Meet Me at the Lighthouse Read online

  Ross sighed. “Fine, I’ll do it. It can’t be as terrifying as the other ordeal your evil daughter put me through today.”

  He grabbed a biro off my notepad, stood and clinked it against his wine glass for attention. The buzz of chatter died down as all eyes turned to him.

  “Er, right.” He gave the expectant team a little wave. “Um, unaccustomed as I am to public wotsit and all that jazz, I’d like to say, on behalf of me and Bobbie…” He looked down at me. “What would I like to say on behalf of us?”

  “Thanks for your support?”

  “Right. Thanks for your support.” He looked at me again. “Prompt?” There was a ripple of laughter around the table.

  “Ugh. You suck.” I pulled him back into his seat and stood to take his place. “Sorry about him, he used up his inspiration when he was performing.” I beamed round at everyone. “So on behalf of him and me, or in order of importance me and him, thanks for all your hard work. The event was a huge success and you should all raise a glass to yourselves.” I waved my wine at them. “A toast to wonderful Cragport and its wonderful people, always there when you need them.”

  There was a chorus of cheers and glasses chinking.

  Ross turned to his dad, seated next to our Jess bagging pound coins for the bank. “Any news on how much we’ve raised, treasurer?”

  Keith smiled – actually smiled, a Cragport first, which meant we must’ve done well. “After expenses I’ve counted £823 on merchandise, £3362 on refreshments and £3000 on tickets. Once you’ve paid for everything you’ll have over seven grand, lad.”

  “Bloody hell.” Ross blinked a few times. “I mean… bloody hell.”

  “Is that enough to install your bar then?” Jess said.

  “Yeah, and some. With the fundraising money donated by the schools and youth club it’ll cover screens too. Um… wow.” He smiled round at our little team. “Well, thanks, everyone. We couldn’t have done it without you.”

  “So what’s next, guys?” Jess asked.

  “The biggest thing: balconies,” I said. “Still waiting to hear from the lottery, but we’re pretty optimistic.” I beamed at Ross. “At this rate, we’ll be ready to open in autumn.”

  “Well, I hope you’re both proud of yourselves.” Richie, the guy from the Clean Beaches Association who’d been at our paint party, raised his glass. “May I be the first to propose three cheers for Bobbie and Ross, saviours of the lighthouse? We all know how hard they’ve worked.”

  I blushed with embarrassment and pride as cheers echoed around the pub. Under the table, Ross’s hand gripped mine. It was hard to believe that for a mad drunken suggestion made nearly five months ago, the end was finally in sight.

  Chapter 26

  My summer holiday lie-in the following Thursday was cut short by the buzzing of my mobile on the bedside table. I fumbled for it, hoping it wasn’t Alex – he’d been trying to call me ever since the festival, but after what happened that day he was the last person I wanted to speak to. The bruises on my arm were only just starting to fade.

  But it wasn’t Alex, it was Ross.

  “Hi, love,” I said brightly. “Listen, have you got time to read through the press release I wrote about the festival? I want to get it out asap with some of the photos.”

  “Ok.” He sounded quiet. My brow furrowed when I heard him stifle a sob.

  “Hey,” I said softly. “What’s up? Claire, did she –”

  “Not Claire.” He choked back another sob. “Charlie’s gone.”

  “Gone? Where’s he –” I broke off as my woozy morning head wrapped itself round what he meant. “Oh… no. I’m so sorry, sweetheart.”

  I paused to let it sink in. Charlie Mason… well, he was an old man, we’d all known it had to come. But so suddenly, no warning. News like that always felt like a tree trunk to the gut.

  And poor Ross. He’d been closer to Charlie than anyone. I willed myself calm, determined to help him through it.

  “When did it happen?” I asked, making my voice as gentle as I could.

  “In his sleep, last night. My mum found him.” He made a strangled noise in his throat. “I’ll miss him so much, Bobbie. Loved that old bugger.”

  “I know you did, lamb. Want me to come over?”

  “Yes please.” He paused to get his tears under control. “I mean, I knew he wouldn’t be around forever, but it doesn’t make it any easier knowing he’s not coming back. And now there’s the funeral to organise.”

  “You don’t have to do that, do you? What about your dad?”

  “That tight git? He’d stick the old man in a cardboard box and wash his hands of it. No, I won’t have it done on the cheap.” His trembling voice was laced with determination. “I want to give Uncle Charlie the send-off he deserves. He was like a grandad to me.”

  “You’re a good boy, aren’t you?” I said gently. “Let me know if I can help.”

  “I will. Thanks, Bobbie.”

  I sighed. If he was set on covering funeral costs himself, it was time to talk about something that’d been heavy on my mind for a while.

  “Look, Ross. That 20 grand we put aside for emergencies – I want you to take your half back. You need it to live on while you’re waiting for the flat sale, especially with this to pay for too.”

  “What? No, Bobbie. We’re partners, we’re doing this together.”

  “Please. I want you to.”

  “Absolutely not,” he said, his tone firm. “You think Charlie would want me spending the money for Annie’s lighthouse on his funeral?”

  “But you need it.”

  “I don’t, honestly,” Ross said. “The cash from those big jobs I’ve had on’ll cover it. Look, I’ll see you soon for a cuddle, eh? Bye.”

  ***

  The sun blazed a joyous canary yellow and magnolia hazed the air the day we laid Charlie Mason next to his beloved Annie in Cragport Cemetery. And that seemed right, somehow.

  When Ross and I arrived at church, holding hands tightly, I could see through the open doors the place was heaving. For all his oddities, the grumpy trawlerman with the pipe and smoking jacket had been well-liked around town.

  Charlie’s closest relatives – Ross’s parents and his Aunt Lucy – were flanking the huge oak-and-iron doors, receiving cards and condolences from mourners. I was surprised to see Claire too, handing out Order of Service cards next to Molly Mason.

  “What’s she doing there?” I muttered to Ross.

  “My mum asked her. Glad they’re looking after each other, Dad’ll be bugger all use.”

  “Shouldn’t it be you though? You organised it.”

  “I couldn’t face it. Don’t think I could keep… you know.” He gulped back a sob, and I gave his hand a comforting squeeze. “Mum and Dad said they’d take condolences and I’m doing the eulogy.”

  When we reached the family group, Ross’s dad Keith was looking the same amount of slapped-arse miserable as any other day, but his wife’s eyes were red and swollen.

  “So sorry, Molly love,” I said when I’d given her a hug, handing over the With Sympathy card we’d brought. “We’ll all miss him.”

  “Thanks, Bobbie.” She summoned a watery smile and patted my arm. “He’ll be up there roistering with your grandad like old times, I bet.”

  I smiled back. “Yeah, the two of them’ll have drunk the ghost of Oliver Reed under the table by now. Pair of delinquents.”

  She managed a weak laugh. “Well, thanks for coming. Your mum and Jess are in there already.” She jerked her head towards Ross, just behind me talking to his Aunt Lucy. “And look after our youngest, eh? It’s hardest for him; he’s never lost anyone he loved before. Not that it gets any easier, no matter how many you bury.” She pinched her eyes closed for a second.

  Claire, talking to an elderly lady ahead of me, heard Molly sob and stretched an arm around her. “You ok?” she asked gently. “Me and Keith can handle this if you want to take a break.”

  “No… I’m fine. Than
ks, Claire.” Molly flashed her an affectionate smile.

  I’d been avoiding giving my attention to Claire until I had to. I wasn’t quite sure how to talk to her, after what happened at the festival, but I was determined to be polite. Ross was upset enough without any additional drama.

  I plastered on a fixed smile as I shuffled down the line, leaving Ross and his mum to share a hug. There was an awkward pause while each of us waited for the other to open the conversation.

  “Hi again, Bobbie,” Claire said eventually with an embarrassed smile. Nice to know she could remember my name when it suited her. “Um… did you know Uncle Charlie then?”

  “Yes, quite well,” I said, forcing myself to hold eye contact. “He was best friends with my grandad.”

  “Oh. Bert, was it?”

  “Er, yeah.” God, when it came to Ross’s family she knew everything, apparently. “Did you meet him?”

  “No, but Charlie talked about him all the time. Sounds like they were a right pair of hellraisers in the day. Well, I’m sorry.” She shot me a significant look. “And I’m sorry. Really.”

  I got it. One sorry for Charlie, one for me. She was apologising for her behaviour at the festival.

  I didn’t quite know how to respond to that, given the feelings she obviously still had for Ross, but it wasn’t really the day to be doing a Dear Deirdre about our relationship issues. I smiled weakly.

  “Cheers, Claire,” I said. “It’s good of you to look after the family. We appreciate it, me and Ross.”

  She winced, but made a brave effort to repress. “You and Ross… right. Thanks.”

  Had that sounded bad? No need to rub her face in it. God, was I the bitch now? This stuff was all confusing.

  “Anyway, I’ve decided to stay another two weeks for Keith and Molly,” she continued. “Thought they might need support while they get his affairs in order. Hope that’s ok with you… and Ross.”

  Two weeks! As if it took that long to divvy up Charlie’s gnome collection.

  “Oh. No, that’s… that’s great. Don’t you have to work though?”

  “That’s the good thing about being freelance. If I’ve got a laptop, I’ve got a living,” she said, smiling.

  God. With talk like that she’d be moving here next.

  I took an Order of Service card and moved into the church to wait for Ross.

  Claire’s eyes were salt-swollen, just like Molly’s, but she managed a bright smile for Ross as he moved down the line and enfolded her in a bear hug, her pupils sparkling like he was all she could see.

  “So sorry, sweety,” I heard her whisper, her lips close to his ear. “I know what he meant to you. If I can do anything just ask, ok?”

  “Thanks,” he murmured back. “Glad you’re sticking around a bit longer, love.”

  So he’d known about her staying longer, had he? Known and not said a word to me. And she was offering to do anything to help him feel better: up to and including full sex, presumably.

  I struggled to fight back the green-eyed thing rearing its ugly head in the pit of my stomach. No time for jealousy, not now. Not today.

  Anyway, they were only doing what two people who’d lost someone would naturally do. A hug, words of comfort… all perfectly normal, I told myself, trying to make the voice in my head sound convincing.

  And that bloody gold band glittering on Claire’s finger as she rubbed it up and down Ross’s back. That was perfectly normal too. For someone still in love with their not-quite-ex husband.

  I almost sighed with relief when Ross let Claire go and came into the church to join me.

  “You ok, lamb?” I whispered.

  “I am now.” He claimed my hand again. “Let’s go find your mum.”

  St Barnabas’s, known as Barney’s, was 18th-century, heavy on the stained glass and brass, with that musty smell – a mixture of hymn books, melted wax and furniture polish – that old churches seem to have.

  The last time Charlie Mason set foot in the place was probably when he’d come to see my grandad off four years ago. A scrappy old sinner with a patched-up soul, he’d once described himself to me – made me see where Ross got his poetic side from. Nevertheless, Charlie kept his faith in his own quiet way.

  I scanned the old oak pews and spotted Mum, Jess and Gareth near the middle. We made our way over.

  Ross slid in first, next to Gareth, who slapped him on the back.

  “All right, mate?” Gareth said. “Sorry about your uncle. Let me know if I can do anything.”

  Ross slapped his back in return. “Thanks, mate.”

  “No worries, mate.”

  I was fast working out that a back-slap and a hundred “mates” a minute was some sort of lad code for expressing sympathy. Jess caught my eye and shook her head with a resigned smile.

  She leaned over Gareth to squeeze Ross’s hand. “Sorry, Ross. We all loved Charlie, he was a soppy old sod under those scary eyebrows.”

  Mum didn’t say anything. She was staring ahead, clutching a hymn book she seemed to have forgotten about.

  “Mum? You ok?” I asked.

  My mum had been at least as close to Charlie as Keith and Lucy Mason growing up – probably a fair bit more – and I knew it was a bit like losing an uncle for her too.

  I remembered what she’d told us at the painting party, how Charlie and Annie had looked after her when she was just a broke teenager with two demanding babies, and felt a stab of sympathy. She looked so lost, somehow, and childlike. There’d been a similar expression on her face the day we buried Grandad. One by one, the parent figures who’d helped her through the most difficult patch of her life had disappeared – Nana while we were still just babes in arms, then Annie, Grandad, and Charlie last of all.

  “Hmm?” she said vaguely, lost in memories of her own.

  Jess slipped an arm around her. “Ross is here, Mum. Don’t you want to say something?”

  She shook her head to bring herself back to where she was. “Oh. Yes.” She turned to Ross with an expression of camaraderie in loss that was different than all our condolences. “Hi, Ross. You ok, my love?”

  “Yeah, I’ll be all right in the end,” he said. “You?”

  “Same. Bearing up, best as I can.” She flashed him a sad, warm smile. “Me and you can have a chat in the pub after, ok? Do our remembering over a drink, that’s what he’d want.”

  “That sounds perfect. Thanks, Janine.”

  I couldn’t help smiling at the way we all were together. It was a sad time, but it was sort of nice too, the five of us saying goodbye to old Charlie. It really felt like we were a family now, each pair with their own special understanding. If it wasn’t for the nagging presence of Claire, I might’ve felt that deity of choice was in his or her heaven and all was right with the world.

  Chapter 27

  A hum of conversation ripped through the mourners as the music started up and the pallbearers carried Charlie’s coffin in. Eyebrows raised like a Mexican wave. There were even a few muffled titters, drawing stern looks from Wendy, the vicar, behind the pulpit.

  “Erm, Ross… did you choose this music?” I whispered.

  His sober expression cracked into a grin. “Nope. Charlie did.”

  “Sorry, what?”

  “He left instructions he wanted this playing when they brought his coffin in. My dad tried to veto it and have Abide with Me instead, but I dug my heels in and said if I was paying I’d have what Uncle Charlie wanted. Soon shut Dad up when there was a risk he’d have to pick up the bill.”

  “Good for you.” I struggled bravely with the giggle I could feel rising. “The daft old sod. Why did he want this then?”

  “It was the tune playing when he first saw Annie. Sweet, don’t you think?”

  “Yeah, but… In the Mood?” I shook my head. “Never thought I’d go to a funeral where the pallbearers were soft-shoeing to Glenn Miller.”

  “I think it suits the occasion. Charlie’d want there to be laughter and not tears.”


  I squinted one eye. “Really? You think Charlie would want everyone to have a laugh at his funeral?”

  “All right, no. He’d want everyone to be uncomfortable as hell so he could have a laugh at their expense.” Ross scanned the embarrassed mourners, all struggling to decide whether they should laugh, cry or get up and have a boogie while the jaunty dance tune accompanied Charlie’s coffin to the front. A few feet had started to tap unconsciously. “So I’d say that worked out pretty well. The old devil’d be pissing himself.” He made a choking sound in his throat. “God, Bobbie. I’ll miss him so much.”

  Suddenly his head drooped to his chest, his body convulsing as he gave in to grief. But he was laughing too, between the sobs, as if he couldn’t help himself. Laughing, and crying, while the empty shell of old Charlie Mason made its way slowly to the front against the merry sound of a tenor sax.

  I stretched an arm around him and shushed softly, glaring at an old lady in front who’d turned to give him a dirty look. What did she know about Ross’s relationship with Charlie, or how it was appropriate for him to grieve? Judgemental cow.

  After a minute, Ross recovered himself. He wiped his eyes and sighed.

  “Daft to cry, isn’t it?” he said, patting my hand resting on his shoulder. “I mean, he was no spring chicken. And for him to stay independent right to the end, just go quietly in his sleep… not a bad way of seeing the sun set on the old bugger.”

  “Doesn’t stop you missing him though, does it?” I said gently. “You cry all you want, my lamb.”

  He managed a watery smile. “Thanks, Bobbie.”

  “Anyway, he’s with your aunty now,” I whispered. “If you believe in all that.”

  “He believed it, that’s what matters. And it’s a nice idea, isn’t it? The two of them back together, watching us work on the lighthouse.”

  “Yeah. We’ll do them proud.” I ran a gentle finger down his tear-stained cheek. “Been a weird few months, hasn’t it?”

  “I know. It’s funny to think if it hadn’t been for Charlie, we’d never have met again.” He let out a wet snort. “And if we hadn’t, I’d feel a right pillock when his will was read out and I discovered I’d inherited a bloody lighthouse.”