trailed after him, trying to put a spring into my step although my muscles ached. We stopped at his car. He cleared his throat.
‘Jen, this is awkward –’
I interrupted him. ‘I know and I’m sorry. I should have kept in touch. I always meant to call… or write.’ I skirted round the memory of all the times he’d called and I hadn’t answered. ‘It was a bad time. You know. It wasn’t you. It was everything about here.’
He dismissed my words with short wave of his hand.
‘Not that, Jen. Water under the bridge. Although I was relieved when Kelynen met up with you in London. Told me how happy you were working at Kit’s company. But that’s not what I meant. No. What are you doing here in Craighston? Kit didn’t tell me you were coming when I saw him this morning.’
‘It was a spur of the moment thing. You know how I am.’
‘You’re not here for any other reason than to see the family? Don’t get me wrong, I’m glad you’re here, finally. It’s been tough for Kit trying to sort out the mess your mother’s made of Tregonna. I think you could have made more of an effort to help.’ I was speechless. Talan had it so wrong. ‘Family’s important, Jen. And I know Kit needs you at Tregonna. So it worries me that you stayed in The Seagull last night. Were you really coming to see Kit?’
Now he’d lost me. What other reason could there be?
‘You hadn’t come to go climbing?’ he asked.
He had all my attention now.
‘Climbing all sorts of things,’ he continued. ‘Cliffs and such-like of course, but also quarries and mine towers. And perhaps, now, lighthouses…’
He knew, I thought. He knew about the Game.
Time went backwards. A ribbon of images unfurled in my head. Snapshots of different moments of different climbs. Dawn light on the sea cliffs at Cribba Head. A clump of pink flowering thrift clinging to a cleft on the face above Bodrigan. Turning three hundred and sixty degrees on top of a granite spire near Land’s End and seeing nothing but sea and sky all the way round. I couldn’t spe
ak. I could only stare at Talan and open my eyes wide to hold in the tears.
There were four of us. Grid, Vince, Ricky and me. We took it in turns to decide where to go, but it was mainly Cornwall as Vince and Ricky lived in Plymouth. There was nothing much to the Game, really. Just climbing. One person chose the place and the others had to climb it. No matter what. No matter how. At first, the one who chose the climb checked it out, but later, as we grew more reckless, we went up stuff none of us knew anything about. Picked at random. Pure climbing, we called it. As if not knowing there was a way up made it somehow better.
I’ll let you into a secret.
It did.
There’s nothing like it. The first tingle of anticipation as you stand at the bottom of something completely unknown. Your palms moisten and the thoughts spill out of your mind, leaving it empty and waiting for your eyes and ears and skin to tell it about the rock. And every sense is keener. Every little thing is more real than normal. The tiny catch in Vince’s breathing as he stares up the face is louder and the colours and shapes are stronger and sharper, like a picture that’s just snapped into focus. Up we went. We always reached the top. Sometimes it would be easy and then I’d feel cheated. Secretly. And despite all the high-fiving and fist-bumping, we all felt the same. Something was missing if you didn’t experience just once that heart-pounding, adrenalin rinse when your feet slipped on the tiny ledge you were balancing on, when the next hold needed an awkward leap above a sheer drop or when the edge you’d grasped splintered beneath your fingers. There’s nothing like it and nothing like afterwards when the adrenalin drains out of your body and a kind of calm purrs through in its place. That was what the Game was all about. That feeling.
And nothing else came close.
At first, it was cliffs and mountain faces and quarries. The mine towers and other man-made ruins came later and I regret them. Even at the time they didn’t satisfy me. They’re dead stone. They don’t work with you. Or against you. No fight in them. Bricks held in crumbling mortar, and the only excitement is not knowing whether they’ll hold or not.