The Lighthouse, page 18
I’ve realised something earlier: I don’t trust any of them not to lie.
In the bathroom everything is as I left it. White, everything white, the pale afternoon sunlight filtering through the misted glass of the back window. The window itself is pulled to, but we left it open last night after somebody had a shower and it’s still cold in here.
For a second I pause, surveying the mess. There are jagged shards of broken mirror on the floor and in the sink just beneath the medicine cabinet, little crystalline pieces that glitter faintly. I’ve no doubt it’s sharp, even the pieces that look curved, so I’m trying to think about the best way to clear it up without cutting myself, looking for a towel. But I can’t find anything.
The towels that were here are all gone, probably one in each of our rooms, although I was sure there was a spare in here yesterday. Maybe I’m misremembering. There’s nothing else I can use, not even a shower curtain that can be detached. I’m going to have to go and grab my towel, or maybe a T-shirt.
‘Always left to me,’ I mutter.
And then I spot it. On the floor there’s a bundle of something tucked under the bath. I get down on my hands and knees, careful to avoid the shards of mirror. It takes a bit of awkward bending, but finally I’m able to pull the bundle out.
It’s a T-shirt. Dark blue. It’s scrunched up, folded in on itself as if it’s been kicked under the bathtub carelessly. It probably belongs to Lucas – actually, no, I’m sure James was wearing one like this yesterday. He probably left it in here last night. But that’s fine, because I can use it to get rid of the glass from the mirror.
I start to unfold the material and stop.
Something has stained it. Something waxy and fragrant. I peer closer, half my attention still on the shards of mirror by my knees so I don’t cut myself. And then my attention isn’t anywhere except the T-shirt. Inside it, staining the dark blue a vibrant red in places, is a metal tube. Lipstick. Broken, smudged.
And the same colour as the lipstick on the wall.
I march out into the hallway and head straight for the kitchen holding the T-shirt in my hands like it stinks, as far away from my body as I can handle without dropping it, or the bounty within. Moira and Lucas look up in surprise as I enter, and Lucas gets up when I show them the bundle.
‘What is it?’ he asks.
‘It’s not yours, is it?’ I demand.
Moira frowns in confusion. ‘What? Is that a T-shirt?’
‘Yes.’
‘It’s James’s,’ Moira says. ‘I think. Wasn’t he wearing it yesterday? What’s the problem?’
‘I found it in the bathroom. On the floor.’
‘And?’ Lucas asks. ‘What’s the problem? Jesus I thought you’d like … I don’t know. You said you had proof.’
‘I do. Look.’ I push the bundle at him, still holding the precious tube of broken lipstick in the middle. Lucas peels away a layer of the shirt and then frowns.
‘What is it?’
‘It’s lipstick!’ I exclaim. ‘Same colour as on the wall. And it’s wrapped inside James’s T-shirt. Where is he? He’s not in his room.’
‘He …’ Moira looks stricken for a moment, her eyes flashing as she considers what I’m showing them. ‘He’s in the lighthouse.’
I spin on my heel, anger burbling, ready to confront him.
‘Wait,’ Moira calls. ‘Hang on. This doesn’t exactly prove it was him, does it? Just – one second. Let me think.’
‘You can think while I go and find him,’ I snap. I’m done playing games now. This has gone far enough and I won’t let him treat me as though my feelings don’t hurt. I know we have a lot of history, we’ve both made mistakes, but this kind of behaviour when we’re just trying to enjoy a holiday? It’s not on. I thought we were friends.
‘Wait,’ Moira says again. ‘Kira.’
Lucas is remarkably quiet but I know that he’s following me as I head out of the cottage, the T-shirt still gripped in my hands. I open the cottage door with my elbow and march across the gravel and grass, my blood boiling. I can almost see red.
The lighthouse is dim. Nobody has bothered to light a fire and there’s only one lamp switched on in the lounge to ward off the drab day. I follow the trail of other lights, noticing there’s one near the archway into the sunroom, and then more lamps on in there.
The long table stretches onwards towards the wall of glass. The ocean is rough today, buffeted by the wind into peaks that look vicious. The sky looks the same colour as the water, giving the impression that we’re underwater.
James sits at the end of the table, his back to me. He’s turned around one of the dining chairs and sits on it rigidly, his palms pressed flat against his knees, his back straight as a rod as he gazes out over the ocean.
‘James,’ I say firmly.
He doesn’t react, as though he hasn’t heard me.
‘James, mate,’ Lucas says. He’s right behind me, and Moira is there too. I glare daggers at Lucas – for no reason other than I can’t control myself, the anger is boiling so hot inside me – but he pays me no attention, just pushes around me and heading for James.
‘Are you all right?’ Moira asks.
‘Fuck that,’ I say. ‘Is he going to explain this?’
Slowly James turns. It’s as if he’s waking from a nightmare, each movement stiff and jerky. He’s a robot, no sign of life behind his eyes even when he sees us. But then he notices me, sees the T-shirt bundled in my hands.
‘What’s that?’ he asks. Slowly, hollowly. No recognition on his face.
‘I’m here to ask you the same question.’
I walk to the end of the table and lay the T-shirt down gently, even though all I want to do is throw it. I peel open the edges of the cotton, spreading it out so that the stain in the middle is stark, so that the damaged tube of lipstick can’t be missed.
James looks at the T-shirt. Then he looks at me.
‘Where did you find that?’ he asks.
‘Under the bath. Where you left it last night. After you broke the mirror and wrote on the wall. What, did you think I wouldn’t find it?’
‘That’s not mine.’ James’s face pales in what might be fear, but I’m too angry to pay much heed.
‘Not yours? It’s your T-shirt, isn’t it?’
‘No, I mean – it’s mine, but the lipstick isn’t mine. Obviously. I didn’t do it. Kira, come on, you have to believe me.’
‘Why on earth should I believe you?’ I snap. ‘Tell me the truth. What the hell is going on with you? Why are you being so weird?’
Lucas and Moira are right beside me, flanking me. It should feel powerful, but instead all I feel is sick. This isn’t the James I know. Even the old James, the unhappy James … even he wouldn’t do this.
‘James?’ I prompt.
James opens and closes his mouth, his jaw working as he tries to explain. But in the end he just slumps in his chair.
‘I don’t know what you want me to say,’ he murmurs. ‘I told you I didn’t do it. Why can’t we just … admit this is ridiculous and then …’
‘And then?’ This is from Lucas. Even he’s pissed off, now. This isn’t what any of us wanted when we came here.
‘Where did you get the lipstick?’ I ask when it’s clear James doesn’t have an answer.
‘I didn’t get it from anywhere,’ he says, ‘because it’s not mine. How many times do I have to tell you?’
His eyes are glassy and I wonder if he might cry. I’m so confused and angry, emotions swirling inside me, that I don’t know what to say. I turn to Moira – the sensible one, the one who always has an answer – and she just stares at me.
‘You expect me to believe you after everything?’ I say. I have to fight the urge to laugh, a bubble of hysteria in my throat. ‘Fucking hell, James. Don’t you think I’d trust you if you’d proved that I could?’
Moira and Lucas exchange a glance but it’s too late. There’s too much old emotion in this conversation now, and I can’t do this any more.
‘Kira,’ James says. ‘Don’t—’
‘I covered for you. For years. I didn’t tell Lucas about what happened. I lied to everybody. And now you’re doing this to me?’
‘You didn’t tell me what?’ Lucas asks. He cranes his neck forward, his expression serious.
‘When we were at uni. Right at the end of third year. Before graduation, when you went home. I cheated on you. With James.’
Lucas is silent. His expression is as dark as I’ve ever seen it and I feel as much as see him start to move towards me. I fight the old flinch and stand firm.
‘And that’s when James got unwell,’ I continue. ‘After I told him it shouldn’t have happened. After I told him that it didn’t mean anything. It was a mistake – obviously. Not that it matters now. He lost his temper and the police were called and it was a whole mess. He was sectioned. You all thought he was in Nepal all summer but he didn’t go until later—’
‘You promised you’d never tell anybody.’ James blinks slowly, as if his whole world has crumbled. Although I don’t have much to lose where Lucas is concerned, I realise too late that to James, Lucas is still everything. He’s never really had a girlfriend, and as far as I know he still spends most of his free time with Lucas.
And I’ve just wrecked it all.
‘Is this true?’ Lucas turns to James.
James doesn’t move except to swallow.
‘I said is it fucking true?’ Lucas shouts. The words echo inside the glass sunroom, shockingly loud. Moira jumps and crosses her arms defensively across her chest, as though that might protect her.
‘Yes,’ James says. There are tears on his face. ‘It’s true. I – I’m not proud of any of it. I had some stuff going on. It was … It was a bad time. But I got help and I sorted myself out.’
‘What a pathetic excuse,’ Lucas grinds out. ‘You were unwell so you slept with my girlfriend? Fucking hell, I thought you were my friend.’
‘That’s not how it was!’ James says.
‘No,’ I agree. ‘I played my part. It was what happened afterwards … It scared me. That’s why I’m bringing it up now, James. I’m worried about you. I’m worried that something is going on, that you’re – that you need help again.’
Lucas looks like he wants to say more, but Moira lays a hand on his arm, pulling him back.
‘Not now,’ she murmurs. ‘This isn’t the time.’
‘James,’ I say. I try it softer this time. ‘Come on, you have to explain yourself. How can you expect us to believe you didn’t do it if you continue like this?’
James rubs his hands over his face and lets out a vibrating breath and then slaps his hands on his knees. Like he’s made a decision.
‘Jay?’ Moira says.
‘Fine,’ James says. ‘Look. I can tell you what happened – what I think happened – but … you’re not going to believe me.’
‘Try us,’ Moira says. ‘Why won’t we believe you, if you’re telling the truth?’
James glares at me, all his frustration channelled directly this way, but neither of us budge. I’m too wound up to say anything at all now. And I have to admit, James is scaring me. It looks like he’s afraid. Properly scared. He isn’t just angry at me for telling his secret. This is something else.
‘It’s – it’s about Friday night. At first I didn’t believe it myself. I thought it was a dream. I’ve … I’ve been having some dreams again, because of my job and stuff. I guess I worried that I was unwell again, that I’d lost touch with what was going on. That I was making stuff up? I don’t know.’
‘And?’ Moira says. ‘Now you think otherwise?’
‘Yes. Now, I’m almost certain that it wasn’t a dream. This is … This is it.’ He points at the T-shirt.
‘This is what?’ I say, an icy hand on the back of my neck.
Distantly I hear the front door to the lighthouse open, and then slam closed. Footsteps. Panic worms in my throat, and Moira grips Lucas’s arm harder.
‘This is proof,’ James says. ‘She’s real. I didn’t dream it. She’s here.’
26
Genevieve
By the time we get back the wind is wild, nipping and snarling at our hair, jackets, legs. Jess and I head straight for the lighthouse, where the lights have winked on one by one during our tumble down the slope from the shack. The day has grown so dark with rain again that we could see them reflecting off – it seemed – the sky, the ocean, the world. Even though I know that’s not true, it feels like it.
We hurry for the door, shoving hard to stumble one by one into the lounge. It’s stone cold in here, only one lamp in the corner. I glance questioningly at Jess, but neither of us have spoken since we left the shack. Jess knows I’m freaked out – I wasn’t able to hide it – but she won’t ask why. And I know that just telling her about a candlestick will seem … It’ll seem ridiculous. But I don’t want to tell her.
I’m sure Jess will believe me, and I think somehow that’s worse.
There’s nobody in the lounge, just the solitary lamp, so I follow the trail of lights, the sounds of life. It sounds like an argument: voices raised and punctuated with silences that seem even louder still. Jess and I glance at each other, but don’t slow down. We reach the sunroom and I almost stumble directly into Moira, who holds out a hand to her wife.
‘What’s going on?’ Jess asks.
She’s noticed it too, then. Not just me. Everybody looks stricken, like they’ve had bad news. Even Lucas, who is never bothered by anything, looks like he’s been punched right in the stomach, winded and unsure of himself.
‘Is it Emma?’ Jess gasps. ‘Did something bad happen? I tried to call again but I couldn’t get through—’
‘It’s not Emma,’ Moira says quickly, almost as if the words rush out in one breath.
‘Oh, thank God.’ Jess stumbles, slumping against the edge of the table. I’d be worried she might collapse if I hadn’t seen her do it more than once this weekend.
‘Then what’s going on?’ I ask, repeating Jess’s question. ‘You all look like you’ve …’ I stop before I can say the rest, but my unspoken words seem to echo into the silence. You look like you’ve seen a ghost.
I look between them, but nobody speaks. Kira’s chest rises and falls so rapidly she looks like she’s just been running, and James is white as a sheet, his hair wild and unruly as he runs his hands through it again and again in a nervous gesture.
‘Guys?’ Jess presses.
‘Go on,’ Kira says slowly. ‘James. Tell them. Say what you were going to say. We’re all listening.’
It’s only when Kira speaks that I see what she’s gesturing at. There’s a bundle of something that looks like clothes on the table. Dark blue material laid open. And inside it …
‘Is that my lipstick?’ I blurt before James can say anything. ‘What the fuck?’
‘It’s yours?’ James asks faintly. ‘I didn’t …’
‘Oh for fuck’s sake James, spit it out,’ Kira snaps. ‘What did you mean when you said she’s real? What did you mean she’s here?’
‘Who’s she?’ Jess asks. Her voice wavers. In the beginning I would have found it lightly amusing, maybe commented to Lucas about it. Now I can feel the same fear.
‘Can somebody please explain what the hell is going on?’ I demand. ‘I’m losing my goddamn mind.’
‘This is James’s T-shirt,’ Kira says, pointing to the bundle. ‘And I guess your lipstick. I found them in the bathroom. Can you explain what they were doing there?’
‘No!’ I exclaim. ‘For God’s sake, are we still on that?’
‘No,’ James says. He’s filled with an eerie calm now, although his face is still pale and his eyes shiny like dark windows. ‘It’s got nothing to do with you. Or me. It’s …’ He sucks in a breath. ‘Look, why don’t you all sit down? I’ll explain.’
Glances are thrown like punches as we all try to work out whether James is unwell … or if we’re about to hear something nobody wants to hear. My whole body is tense, the pressure of the lighthouse above seems to bear down so heavily I can’t breathe.
‘Okay,’ Moira says when Jess is beside her, their hands locked on the table. ‘Go. This had better be a good explanation.’
‘Right. So. It’s Friday night, and we’re on the beach. We’ve had a lot to drink, right?’
‘Yeah, we were all fucking there, mate,’ Lucas snaps. He seems angry – and something tells me it’s not just about what James has to say now. I glance at Kira and she looks away quickly.
‘All right, well I’m just saying it so you don’t think I’m batshit,’ James retorts. ‘Because I am fully aware that this sounds like I’m imagining things. And – and for most of the weekend I thought so too. That’s why I’ve been so weird.’
‘So that’s why,’ Kira says, her voice dripping with venom.
But James continues bullishly. ‘Yes, Kira. I was going to get matches. But for some reason I ended up walking. I don’t know. I was pissed as anything and it just – it seemed like a good idea. I think I walked straight past the lighthouse, just … walked up the path. Kept on going right up that little hill.’ James is deep in thought. I close my eyes and trace his journey on the map in my head. The grassy knolls, the dirt, the shack.
‘And?’ Moira says.
‘I don’t know. I ended up on the beach again. Like … I don’t know. Listen, this sounds fake but I swore earlier in the evening I saw something. I thought I saw something moving down the beach, something … I thought it was a ghost.’ He rubs his hands over his face. ‘Obviously I ignored it. But that wasn’t the first. I – God I had this horrible feeling when we arrived and we were looking around. I couldn’t place it. Anyway, when I found the beach again it was a different bit and I realised I was totally fucking lost.’
‘And this relates to the broken mirror how?’ Lucas digs.
