The Lighthouse, page 22
‘Oh.’
James has abandoned Kira and me by the exit and walked over to where a small part of the cave wall juts out in an overhang, the rock worn smooth by the years. I can make out more blankets beneath it, burrowed up tight like this is where somebody sleeps, safely cocooned against the wall. My panic surges again and I don’t want to see it, don’t want to take any more fear in.
But then he lifts up what he has seen and I don’t know how to feel.
It’s a drawing, beautifully etched in charcoal shades of pencil on a crinkled piece of lined paper that looks like it was just torn out of a jumbo notepad. The perfect lines of the lighthouse stretch across the middle, top to bottom. To the side there is the cottage, and beyond that the hill that leads to the shack. The ocean looks peaceful, perfectly calm against a pale sky. There’s real love there, a real sense of longing.
And for a second I’m in awe. Until I realise what this might mean. It feels dangerous, like standing on the edge of a cliff and looking down into the roiling water. It feels like hidden depths. If somebody could love the lighthouse this much, and didn’t want anybody else to experience it …
What would it make them do to protect it?
31
Kira
By the time Genevieve has had her fill of the cave I’m itching to leave too. Moira is right. It does feel wrong to be in here. This is somebody’s home, no matter what we might think about that. But there is anger, and there is fear, and they both war inside me right now. Guilt barely factors in.
Genevieve bites her lip as she moves past me and leads the way out, the torch beam bouncing so much it makes me nauseous as she practically jogs towards the entrance. The ground feels much more uneven now, slippery, and I start to worry. What if the tide is coming in? What if the others have had to leave us? Or worse, what if she’s on the beach?
But they’re only the same puddles that we trod through on the way in, and it’s only the same horrid weather, gusty and wet and wild. There is nothing to take away the sour panic that bites my tongue. The pressure builds inside my body, a storm in my rib cage, and I almost wish she was there, that the danger was tangible and proven, so that at least I might stop feeling like I’m losing my grip on reality.
Moira is close behind me, eager to get out, and when she spots Jess on the beach she lets out a gasp of relief and runs to her. The freezing air burns my lungs.
Lucas looks at Genevieve, who pulls her phone out immediately with her free hand and taps the screen, although it doesn’t look like she’s having any more luck than before. When Gen doesn’t look at him, Lucas turns to me, a question mark in his gaze.
‘There’s a whole fucking house inside there,’ I blurt.
‘What?’ Jess’s eyes are like dinner plates, wide and round with fear. ‘What do you mean?’
‘Somebody has definitely been living there,’ Moira murmurs, so quiet the wind whips her words away. She raises her voice as she goes on: ‘Blankets, clothes, knives and forks, some of my cigarettes. A whole life.’
Jess doesn’t say anything, just grabs hold of Moira and holds her tight, her head tucked under her wife’s chin. Moira doesn’t move, just clings to her and stands silent.
‘How long?’ Lucas asks.
‘What do you mean?’
‘How long have they been living there?’ His eyebrow is raised in that cocky way I used to find so irresistible, but I think he’s more afraid than he’ll let on.
‘I don’t know,’ I say. ‘It’s hard to tell. Could be weeks, months – years, even. Some of the clothes look really old.’
‘She looked … I don’t know.’ James shrugs. ‘She looked normal? I didn’t think …’
‘What do you mean normal?’ Genevieve mutters. ‘You mean she didn’t look homeless?’
‘Well, yeah.’ James’s face colours, and it’s almost a relief to hear the same old tone to their voices, even if it’s a calling out. Even if it’s embarrassment and anger. It’s better than fear.
‘You didn’t have a torch on Friday night,’ Moira says. ‘How could you even tell what she looked like?’
‘Oh I don’t know.’ James groans. ‘I’m sorry. I didn’t mean anything by it, just … I’m just trying to say … She scared me, right, but I thought she was – Jesus, I thought she was a ghost. Like, I actually got that into my head. She was just an apparition. She was so close but I couldn’t really see her, like she was – greyed out. I guess the northern lights, the moon … I even thought I saw her other times through the weekend, but then she was always gone before I could confirm it was her. And on Friday she didn’t attack me. She could have, if she was as scared as me, but she didn’t get close enough. It wasn’t like she was …’
‘Feral?’ Jess suggests, peeling back from Moira’s chest. ‘You mean she didn’t seem dangerous. Even though she scared you half to death, even though you’re afraid enough that we’re here right now.’
‘Yes? No. I don’t know!’ James flings his arms up. ‘There was this … feeling? Right down in the pit of my stomach, that something wasn’t right. I wasn’t scared at first, just curious, so I tried to get closer to see if I was seeing things. But then I just got this horrible feeling. I went all cold and panicky. It was like my brain was telling me to get away. That she wasn’t entirely – human. Like a wild animal, you know?’
‘I don’t think you can tell how long she’s been here,’ I say to Lucas again. ‘But I do think she’s probably been living in there a while. There’s all sorts of stuff inside. Pots and pans, a candle, stuff for everyday life.’
‘Did you have any luck with the radio?’ Moira asks urgently. ‘Any signal or anything while we were inside?’
Lucas shakes his head.
‘Nothing,’ Jess says. ‘No phone signal, no radio signal. Just static and wind and rain and I’m actually freezing.’ She looks it, too: her cheeks are chapped pink and the rest of her face is alarmingly blue-tinged.
‘So, what do we do now?’ Lucas asks. ‘I don’t know what we’re meant to do. It’s not like she’s hurt us, but I don’t like it. This place is supposed to be deserted, right?’
‘Right,’ I say. ‘And the thing is, we don’t know if it’s one person living there, or more. That’s what’s freaking me out the most. There’s no way to tell.’
‘There were men’s clothes in there, but women’s stuff too. Shirts and jackets and dresses. It all looked old.’ Moira stares at the entrance to the cave. I can feel it behind me, burning into my back. ‘I don’t want to get worked up about it, because we need to stay calm. But it’s really getting to me.’
‘It’s possibly just the clothing that was available,’ I suggest. ‘If she’s taken stuff from the shack, from whoever left it there, and brought it down here, it makes sense that she’d just take whatever fits.’
‘Why doesn’t she just live there?’ Jess asks. ‘In the shack. If she’s taking stuff from there and using it? I don’t get it.’
It’s the same question, and we still don’t have an answer. Because that feels like the crux of it. If I had somewhere warm to live, even if it was old and rickety, or a cave? I know what I’d pick.
‘We don’t know,’ I say. ‘Unless—’
‘Unless she’s trying to stay hidden.’ Lucas shields his eyes from the rain, peering up the cliff face as though he might be able to see the shack above us. I imagine it, leaning into the wind, and shudder. ‘When the people came to the island to renovate – I wonder if she left then. If she was scared.’
‘That doesn’t really answer the main question, though.’ Genevieve puts her phone away and turns back to the rest of us, a frown on her face. ‘My main question isn’t why did she leave the shack, or why she’s living in a cave, or even how long she’s been hiding. That’s all important, but honestly what I want to know is how did she get here in the first place?’
We keep trying the radio as we begin to head towards the slope that will take us back to the lighthouse. The static is so persistent that it’s doing my head in and I’m this close to smashing the thing on the rocks when we reach the sandy path up the hill where Jess fell. She’s still limping, worse now than before, as if standing in the cold has made her leg seize up. I’m not filled with hope that any of us will make it back up the path, never mind her.
‘Do you think you can make it?’ Moira asks her when we get very close.
From down here it looks much steeper, and the rain that’s pelting has made the sand even wetter than before. Water runs in rivulets between the tufts of yellow grass and roots from the trees that grow up near the wooden shack.
Jess’s lips narrow.
‘I’ll have to,’ she says.
‘There’s got to be another way around.’ Lucas backs up, as if that will help him to see better, but I’m sure all he gets is more of a glimpse of grass and sand and dark, angry sky.
‘James?’ Moira asks.
‘Don’t ask me. I do not remember getting back to the lighthouse.’
‘You said that last time,’ I mutter. ‘Forgive us if we don’t believe you.’
There’s still something about this I don’t like, and the further away we get from the cave the less I like the dark turn of my thoughts. James says there is a woman. And there’s certainly evidence that somebody has been living there. But … if she exists, if he’s telling the truth, then why haven’t any of the rest of us seen her? If she wants us to leave, then why hasn’t she just asked us? Why trust James, drunk and stupid with tiredness, to heed her warning?
It’s not that I think James is lying. I just … don’t trust him enough any more to believe it. I can’t push aside the feeling that’s been growing inside of me the last couple of days, of something growing in this place. Something dark and rotten. A stain spreading across the island. It’s not something I can explain, but I can feel it. And all I know is that James hasn’t been himself lately.
‘I can do it,’ Jess says firmly. ‘I’ll just go up last and maybe you can help me …’
But Moira isn’t listening. I follow her gaze, round the edge of the island where the beach follows the curve. She looks like she’s thinking furiously.
‘Maybe there’s another way,’ she says. ‘Maybe …’
Standing like this, the rain pounding, the wind howling, it’s hard to think. We’re huddled together in something of a circle, all six of us. Genevieve is quiet, but at least she’s finally given up and put her bloody phone away. Lucas is staring at Jess, and I wonder if he’s sizing her up, trying to figure out if he could carry her. But it’s ridiculous. He maybe could have ten years ago, but years of office living and Netflix, even alongside a monthly gym direct debit, mean I’m not sure he could now. At least not for long. And it would definitely be dangerous.
‘We need to make a decision,’ Moira says. ‘Either the rest of you go up and Jess and I try to figure out another way, or …’
‘Or we all stay down here together and find another way up.’ Lucas is solemn.
‘Fucking hell,’ I mutter. But they’re right. And would any of us feel safe splitting up right now? We’ve all seen enough horror movies to know that’s a bad plan.
It feels like it’s decided and I feel a swell of panic overtake me. We were so close to getting back to the lighthouse, and now … it’s like it’s been snatched away.
‘I could go up to the cottage,’ Genevieve says, hesitant but growing more convinced all the time. ‘I could take the radio.’
‘Why on earth would you do that?’ Lucas turns on her. ‘Really?’
‘I know how badly you all want to leave,’ she says calmly. ‘I don’t exactly think it’s the best plan but maybe it would be better, if – if there’s no way up. If we’re all together and we get stuck down here and the weather gets worse, that’s not exactly safe. I’m sure I could climb up there. I can go and try to find a rope, even.’
I can’t help the laughter that bursts from me. It’s not funny. Nothing about this is funny, but I can’t control myself.
‘It’s not safe!’ I exclaim.
‘Well, okay.’ Genevieve shrugs. ‘I’m just thinking about this logically. We didn’t try the radio from the top of the lighthouse. Maybe we should. Maybe there’ll be a radio signal from that high up even if the phones are no good up there. And the sooner we can get through to anybody the better.’
I can see the indecision on Lucas’s face and know it’s mirrored in my own.
‘It’s not safe,’ I say again, this time quieter.
Lucas opens his mouth to say something and then clamps it shut. And then James nods his head.
‘Maybe she’s right,’ he says. ‘The quicker we can get somebody to come and help us, the quicker we can get away from here. And like, I could go too so she’s not on her own?’
‘I don’t like it,’ I blurt. I want, immediately, to take it back, but I carry on. ‘I don’t want us to split up.’
‘I’ll go instead,’ Lucas says.
‘No.’ James shakes his head. ‘I’m not being funny, but I’m smaller than you. If somebody needs to carry Jess then it’s gotta be you. I’ve got no hope.’
There’s silence among us as we weigh up the options. Much as I hate to admit it, I think Genevieve is right. I don’t like the idea of anybody being on their own – and I don’t like the idea of anybody being on their own with James, either – but what else are we going to do? And James is right, too. He’s bean-pole skinny with arms like twigs; he’d never be able to carry Jess, even if he had to.
‘Maybe I should go with you,’ I say.
Genevieve shakes her head. ‘No sense all of us going. No offence, but I’m worried that we’ll struggle enough getting up there and we’re both stronger than you are. It’ll be fine.’
I want to argue. I really do. And yet I’m relieved. If Genevieve goes with James, then we can focus on getting back up to the lighthouse our way without having to try to climb up the slope and risk hurting ourselves doing it.
‘Do you think you can make it?’ I ask. The slope is slick, mud running in rivulets so that the path we came down is barely visible.
‘I have three older brothers,’ Genevieve says as though that answers it. I think of the yoga, that quiet strength she has in her body that I’ve been a bit jealous of, and it does make sense. I am tired, worn out from this weekend, but Genevieve still looks fit and strong.
‘And you?’ I turn to James.
He shrugs. ‘I think so. It’s worth a shot, right?’
The others say nothing. Not even Moira, who looks sick with guilt but holds onto Jess’s arm tightly. It seems a decision has been reached. I want to ask Genevieve if she’s sure. I want to ask her if she knows what she’s doing, going up there alone with James.
I’ve always loved James. Not like I loved Lucas, but James is soft and gentle and kind, and for years he was my best friend. But this weekend has reminded me of the darkness of those months after it happened, the violence and the instability and the fear that coiled within me waiting for him to tell Lucas everything. Waiting for that other James to show himself again: wild and angry and unrestrained. He might be telling the truth now. He probably is telling the truth. And yet I can’t bring myself to believe him completely.
‘As long as you’re sure,’ I say.
Genevieve nods once, firmly, and then reaches out to take the radio from Lucas, clipping it onto her belt. He looks like he’s about to say something to her, his whole body rigid, but instead he just crushes her tight to his chest and kisses the top of her head. She lets out a huff of surprise but hugs him back.
James stands awkwardly, waiting until they’re done. And then they head for the slope. Genevieve wipes her hands on her leggings and grimaces when they come away wet. She pushes the sleeves of her coat up and breathes deeply, hooking her hands around the first tufts of grass. And then she begins to climb.
The rest of us watch from the beach as she and James make their way up the hill. I can see the strain on James’s face, red with exertion as he scrabbles for handholds amongst the grass and roots. Sandy pebbles skid, clumps of dirt tumble under their feet.
We watch until there’s little for us to do except panic if they fall, and then we wait another few minutes, hearts pounding and rain clawing at our backs before we start out.
Jess and Moira are slow, but Lucas and I slow down further to give them a moment to check in with each other. Jess looks like she might cry; like she’s disappointed that she’s held us back and, if I know her at all, angry at herself for not being able to put on a brave face. But I’m not angry at her. In fact, I’m grateful she didn’t insist on trying to climb back up with her ankle the way it is. It’s not my job to protect everybody now; Genevieve has taken the mantle. Frankly, I’m glad that Gen and James are up there and the rest of us are down here. And I think Moira probably feels the same.
We trudge along the beach, which is empty and seems to go on forever. The wind picks up as we hit a big stretch punctuated only by jagged rocks and seaweed. The sand along here is damp and I suspect the tide comes all the way in here, which does nothing to still the panic inside me. If we are stranded; if Genevieve and James don’t come back to help us …
Jess and Mo murmur to each other, their words hidden by the roar of the wind. Lucas walks next to me in sullen silence, refusing to even look at me. If not for the tension in the air, the dull ache of my limbs, I might be able to pretend that we’re not all terrified right now. I can feel Lucas’s anger radiating towards me, as if now he’s finally thinking about what we said earlier.
‘Are you going to ignore me forever?’ I ask.
He says nothing.
‘Lucas,’ I snap. ‘Come on. Don’t be a child. It happened so long ago.’
Now he’s looking at me. I wish he wasn’t.
‘Does that matter?’ he asks. ‘Does it matter whether it was ten years ago or last week? You betrayed me, Kira. With James of all people.’
