Meet Me at the Lighthouse Read online

  “Yeah, come on, Jess,” I said, sipping my tea. “You can’t leave it for the bloody wedding day, you know.”

  “Oi.” Jess shot me a warning look. “No wedding talk. Let the boy handle one scary thing at a time.”

  “Still. You’ll have to do it one day.”

  Jess sighed. “All right, I guess it is time.” She turned to Gareth. “Have you got any strong booze at home? Whisky, brandy?”

  “Er… got some peach Schnapps from my sister’s cocktail party, any good?”

  She shrugged. “If that’s the best you can do. Have a couple of stiff ones before our Bobbie’s music festival next month, we’ll do it then. You’ll be safer in a crowd.”

  Gareth frowned. “Be a bit loud, won’t it? I won’t be able to hear a word she says.”

  “Fingers crossed, eh?”

  Chapter 18

  “Ross Mason playing his guitar for me naked. Think I had this dream once when I was 17.”

  We were in bed at Ross’s flat, having what we’d rather creatively decided to call a planning session for our festival fundraiser. Ross was cradling his guitar against his bare chest, getting ready to play me the charity single he’d written.

  He cocked an eyebrow. “Once?”

  I smiled. “Ok, a few times. What’s the song called?”

  “Dark Sentinel.”

  “Oh.” I rolled the title around in my head. “Yeah, I like it. Sort of sad though.”

  “The lyrics are a bit wistful. Optimistic too though, I hope.”

  I saw his normal, smiling Ross face change into his full-of-feeling singing face as he started the song. He was caressing the guitar softly with the same fingers that half an hour ago had played over my body just as skilfully, coaxing sweet, soft notes out of the strings just like he always could out of me.

  …Watchman for the lost

  In ruthless waters, weary-crossed

  Sons and daughters, tempest-tossed

  Were starred to shelter, hugged to home again…

  The song seemed to channel all our feelings about the lighthouse, everything it had been, was, would be; all it had meant to the boatmen, the keepers, the town. As I watched Ross’s face flicker with emotion and felt those deep, smooth tones quiver through me, I realised I was blinking back tears.

  …Guardian of the light

  Through grizzled dusk and deadly dark

  The shattered husk once more will spark:

  A spire of hope against the setting sun…

  “That was beautiful,” I said softly when he’d finished. “See? You made me cry.”

  He brushed a tear from the corner of my eye. “Wasn’t that bad, was it?”

  “It was perfect.” I managed to push the tears back and smile. “You’re a sentimental git under your jokes and your Razzle collection, aren’t you?”

  He tossed his head affectedly. “I was merely born with the deep, tortured soul of a poet, darling.”

  “All right, Lord bloody Byron. Is one’s artistic temperament above a kiss for one’s girlfriend?”

  “Never.” He leaned over to kiss me. “So you really like it?”

  “I really do. How do we get it up on iTunes, do you know?”

  “Travis knows a guy with a recording studio, he’s offered to help me sort it,” he said, putting his guitar down at the side of the bed.

  I shook my head. “Only Edwardian Trav could have a carpentry guy, a recording studio guy and a porno guy side by side in his contacts book. So will you sing that at the festival?”

  “Dunno, Bobbie, you honestly think I should play?” he asked, looking doubtful. “We’ve got some really good acts lined up.”

  “Yep, including you. And I’m not taking no for an answer.” I pursed my lips. “See this? Bossy face. I’m boycotting any music festival that doesn’t have a Ross Mason on the bill.”

  He tweaked my ear. “Cheers, love.”

  “What for?”

  “Believing in me. Kicking me out of my comfort zone.”

  “Well, you’re a talented boy,” I said, blushing. “And I promise I’m not just saying that because of all the orgasms recently.”

  “Bet you are. But thanks.”

  “So what’s next on the agenda?” I asked.

  “Actually, you just gave me an idea about that.” He leaned over to nibble my ear.

  I giggled and pushed him away. “None of that. Planning first, sex for pudding.”

  “Meanie.” He reached for his document wallet. “Fine, let’s tally volunteers then.”

  “All right, who’d you get?”

  He fished out a list of names. “My mum and dad, Judy from the post office –”

  “Ha. Only coz she fancies you.”

  “Yeah, had to wiggle my arse like a right tart to get that one. It was like an x-rated Postman Pat in there. Pension day as well.”

  I looked up from the notepad I’d started taking notes on. “You trying to turn me on?”

  “Always. Although I’m a bit disturbed that the image of me gyrating in a room full of OAPs gets you going.”

  “The pensioners are optional, if it makes you feel better. Who else then?”

  “Chris from my old band says he’ll be a steward if he can have a slot to perform his new single –”

  “Oh God, no.”

  “What? You’ve heard him, he’s not bad these days.”

  “If you like feeling depressed,” I said. “I don’t want herds of goths clambering up the barriers trying to chuck themselves into the sea, thanks.”

  “I can ask him to keep it light. Up the tempo or something.”

  “Right. And what’s it called?”

  “Er… Death is the New Black.”

  “Yeah. Stick a drum beat on it, they’ll be dancing in the aisles.” I shook my head. “Sorry, Ross, no go. Tell him he can play a cover if he wants. Anyone else?”

  “The usual conscripts. My brothers, Andy from the Crown, couple of his mates who said they’d man the bar. Oh, and Travis said he’d help if we let him distribute flyers for The Cellar.”

  I curled my lip. “Won’t be on the letch again, will he?”

  “Probably, but he’ll be handy to have on board. He’s got a van, for one thing. Anyway, you know you think he’s funny.”

  “Ugh. All right. Is that it for you?”

  “Yeah. Who’ve you got?”

  “Well, Jess, obviously. Her boyfriend Gareth, my mum, some of the youth club kids to help set up; oh, and a bouncer I know said he’d lend us some lads for security.”

  “Reckon that’s enough then?”

  “Yep, that makes 14.” I looked up from the notepad. “Hey. Aren’t we forgetting something important?”

  “You haven’t kissed me in ten minutes?”

  “That too.” I leant forward to rectify the situation with a snog. “Mm. Watch the hands, gropey, we’re not done. The other thing is, what’re we going to call this? We need to make a start on publicity. It’ll have to be something good, really hook ’em.”

  “Well, we’re both writers. Sure we can think of something.” He squinted one eye thoughtfully.

  “So, you got anything?” I asked when he’d sat in silence for a while.

  “Yeah, the horn. Shouldn’t have kissed me first, should you?”

  I shook my head, smiling. “You’re terrible. Come on, we can’t call it The Randy Git Benefit Concert.”

  He shrugged. “Worked for The Monkees.”

  I ignored him and started idly sketching the lighthouse’s shape on my notepad. “Ok, how about… Festival of Light?”

  “Bit obvious. Erm… Lighthousapalooza?”

  “You still got the horn?”

  “Yeah.”

  “You can tell, it’s sapping your writing skills.” Suddenly a lightbulb dinged in the back of my brain. “Ooh! Got it.”

  “What, the horn? Awesome.”

  I batted away the hands that had reached to embrace me. “Look, stop feeling me up for five minutes so we can name this bastard
, can you? I’ve got the perfect thing.”

  “Go on then, blow me away.”

  “Ok, drum roll please.”

  Ross beat an obedient patter on the duvet until I held up my hand for silence. “Ladies and gents, I give you… Little Stick of Rock and Roll.”

  He squinted one eye. “Meaning the lighthouse, yeah?”

  “Yep.”

  “Ok, that is pretty good,” he admitted.

  “Ta. Since you’re kind enough to say so, you can have another kiss.”

  “Your fundraiser planning skills are second to none. Also your hair is nice.”

  “Um, thanks,” I said. “What was that in aid of?”

  “Thought it might get me a feel of your boobs as well.”

  “Oh. Well you thought right, love. Help yourself.”

  Giggling, I let Ross pull me to him and planning was forgotten in the tangled joy of our two naked bodies.

  Chapter 19

  “Those bastards have been up with their spray paint again,” I said to Ross as we walked up to the lighthouse a few days later, nodding to a fresh sliver of graffiti standing out against the old wooden door in the distance.

  “They’ve ripped the thermometer too.” Ross pointed to the laminated diagram we’d stuck up showing our fundraising total. It was torn down the middle and flapping forlornly in the wind. “Little buggers need a slap.”

  I squinted at the door. There was something else, something not right…

  Ross looked too, and I saw his eyes suddenly widen in horror. The next minute we were running as fast as we could towards the lighthouse.

  “Jesus, Bobbie,” Ross whispered. He pushed at the door, not needing the key. The lock had been forced, and the wood was creaking in the breeze.

  I followed him in to examine the damage.

  God, it was devastating. The floor was strewn with empty beer bottles, broken glass and cigarette ends. A puddle of vomit was giving off a rancid smell and the two windows nearest the ground had been shattered. But worst of all, the freshly painted walls were covered in graffiti, as far up as they’d been able to reach.

  “Thank Christ we didn’t leave the ladder for the lantern room, they’d have trashed the speakers as well,” Ross muttered darkly.

  I turned tear-filled eyes to him. “This is a disaster! What the fuck do we do, Ross?”

  He slumped against the door frame. “I don’t know,” he whispered. “I don’t know. After everything we did, the community…” He shook his head, suddenly angry. “God, we should’ve seen this coming, that door’s needed replacing for ages. Bloody idiots, the pair of us.”

  I felt the tears start to seep out and swallowed hard.

  “Ross, the festival… we’ll have to postpone.”

  “What?” He turned to me, and I saw his eyes had water in them too. “No, Bobbie. All the acts have been booked, deposits paid, everything! We can’t go back on it now.”

  I gave a bleak laugh. My head felt weightless, balloon-like, as if this wasn’t quite real.

  “We’ve only got a few weeks. There’s no way we can get this sorted in time. No choice: we have to cancel.” I gave in to heaving sobs and drooped against the arm he’d slipped round me. “Oh God, why would anyone do this?” I gasped. “They’ve ruined everything.”

  Ross planted a gentle kiss on top of my head. “Don’t give up yet. We can fix it. Team Lighthouse, eh?”

  “No, it’s no good. It’s… too much.” I could feel panic rising, threatening to black me out, and the smell of vomit was churning my stomach. “Oh God, oh my God… I have to get out of here, have to… sorry, Ross, I need to go.”

  I pulled myself away from him and ran out of the door, all the way to the cottage, sobbing as if my heart might splinter.

  ***

  “Thought I might find you here.”

  Jess took a seat on the swing next to mine and started swaying gently.

  I ignored her. I was staring at the little boat Ross had given me, which I’d set on the ground in front of the swing so I’d have something to gaze miserably at while I wallowed. There was a steady drizzle and my top was soaked through. I barely felt it.

  “Still moping?” Jess asked.

  “Yep.”

  “Hungover again?”

  “Yep.”

  She stretched an arm around my shoulders, stilling my swing. “Come on, sis, it’s been two days. This isn’t like you. When there’s a problem you look for a solution, then boss everyone about until it’s sorted. You don’t just give up.”

  “That’s the thing, Jessie.” I turned to sob into her arm. “I don’t think there is an easy solution this time. You should’ve seen the state of the place. God, it feels like we’re almost right back where we started.”

  She patted my head. “Then you just have to roll up your sleeves and sort it, don’t you? You’ve come too far to leave it now.”

  “It’ll take forever. And the festival… it’s ruined everything.”

  I stared blankly at the boat, the little faceless fisherman heading back to shore with his catch. There’d have been a real fisherman back in the day, in his sou’wester and hat, looking to the lighthouse for guidance through choppy waters just like in Ross’s song.

  It made me think about the place’s history, what it had been when it was still a baby lighthouse. I could picture it back in the thirties, Ross’s Great-Great-Great Uncle Wilf – was that enough greats? – sending out a huge spotlight to warn boats away from the deadly crags. How many lives had it saved that would’ve been dashed to pieces on the cliff? Poor old lighthouse.

  “And what does Ross say?” Jess said.

  “I don’t know, I haven’t spoken to him since it happened.”

  “What? Why?”

  “He’s been ringing me, but… I can’t face it, not yet. It’ll make it too real.”

  “You’re doing it again, aren’t you? Hiding from something that scares you, just like you’ve been doing with that bloody novel of yours for the past year.” Jess nodded to my jeans pocket, where my mobile was stashed. “Call him,” she said. “You’re partners. When there’s a problem with the lighthouse you fix it together.”

  “Maybe that’s what’s so upsetting, Jessie.” I choked back a sob. “The lighthouse goes with me and him, somehow. Seeing it like that… I don’t know, it’s silly. All of a sudden I had this sickening feeling, like it’s an omen or something. Like I might lose him.”

  “Don’t be daft.” She got up off her swing. “Right, you’ve moped enough. Come walk Monty Dog with me, clear your head. Then you can ring Ross.”

  “Don’t want to,” I said, sticking out my bottom lip. “Leave me, I’m staring at my boat. Got a lot of important boat-staring to do.”

  “It wasn’t a suggestion, I’m telling you that’s what’s going to happen. Up.”

  “Nope. Fine here, thanks.”

  “Don’t make me set Mum on you.”

  I rolled my eyes. “Ugh. All right, I’m coming. Hate you.”

  She smiled. “You don’t though. Grab your little toy and let’s go.”

  On the ground the little boat rocked lightly, as if buoyed by invisible waves.

  ***

  An hour later Jess and I were following a yipping, frisking Monty along the pebbled beach. I was trying to avoid looking at the lighthouse; pretending it didn’t exist so I could let the sea air clear my head unmolested by bitter thoughts.

  Jess nudged me. “What’s going on up on the cliff? Looks like a gang of people there.”

  I forced my eyes up. There was a crowd gathered around the lighthouse. Touching it. Touching my lighthouse.

  “Oh my God!” I exploded. “They’re back to do more damage, aren’t they? Why can’t they leave the poor thing alone?”

  “Bobbie, wait!”

  But I was already running for the cliff steps, Monty at my heels, determined to give whoever was up there the bollocking of their lives.

  When I reached the lighthouse I froze in my tracks.


  “Told you… I’d get her… here,” Jess panted as she came up behind me.

  Ross was painting over a patch of graffiti with a crowd of others, some I recognised from our painting party and some I’d never seen before. There must have been 50 or 60 people, painting and scrubbing like their lives depended on it.

  I stared at them. “What’s going on, Ross?”

  He smiled, a warm smile that filled his face. “I made a few calls. Got a party together to blitz the damage. Nothing’s impossible if we all pitch in, right?”

  “You were able to get all these people here at such short notice?”

  “Yep. Contacted the heads of the big local groups and asked them to email their members. People were queueing up to help when they heard what’d happened.” He nodded to a man touching up one of the lighthouse’s red swirls a little distance away. “Even him.”

  I blinked. “Langford?”

  “Yep. Think he’s finally realised opposing something as popular as the lighthouse project isn’t a wise career move.”

  I just stared, feeling dazed.

  “Come with me,” Ross said. “There’s a friend of yours here.”

  He took my elbow and led me to a man in his thirties painting out a streak of blue graffiti.

  “Zaheer?”

  He smiled at me. “Hi, Miss Hannigan. Strange seeing you outside college.”

  “I told you, it’s just Bobbie. What’re you doing here?”

  He nodded at Ross. “Better ask him.”

  I turned to Ross, wordlessly demanding an explanation.

  “I phoned Zaheer yesterday to ask if his company wanted to support the lighthouse project,” Ross said. “He’s going to be our official festival sponsor.”

  Zaheer had been in my A-Level English class for nearly a year now. Most of my students were adults who for one reason or another had missed out on the traditional qualifications and come back to them later in life: some with ambitions of going on to uni or improving their employment prospects; others just for fun, to broaden their minds. I knew Zaheer was in the “just for fun” camp and that he owned his own company, but I’d never asked him what it actually did.