The Lighthouse, page 2
‘Holy shit.’ This comes from Lucas, and for once I don’t laugh. I always laugh at him. I’ve laughed since the first day we met: when I started at AdZec, when I was his boss and I shouldn’t have laughed like that at anything anybody said; but he’s always surprised the sound out of me anyway.
But this is different. I’m not laughing now, because he’s right.
‘This is amazing.’
‘Jesus, Kira,’ James says. ‘You’ve outdone yourself.’
‘I know.’
We’ve entered what can only be described as an entertaining space. It’s large and bright, spanning the entire ground floor of the lighthouse and the bulk of the porch extension too. There’s a huge circular space in the middle, inside the original lighthouse walls, and within it are homey armchairs, lamps, a coffee table and a bookcase filled with board games and a variety of charity-shop-worn books. To the right, in the enclosed half of the new extension, is what looks like another kitchen, bigger than the one in the cottage. And to the left …
We move together, vying to see it: the glass sunroom portion of the porch, terracotta tiles beneath chaise longue-style chairs angled out towards the ocean, and a dining table laid for eight. The view feels endless, just the glass and then the rocks and the waves and the mist for miles, like a wall of white at the edge of the world.
‘I think we might be spending a lot of time in here,’ Moira says. She turns to her wife and wraps her arm around her waist. ‘Whether it’s haunted or not.’
‘It’s not haunted,’ Kira repeats, but she’s not really paying attention. None of them are. We are, all of us, staring at that view.
But it only takes a minute for the same energy to creep back in, that sensation I got outside. It’s stronger in here. I allow myself to wander, picking my way around Lucas and James to get back to the lounge: the lighthouse proper.
There’s a spiral staircase, I realise, beginning by the front door. It’s mostly enclosed, but the bricks that hide it from view from the lounge are made from some kind of frosted sea glass. I creep towards it, eager to explore.
‘Are you going to check out the top?’ Moira rushes to join me excitedly. ‘Are we allowed up there, Kira?’
‘That’s the whole point!’ Lucas exclaims. ‘C’mon!’
Before Kira can answer, Lucas has rushed ahead, Moira not far behind him. Soon we’re all hurrying, breathless with excitement and with the climb. There are six floors, the staircase enclosed all the way up, the only light coming from the windows cut into the side of the building. I hang back a little way, feeling the building echo around me. It seems like this place has been empty for too long.
There’s a wooden door on every floor; a small landing as the staircase curves. I reach out absently and turn the handle of the first door, wondering if there might be more bedrooms up here. Kira had said, when she booked the holiday, that this place could sleep eight; or was it ten? But the handle won’t budge. It’s locked.
The other doors are open and they lead into small, strangely shaped rooms. Most are somewhat bare: an old nursing rocking chair and upholstered footstool in one; bookshelves filled with creased paperbacks and a long, beautifully painted wooden coffee table and matching armchairs in another. I find James in the mini library gazing at the shelves, his eyes alight with excitement.
‘This is amazing. I haven’t read anything in years. I am going to read so many books,’ he says earnestly, turning towards me with an Agatha Christie novel in his hands.
‘It’s only a weekend,’ I say. ‘How many can you read in two days?’
James laughs. ‘Okay,’ he corrects himself, ‘I am going to read at least one whole book.’
I can tell when the others reach the top because Lucas lets out another ‘Holy shit!’ and Jess and Moira both burst into laughter. I pause for a second, listening to the sound crashing inside the staircase, before I carry on upstairs.
And the others are right. It’s worth every step up. It’s like a giant glass doughnut, a concrete walkway around the lamp at the centre. Every inch of it is bathed in white light. It’s like being swallowed whole.
‘And that,’ says Kira, ‘is the best bit.’
‘I wonder if we’ll get to see the whole view while we’re here. Can you imagine what this would be like in the middle of summer?’ James says.
‘Warmer.’ Lucas laughs at his own joke, even though his new job was part of the reason we couldn’t all make it until now. June or July would have maybe been better, but I’ve always loved taking a holiday in September.
‘Do your keys open all of the doors?’ I ask Kira.
She glances down at the keyring she’s still holding and then back at me, as if she’s surprised I’m talking to her and not Lucas.
‘Oh, uh, I guess. Why?’
‘There’s a locked door downstairs, on the first floor. I just wondered if that’s where the other bedroom is.’
‘There are no bedrooms in here. Just the entertaining space downstairs. Something about health and safety or means of escape or something—’
‘A locked door? Ooooh.’ James nudges Jess playfully. ‘Spooky.’
‘Cut it out.’ She waves him away.
‘Probably just storage or something,’ Moira says. ‘Vacuum cleaners, bleach. Boring stuff. Anyway, we’ve got enough bedrooms already.’
Lucas has appeared behind me. The lamp is sitting in the middle of its own special glass sphere, so there’s not much space. His strong arms loop around me and I lean back into him. He’s been like this recently: hot one minute and cold the next. Hands all over me, and then he doesn’t speak for half an hour, which isn’t like him at all.
‘I know, I just …’ I stop myself. I just what? ‘Never mind. I can’t wait to do yoga out there in the morning.’
Lucas moves away and pulls a face. Girl stuff. He’s always making fun of the yoga, even though I know he’d like it if he tried it. The others laugh too, though, and once again I’m on the outside of some private joke ten years in the making.
‘Nice,’ James says eventually, taking pity on me. ‘I haven’t done yoga since the dark ages. I might join you.’
Kira and Moira exchange a glance which I can’t read.
‘As if you will,’ Lucas says. ‘You’re never up that early. Especially when you’re hungover.’
‘All right,’ Jess says. ‘I’m going to go and unpack. I need to try checking in with my parents to see how Emma’s doing.’ Moira starts to say something but Jess already has her back to us. ‘I just hope there’s some better signal somewhere on this island, Mo, because otherwise I’m gonna be pissed you wouldn’t let me call them from Inverness.’
Moira waits until Jess is gone and then shoots us a mocking look at her wife’s frustration, but it’s not mean so much as tired. An old joke worn thin. Everybody laughs but me.
As we make our way down the stairs Lucas catches up with me again.
‘You’re quiet today,’ he says. ‘Everything okay?’
‘Oh, yeah. I’m okay. It’s just so weird, isn’t it? Having all that modern space downstairs and then … this. Doesn’t it make you feel a bit odd? All these lives, deaths, whatever, just kinda there while we’re having dinner? All that history?’
‘Not really,’ Lucas disagrees. ‘It’s a renovated lighthouse. It’s old, and they’ve made it better. That limbo feeling sort of comes with the territory, right?’
He seems defensive. I think of earlier, how I really hadn’t meant to upset Jess. I don’t want to annoy him, too, if he thinks I’m getting at Kira. I’m not.
Still, I try to shake off the feeling that something bad must have happened here once, for a place this beautiful to have been empty for so long.
3
Moira
Jess spends forty minutes trying to get enough signal to phone her parents while I unpack our bags into the sleek wooden units in our bedroom. I try not to get dragged into another rehash of the same conversation – about how worried she is, how annoyed that I wouldn’t let her call earlier. She’s still trying when I finish unpacking, so I slip out into the small cottage kitchen with James for a peaceful cup of tea and a shared packet of Hobnobs.
‘Where are the others?’ I ask. It’s been ages since I spent time with just James. We hung out all the time after uni, when he lived close to us and needed the attention, but he moved out of the city a couple of years ago to start a new job so our socialising has largely been via WhatsApp lately.
‘Lucas and Kira are still unpacking, and I think Gen’s nipped outside to have another look at the view. Looks like the mist is lifting a bit.’ He leans back in his chair and sips at his scalding tea, making the kind of slurping noise that Jess could kill me for. He pauses for barely a second before stuffing two Hobnobs into his face and grinning.
‘Don’t get too carried away,’ I say through laughter. ‘Jess’ll be fuming if you’re too full for dinner.’
James rolls his eyes, still crunching. ‘I know. Was bad enough when she was dragging us round Marks and Sparks for the bloody prawns. It’ll be worse if she caters for the ghosts too.’
We tease Jess a lot, but I still cringe at this. She’s been planning the meal for literally weeks at this point. It will be a shame if people don’t appreciate it. James will probably be all right – it’s more Lucas that I’m worried about, since he’s the one who usually puts his foot in it.
‘I’m just kidding,’ James adds quickly. ‘I know she’s put a lot of effort in. It’ll be awesome. I guess it’ll give you two a bit of time together, too, which is always a bonus. Speaking of which …’
He gestures out of the window behind me, and I see Jess stalking out across the space between the cottage and the lighthouse, her fists balled at her sides. For a second I wonder if she heard us, heard James’s comment about the ‘bloody prawns’, but she can’t have. And anyway, we didn’t say anything we wouldn’t have said to her face.
‘I’d better go check on her,’ I say. ‘Don’t want to leave her alone with the ghosts.’
James snorts.
I leave my tea, barely drunk, on the kitchen table – I’ll probably need something a little stronger before long – and head out into the late afternoon air, wrapping my cardigan tighter around my waist.
When I get into the bigger, modern lighthouse kitchen Jess has already unpacked all of the food and the booze and bits we bought from Marks before getting on the ferry, and organised it on the counters. She’s surveying it with a proud look on her face, which withers when she sees me.
‘Hello to you too,’ I snipe. An old joke, which fortunately still makes her laugh.
‘Sorry. I know I’ve been a bit … Just – you know. Leaving Emma for the whole weekend. I still haven’t managed to get through, though I did finally get a text to send. The signal is hideous. I just wish I knew that everything was okay—’
‘They will be fine.’ I step closer and pull Jess into my arms. She rests her head on my shoulder and lets me hold her for a minute. ‘Emma’s got to learn that we won’t be there every second, and it’s not like we’ve left her with a random babysitter. We need to get used to this. What about when she starts nursery in April? It’s good for her, too. This is just one weekend. Your mum and dad have done this before. They raised you, didn’t they?’
‘Yes, but—’
‘No, no buts. I know this is uncomfortable. It’s weird for me, too, because we’ve not done it before. But it’s healthy for all of us. It’s progress. And really it’s no different to leaving her for an hour or two. She’s just as safe. We’ll try to call again later. They’re not going anywhere. Now come on. Haven’t we got a feast to prepare?’
At that Jess pulls back and her expression has shifted again. She’s laid the food for tonight in a different pile than the other snacks and bottles of beer that she couldn’t fit in the fridge. There’s salad and prawns, fancy shop-bought dressing that normally she won’t let us eat because home-cooked is better for you, and she’s even got scallops and cream for Coquilles St Jacques. But she doesn’t look content like she normally does when she’s cooking. Maybe she’s nervous. We’ve never cooked for Genevieve before.
‘What?’ I ask.
‘Nothing. I just … You don’t think there’s anything to what Genevieve was saying earlier, do you? The spooky stories? Ghosts and energies and things?’
I scoff audibly. ‘Don’t be daft.’
‘But I heard you talking to James.’
‘We were just joking,’ I say firmly, cursing us both for teasing. ‘Honestly.’
‘Right,’ she says, but her expression is still terse. ‘Right. Okay. It’s just – I could have sworn I bought a different wine for the St Jacques, and now I can’t find it. I was sure I put it over there, on the end away from the other stuff, right near the door.’
‘It’s not either of those?’ I point at the two boxes of Sauvignon Blanc, but Jess shakes her head.
‘No, I got a Chardonnay, a big bottle.’ She frowns.
‘Maybe we only got the Sauv? Or maybe Lucas and Genevieve are necking it right now, straight from the bottle.’
Jess is too annoyed to laugh, but she screws up her nose so I know that I’ve won; diffused another situation before it can get out of hand. I reach for one of the boxes of wine and give it a shake.
‘The heathens won’t be able to tell the difference anyway. If we find the Chardonnay we’ll serve it with dinner.’
Jess nods, and starts to wash her hands. I let our normal roles take over – me in charge of music and making sure there’s plenty of beer and wine while we cook, Jess in front of the fancy AGA – but I’m pushing at the niggle at the back of my brain. Jess is right. I remember the Chardonnay – in the trolley, on the conveyor belt, in the bag that we piled into the ferry. And now it’s gone. Lucas doesn’t drink wine, and nobody else would touch anything before waiting for Jess to unpack, so it must be Genevieve. But why would she take a whole bottle and not just pour herself a glass?
It doesn’t matter. I don’t want Jess to start worrying, so I keep my mouth shut.
Dinner goes off without a hitch and we’re serving up the main course as the sun sets. The mist has burnt off entirely now and the ocean is tinted in reds and golds which reflect on the glass walls of the enclosed porch. We’ve lit all the candles in the two polished candelabras and the whole room glows, the night closing in around us and making the long, dark windows morph into mirrors.
Lucas and James have already started their usual drinking contest, apparently aiming to see who can fastest consume enough alcohol to forget whether they’ve eaten dinner or not, but for once Jess doesn’t seem to mind. She’s chatting with Genevieve about some video they’ve both seen on Facebook about a rescue dog who learns to skateboard, and now that the food is on the table she’s visibly relaxed.
I allow myself a moment of pride in how good a cook she is – I often let myself forget, since we still usually hardly have the time or the energy to feed ourselves anything other than soggy beans on toast between naps and bedtimes, play dates and work. I’d thought once that things would be easier as Emma got older but, if anything, Jess has become more anxious, not even willing for both of us to leave our daughter with our parents or a babysitter for more than a couple of hours. I’m clinging to the hope that this weekend will help break the spell.
I pour myself a large glass of wine and lean back. It hits different after the beer; smooth and sweet. Kira has ended up sitting next to Lucas, which I can’t imagine she’s thrilled about, but she’s on her best behaviour, laughing at his jokes and letting him talk about his new job as if she cares. When they broke up things were dicey for a couple of years, but she seems okay tonight.
I drink my wine a bit too fast. It’s going to my head. But it doesn’t matter: Jess is fine and I don’t have to worry about Emma and it’s really been too long since we’ve all been together. The Coquilles St Jacques are delicious. James has seconds, his face ruddy with pleasure.
‘Isn’t it so good?’ he asks the table. ‘I’ve missed you all.’
Genevieve smiles and the rest of us cheer rowdily, the noise reverberating inside the glass walls like it might echo on forever. I’d forgotten what it feels like to be surrounded by so many people, so many adults. None of the others have kids; they don’t know what it’s like.
‘God, yes,’ I say. ‘I’ve missed the company. I’m so happy not to have to talk about Paw Patrol or Peppa for five minutes.’ I take another big gulp of wine, feeling its fingers knead the knots in my neck, my shoulders.
Jess catches my eye across the table but she’s not smiling right now. Then James is leaning over and reminding me of the time we kept the shells from the first time Jess ever made Coquilles St Jacques – an expensive, dangerous experiment while we were still living in halls in our first year. We drilled holes in the shells and made bras out of them, and then Lucas and James wore them any time Jess cooked for the next month.
‘Mate, that was hilarious!’ Lucas is laughing so hard he’s crying. Kira rolls her eyes, unimpressed – probably because she wasn’t there back then. You had to be there.
‘It wasn’t funny then and it’s still not funny now,’ Jess complains. ‘Don’t you remember? Somebody complained that we were making porn in the kitchen—’
Jess’s expression is a long-suffering one and we all dissolve into fits of laughter again. Even Genevieve is laughing, probably picturing Lucas in nothing but scallop shells.
‘I could have done without that image in my head, thanks,’ Kira says drily, even though she’s heard the story many times before. ‘Ugh. What a sight. Although I do wish somebody had taken a photo – would have made great blackmail.’
Between jokes and stories, it’s somehow gone eleven before we get around to dessert. Somebody has cleared the plates away, probably James being his ever-helpful self, but I didn’t even notice. I’m three, maybe four, glasses of wine deep and I’m not sure how many beers before that. Distantly I know I’ll regret it tomorrow – beer and wine are the worst combination after all – but right now I’m too busy being wrapped up in how wonderful it feels to relax, how easy it is to be with these guys again. We’re all different, all older and – well – some of us are wiser, but it’s just like always.
