Lighthouse Keeper

Chapter 1

I lean out as far as I can and look down the edge of the lighthouse. It
is grey granite and in the dark in looks black, there are some plants
growing out of a crack about halfway down I can see them because there
is some light coming out of a window nearby. I lean further out
extending my grip around cold iron bar that I am holding onto, I am
pretty much holding on my fingertips now. I could let go. I should let
go. I know that I won't so I hope that I will be unbalanced by the
fierce wind that is blowing around me. I turn my head slightly so that
I can see over the edge of the cliff and down the sea. It is all white
from the surf. I watch a wave build further out and follow it to the
shore where it rises majestically up into the air before hammering down
with a crash onto the disobedient rocks. I close my eyes and focus on
the wind. Crash down on me, disobedient me, unhinge me from my grip, as
I am not brave enough to do it myself. I let my left hand dangle down
towards the ground and I strain and reach for my death. I feel the
pressure from the wind on my back, on my legs and then suddenly it
falls. I feel the wind give up and sigh and pull myself up. I close my
eyes again and rub my hand across my face. I can feel the salt from the
crashing sea below. It is in my hair and all over my face. I open my
eyes and look at my hand, it has the groove of the iron bar across the
palm and then again across my fingers. I sigh again and look at the
sea. The light behind me flashes around again illuminating my back for
an instant before plunging me back into darkness. I see some distant
lights out in Irish Sea, they are some way off. I reach down to my feet
and grope for the bottle that I know is down there, I find it like an
old friend and drink back some of the golden liquid. I knew it would be
there, I knew I would find it because this is how I spend my days and
nights. I look after the light and it looks after me. I never used to
be like this.

I slump down into the large armchair by the fire and put the bottle
down on the table next to me. The fire is dead and it is cold but I
gather a blanket around me and tuck it under my stubbled chin. The
light is still on and I can't be bothered to get up and turn it off.
The clock on the mantelpiece shows midnight. I let my eyes drag across
the wooden mantel away from the clock, I try to stop myself but I know
I can't, I look at the photographs. She is looking at me again. That
look haunts me. Her eyes are brown and wide open and smiling. I always
begin at the eyes. They are so pure and full of life. My eyes focus out
and every time they pull further away, I see more things that I miss.
Her nose, her mouth, her pale cheeks that are blushed slightly from the
wind that is blowing around her. I remember holding those cheeks in my
hand, their softness used to bewilder me. I look back to her mouth, as
I always do, she is smiling and I can just see her perfect, white
teeth. Her lips are pink and full. I put my hand to my own, chapped now
from the wind and the outdoors and I recall how we used to kiss. We
would lean towards each other and time would slow down as I tilted my
head slightly to the right, and would rest my hand on her hip whilst
bringing my other hand up so that my palm rested on her soft, soft
cheek. Our lips would touch softly and we would continue moving towards
each other, the pressure between our lips growing as the distance
between our bodies shrunk. I could feel her breath, her warmth seeped
through me and pulled me even further towards her. I would feel her
arms going around me, one arm around my back, holding me tightly and
another hand would be on the back of my head, in my hair. I run my hand
through it now, it is unruly and feels dirty, not like then. I remember
how we would slightly part our lips at the same time and how I would
feel her arm tighten the grip between us and I would feel overwhelmed
by her, totally overwhelmed. Her smell, her taste, her presence would
overpower me and I couldn't think beyond the end of that kiss, beyond
the end of her. I look back to her picture and feel the salt in my
eyes, not from the sea but from the tears that are building as they
have built every night for 14 months. She is wearing her favourite
camel-coloured jumper, she used to wear it whenever it got cold,
whenever we would go out to the park for a walk, whenever we went to
the shops, whenever it was cold. Her hair is dark, golden brown and is
long and slightly wavy. It is blown out to the right in the photo from
the wind. I remember her hair, long and luscious. It had a beautiful
scent that I have never found again, it was the smell of her and I can
almost sense it again in my memory but not quite, the memory is not
quite complete, not quite enough. I look at her arms, she has one hand
held just above her heart whilst the other is reaching towards the
camera, towards me. I look at the hand held out towards me. Her
beautiful fingers, the wedding ring that I had given her two months
before that photograph had been taken. I close my eyes to remember that
day. The day I took that photograph, I remember we had gone to Regents
Park, to take my nephew to the zoo. The three of us had bought a kite
at the zoo and were flying it in the park, in the wind. I remember it
as if it was yesterday. I remember everyday with her as if it was
yesterday. If only it was yesterday. I reach for the bottle and swig
back another gulp of whisky.

Chapter 2

"You can't have finished that other one already?" Mrs Creighan says as
I put a bottle of whisky on the counter along with bread, milk and
butter. Hammarby is a small village on the East coast of Ireland, it
has one shop, one postoffice, one pub and a petrol station. Dublin is
an hours drive north. I smile slightly at her and tug at the edge of my
woollen hat. I have been the Hammarby lighthouse keeper for 7 months
and I know four people. Mrs Creighan, the shopkeeper, Mr Crille, the
postmaster, Jack Frayn, the pub landlord and Harry. I don't know the
petrol station station owner, as I don't have a car anymore. I pass Mrs
Creighan some money.
"Thank-you." Mrs Creighan is about sixty and has lived in Hammarby all
her life. She has been to Dublin five times and has no desire to go
again. She has white hair and her face is wrinkled but she is strong, I
remember her first handshake when she came to introduce herself when I
first moved into the lighthouse. Her husband died ten years ago. She
says she misses him everyday.
"Why don't you come to the pub tonight? Get yourself out of that
blasted lighthouse for a change. Come on, Tom. Why don't you?" She says
my name and it shocks me. Nobody has called me Tom since she did. Since
that day, that final day.
"I don't think so." I pause, "But thank-you for asking." Mrs Creighan
is the only person in the village that I told about Kate but I guess
they all know. And I guess because they know they leave me alone.
"Okay, but if you change your mind." She smiles and pats me on the hand
as I pick up the bag. I smile at her and turn to walk out the shop. The
wind hits me in the face as I open the door and step out into the grey
light of the day. I cross the one road that goes through Hammarby, and
step onto the pavement. I look to my left and see the lighthouse, my
home. I don't remember when I first arrived in Hammarby, I only know
the date. My life was a constant drunken haze where I had no control
over what happened to me. I was out of focus with the world, like
watched a bad television picture and not knowing what was happening,
and not really caring. I have woken slightly since then, I drink in the
evenings but no longer in the mornings. I guess I am getting better
slowly, I guess. That is why I applied for the job. I sold the house in
London, our house, and moved to Hammarby. I had to get away from that
house. It was so her. Everything about it reminded me of her touch or
her voice and when I thought of her, I drunk. I knew that if I didn't
move, I would die so now all I have of her is that photograph. One
photograph and still it makes me drink. Makes me cry. Makes me miss her
every waking second of the day, makes me ache in my sleep for her and I
wish that she will be next to me when I wake up. I lean on the fence
and put my head in my hands but I look up when I hear running footsteps
coming towards me. Harry jumps onto my back and I drop my shopping, the
whisky bottle chinks as it hits the ground but it doesn't break.
"Harry, get down. Come on, behave now." I speak quickly but I smile at
the boy as I turn round.
"What you doing?" he asks as he takes in my face. Harry is ten years
old and the grandson of Mrs Creighan. Mrs Creighan's daughter married a
divorcee, who already had his own family and wasn't interested in
looking after another man's child. Mrs Creighan thinks that she is
living in Manchester somewhere. Harry stays with her now and goes to
the small school up road in Ammersby.
"Just looking at the lighthouse." I look again at the grey
building.
"Needs painting. The old lighthouse keeper used to paint it before
every winter." Harry climbs the bottom rung of the fence and looks
towards it.
"That thing hasn't been painted for years. It's grey stone." I turn to
face him with a smile.
"But we could paint it." Harry says hopefully with a grin, "Red and
white stripes, like a proper lighthouse."
"I don't think so." I lean on his head with my elbow.
"Get off." He pushes me off and jumps down from the fence and jabs me
in the side with a soft punch.
"I don't think you should have done that." I face him and take up a
boxing stance, he mirrors me and begins to jab at me. I grab his arm
and spin him around and lift him up into the air. He shouts with
laughter. It is a game we always play and ends up with me throwing him
onto the soft grass. He lands with a light thump.
"Bully." He shouts back.
"Weakling." I shout at him and pick up my shopping. We both turn when
we hear Mrs Creighan's voice.
"Pack it in, you two." She says loudly with a laugh, "Harry, come and
help me close up." Harry jumps to his feet and clambers back over the
fence and runs across the road, he turns back to face me as he
runs.
"Think about painting the lighthouse, it'll be fun." He waves over his
shoulder at me and follows his grandmother into the small shop. I climb
over the fence and wander slowly across the grass towards the
lighthouse, I can feel the wind whipping up as I get nearer the edge of
the cliff. I smile as I think about Harry and open the unlocked door to
the lighthouse. As I shut the door behind me, I look towards the clock
on the mantelpiece and feel a wave of inevitability come over me. I
reach into the white plastic bag and pull out the bottle. I stare at
the clock as I open the bottle. I slump into my chair.

The banging on the front door wakes me from my sleep. My eyes flicker
open but the darkness remains. I struggle to my feet and try to
navigate my way to the light switch. My head is aching and the
hammering on the door is making it worse, I give up finding the switch
and open the door. Jack Frayn is standing there with a torch, he shines
it in my face.
"Christ, you look awful."
"Jack, what do you want?" My voice sounds strained and tired and drunk.
Jack pushes past me and flicks on the light switch. The brightness
blinds me momentarily but when I gain my sight back I see Jack jogging
up the stairs.
"Jack" I shout, "What are you doing?"
"The light, Thomas, the light." He disappears out of sight and leaves
me standing in the entrance to the lighthouse, clutching a half empty
bottle of whisky. I hear some noise above me and then the familiar
whirr of the light going round and round starts. After a few minutes,
Jack comes back down the stairs. I am still stood in doorframe.
"Drop off, did we?" he puts his hands on his hips and cocks his head to
one side as he looks at me.
"Shit, Jack. I'm sorry. I must have dozed off." I rub my face and close
my eyes. My head is pounding from a headache deep within my brain. I
had been dreaming about her. We were on holiday in Devon, staying in a
little cottage by the sea. I remember looking out of the window and
watching her walk up from the beach towards me. She was turning her
head from side to side to take in the view and to let the wind blow her
hair around her, then she saw me through the window and smiled and
waved. Time slowed down in the dream as it had done at the time.
"Thomas, I don't want to have to report this but if it happens again,
I'm going to have to." Jack reaches forward his hand and puts it on my
shoulder. I open my eyes and look at his kind face. Jack must be about
sixty but he looks much younger. He is slim with strong arms and a face
that has been weathered by the harsh conditions of the Irish
coast.
"I know, Jack. I know." I walk away from him and slump down into my
chair by the fire. Jack sits opposite me and eyes the whisky bottle
beside me.
"The answer isn't at the bottom of that." He picks up the bottle,
unscrews the cap and drinks back a few large gulps of the liquid.
"Isn't it?" I say slowly.
"We're worried about you, Thomas." Jack slowly and deliberately screws
the cap back on the bottle and puts it back beside me, "Me, Mrs
Creighan, Harry. We all worry about you being stuck out here on your
own."
"I have the light to look after." I reply.
"You're not here to look after the light, you know that." Jack stands
up, "Why don't you come to the pub for a drink?"
"No, thanks. Jack." I look up at him, the light behind him makes his
face hard to make out but I can tell he is looking at me carefully. He
sits back down.
"I lost my wife too, ten years ago." He cocks his head to one side
again. I can tell he is uncomfortable and unsure whether he should
continue, unsure whether it would do any good.
"Jack, I'm sorry. I know you are trying to help, but it won't. Nothing
will. I am empty, Jack. There is nothing left inside to console,
nothing left to tell stories too. Nothing." I offer Jack the bottle
again but he shakes his head.
"I don't believe you. There is always something left." He pauses, "Walk
along the beach, Thomas, walk along it. The tide goes out, leaving
nothing but it does come back in and so it will with you. The tide will
come back in and you will be glad." He gets up and walks to the door,
"Come for a drink soon, Tom."
"See you, Jack. Thanks for coming about the light." I stand up and walk
to the door, which he opens and steps out into the darkness.
"No worries, night." Jack disappears up the path towards the few lights
of the village. I push the door shut behind him. I know other people
have had to go through this, other people have lost love ones as well
but I don't care. I can't see beyond me, beyond what is happening to
me.

Chapter 3

The banging on the door wakes me up, my hangover is not so bad as
usual. It is two weeks since I forgot to put the light on and I have
made an effort to cut back on the whisky and I have to admit it is
making me feel better physically but worse mentally. The clarity brings
things into more focus, and more focus brings more pain. I stumble out
of bed and put on my dressing gown and trudge down the winding stairs
that snake up the inside of the lighthouse. The banging
continues.
"Okay, okay." I jog across the living room to the door. As I open it,
the wind catches it and blows it inwards swinging past me and smashing
into a vase behind the door. I try to grab it but it falls to the floor
and smashes. I bend down to pick up some the parts. There is someone
next to me, helping me. I turn my head to face them. She is late
twenties and has a woollen hat pulled down over her ears. Her face is
pale and white, she has very blue eyes.
"Oh god, I'm sorry." She speaks with a soft Irish accent.
"It wasn't your fault, it's the wind." I say as I stand up and carry
the shards of porcelain to the bin in the small, cramped kitchen. She
drops her bits in as well before going back to the door and pushing it
shut against the force of the wind behind it. She takes off her hat to
reveal short jet-black hair, she grins slightly.
"Can I come in?" she smiles.
"Sure." I turn back to the small kitchen, "You look cold, would you
like a coffee?"
"Don't you want to know who I am?" she walks towards me. She has a
large duffel coat on and wellington boots.
"Yes, but you'll still be cold." I put the kettle onto the gas and get
two cups out of the cupboard.
"I'm Lauren. Lauren Creighan." She extends her hand to me, "And you
must be Thomas."
"Harry's mother?" I ask.
"Yes."
"I thought you were living in Manchester, with your new family." I feel
angry towards her for some reason. I guess listening to Mrs Creighan
has had an effect on me.
"It isn't quite as simple as what mother thinks." She says calmly,
slightly indignantly. She takes the cup of coffee I hand her.
"What can I do for you?" I gesticulate to the sofa and she sits
down.
"Harry told me all about you in his letters." She sips the steaming
drink. Mine is too hot so I put it down on the small table beside
me.
"I didn't know Harry wrote to you." I look at her carefully. I can
Harry's nose on her face, maybe the ears and the obvious black
hair.
"Nobody knows. Not even, mother. She would have stopped him had she
known." She paused, "I know this is really cheeky but would it be okay
if I stayed here for a week or so?"
"I don't think so." I watch her face drop slightly, "I don't think it
would work out. Why can't you stay with your mother?"
"She doesn't know I am here." She finishes her coffee suddenly, "I am
here to see Harry, not her." She stands up, "I just thought that as you
were friends with Harry, you might like him to spend some time with his
mum. But if you don't then, don't worry."
"Look, I wasn't the one who ran off and left him." I feel the anger
again and stand up, "Don't put me in the middle of this. Harry is a
great kid, your mother has done a great job raising him without you.
Are you expecting to just swan in and take over?"
"I see him as often as I can, after school, during the holidays. Mum
just doesn't know about it and Harry doesn't tell anyone. Harry
thought...we thought that it might be nice for us to spend a bit more
time together and Harry thought that you might not mind putting me up
for awhile." She pauses, "He said that no-one comes out here very often
so we wouldn't get found out." She is standing just in front of me and
her eyes are blazing not with anger but with something else.
"I still don't know. I don't want to upset Mrs Creighan." I sit back
down.
"She'll never find out." Lauren sits down next to me.
"One week?" I ask quietly.
"Give or take a few days." She replies and looks excited.
"Okay, okay." She throws her arms around me and hugs me.
"Harry was right, he knew you would let me."