The Light Between Oceans (18 page)

The months trailed by, marked with the peculiar rituals of the lighthouse – lighting up, hoisting the ensign, draining the mercury bath to filter out stray oil. All the usual form-filling, and compliance with the bullying correspondence from the Foreman Artificer about how any damage to the vapour tubes could only be caused by lightkeeper negligence, not faulty workmanship. The logbook changed from 1926 to 1927 in mid-page: there was no wasting paper in the CLS – the books were expensive. Tom pondered the institutional indifference to the arrival of a new year – as though the Lights were not impressed by something as prosaic as the mere effluction of time. And it was true – the view from the gallery on New Year’s Day was indistinguishable from that of New Year’s Eve.

Occasionally, he would still find himself revisiting the page for 27 April 1926, until the book opened there of its own accord.

Isabel worked hard. The vegetable patch thrived; the cottage was kept clean. She washed and patched Tom’s clothes, and cooked the things he liked. Lucy grew. The light turned. Time passed.

CHAPTER 13

‘IT’S COMING UP
for a year soon,’ said Isabel. ‘The twenty-seventh of April’s her birthday, near enough.’

Tom was in the workshop, filing away rust from a bent door hinge. He put down the rasp. ‘I wonder – you know, what her real birthday is.’

‘The day she arrived is good enough for me.’ Isabel kissed the child, who was sitting astride her hip, gnawing on a crust.

Lucy reached out her arms to Tom.

‘Sorry, littlie. My hands are filthy. You’re better off with Mamma just now.’

‘I can’t believe how much she’s grown. She weighs a ton these days.’ Isabel laughed, and gave Lucy a heave to settle her higher on her hip. ‘I’m going to make a birthday cake.’ The child responded by dipping her head into Isabel’s chest and dribbling bits of bread onto her. ‘That tooth’s giving you trouble, isn’t it, sweetie? Your cheeks are so red. Shall we put some teething powder on it?’ Turning to Tom, she said, ‘See you in a while, darl. I’d better get back. Soup’s still on the stove,’ and left for the cottage.

The steely light pierced the window and scoured Tom’s workbench. He had to hammer the metal straight, and each blow rang sharply off the walls. Though he found himself striking with more
force
than was necessary, he couldn’t stop. There was no getting away from the feeling stirred up by talk of birthdays and anniversaries. He set to work with the hammer again, the blows no less heavy, until the metal snapped from the force. He picked up the shattered halves and stared at them.

Tom looked up from the armchair. A few weeks had passed since the baby’s birthday celebration.

‘It doesn’t matter what you read to her,’ said Isabel. ‘It’s just good for her to get used to hearing different words.’ She deposited Lucy on his lap and went to finish making the bread.

‘Dadadadad,’ said the child.

‘Bubububub,’ said Tom. ‘So. You want a story?’ The little hand reached out, but instead of pointing to the heavy book of fairy tales on the table beside them, grabbed a beige booklet, and pushed it at him. He laughed. ‘I don’t think you’ll like that one much, bunny rabbit. No pictures in it, for a start.’ He reached for the fairy tales, but Lucy thrust the booklet in his face. ‘Dadadadad.’

‘If that’s the one you want, littlie!’ he laughed again. The child opened it at a page, and pointed at the words, like she had seen Tom and Isabel do. ‘All right,’ began Tom. ‘
Instructions to Lightkeepers. Number twenty-nine: “The Lightkeepers are never to allow any interests, private or otherwise, to interfere with discharge of their duties, which are of the greatest importance to the safety of navigation; and they are reminded that their retention or promotion in the Service depends upon their strict obedience to orders, adherence to the rules laid down for their guidance, industry, sobriety, and the maintenance of cleanliness and good order in their own persons and families as well as in every part of the Lighthouse establishment and premises.” Number thirty: “Misconduct, disposition to quarrel, insobriety or immorality on the part of any keeper
”,’ he paused to retrieve Lucy’s fingers from his nostrils, ‘
“will render the
offender
liable to punishment or dismissal. The committing of any such offence by any member of the Lightkeeper’s family will render the offender liable to exclusion from the Lighthouse station.”
’ He stopped. A chill had crept through him, and his heart beat faster. He was summoned back to the present by a tiny hand coming to rest on his chin. He pressed it to his lips, absently. Lucy grinned at him and gave him a generous kiss.

‘Come on, let’s read
Sleeping Beauty
instead,’ he said, and took up the fairy tales, though he found it hard to concentrate.

‘Here you are – tea and toast in bed, ladies!’ said Tom, resting the tray beside Isabel.

‘Careful, Luce,’ said Isabel. She had brought the toddler into bed that Sunday after Tom had gone to extinguish the light, and the child was clambering towards the tray to reach the small cup of tea Tom had made her too – hardly more than warm milk with a drop of colour.

Tom sat beside Isabel and pulled Lucy onto his knee. ‘Here we go, Lulu,’ he said, and helped her steady the cup in both hands as she drank. He was concentrating on his task, until he became aware of Isabel’s silence, and turned to see tears in her eyes.

‘Izzy, Izzy, what’s wrong, darl?’

‘Nothing at all, Tom. Nothing at all.’

He brushed a tear away from her cheek.

‘Sometimes I’m so happy it frightens me, Tom.’

He stroked her hair, and Lucy started to blow bubbles into the tea. ‘Listen, Miss Muffet, you going to drink that, or have you had enough for now?’

The child continued to slobber into the cup, clearly pleased with the sounds.

‘OK, I think we’ll give it a rest for now.’ He eased the cup away
from
her, and she responded by climbing off him and onto Isabel, still blowing bubbles of spittle.

‘Charming!’ said Isabel, laughing through her tears. ‘Come here you little monkey!’ and she blew a raspberry on her tummy. Lucy giggled and squirmed and said, ‘’gain! ’gain!’ and Isabel obliged.

‘You two are as bad as each other!’ said Tom.

‘Sometimes I feel a bit drunk with how much I love her. And you. Like if they asked me to walk one of those straight lines I couldn’t.’

‘No straight lines on Janus, so you’re all right on that score,’ said Tom.

‘Don’t mock, Tom. It’s like I was colour-blind before Lucy, and now the world’s completely different. It’s brighter and I can see further. I’m in exactly the same place, the birds are the same, the water’s the same, the sun rises and sets just like it always did, but I never knew what
for
, Tom.’ She drew the child into her. ‘Lucy’s the what for … And
you
’re different, too.’

‘How?’

‘I think there are bits of you you didn’t know existed until she came along. Corners of your heart that life had shut down.’ She traced a finger along his mouth. ‘I know you don’t like to talk about the war and everything, but – well, it must have made you numb.’

‘My feet. Made my feet numb more often than not – frozen mud’ll do that to a bloke.’ Tom could manage only half a smile at the attempted joke.

‘Stop it, Tom. I’m trying to say something. I’m being serious, for goodness’ sake, and you just send me packing with some silly joke, like I’m a child who doesn’t understand or can’t be trusted with the truth.’

This time Tom was deadly serious. ‘You
don’t
understand, Isabel. No civilised person should ever
have
to understand. And trying to describe it would be like passing on a disease.’ He turned towards the window. ‘I did what I did so that people like you and Lucy could
forget
it ever happened. So that it would never happen again. “The war to end all wars,” remember? It doesn’t belong here, on this island. In this bed.’

Tom’s features had hardened, and she glimpsed a resolve she’d never seen in him before – the resolve, she imagined, that had got him through everything he’d been through.

‘It’s just …’ Isabel began again, ‘well, we none of us know whether we’re around for another year or another hundred years. And I wanted to make sure you knew how thankful I am to you, Tom. For everything. Especially for giving me Lucy.’

Tom’s smile froze at the last words, and Isabel hurried on. ‘You
did
, darl. You understood how much I needed her, and I know that cost you, Tom. Not many men would do that for their wife.’

Jolted back from some dream world, Tom could feel his palms sweating. His heart started to race with the urge to run – anywhere, it didn’t matter where, just as long as it was away from the reality of the choice he had made, which suddenly seemed to weigh like an iron collar.

‘Time I was getting on with some work. I’ll leave you two to have your toast,’ he said, and left the room as slowly as he could manage.

CHAPTER 14