The lighthouse, p.12
The Lighthouse, page 12
There, on the table, are Moira’s cigarettes. The packet is right on the edge, as though it has been placed there in a hurry. I see them hollowly, a prickle of something at the back of my brain. Nothing about this is odd, of course. Except I could have sworn they were not there earlier.
17
Genevieve
It’s a relief to get outside, away from the others for a minute. I do still feel grateful to be here, but I’d forgotten what it’s like to be around so many people all the time. All but one of my brothers live abroad so family gatherings have been small for years. Usually it’s just me and Lucas in our little flat, occasionally with another couple of friends round for dinner, or my brother Ted stopping by for a cup of tea. A few hours with James here and there, and even that usually involves me going to bed early. Being around all of Lucas’s friends for so many solid hours has already started to sap my energy.
But as I walk away from the lighthouse, the weak sun illuminating my path through the grass towards the small shack, I realise it’s not just that. There’s definitely something about this island, too. I’m magnetised and also exhausted, in a constant state of alertness that makes me aware of everything here. Every sound, every sensation, every shadow moving between trees, as if my subconscious can never truly relax.
I pull my phone out as I begin to settle into a brisk stride. The rain is spotty still, but it isn’t coming down hard enough to obscure my screen. I’ve hardly had any signal since we got here, but I’m hoping that if I head towards the shack again, and perhaps a little further where the terrain slopes gently upwards, I might be able to get enough 3G to do a Google search or two.
Something hasn’t sat right with me today. Or yesterday – but worse now. Since we saw that bedroom … I keep picturing the gingham bedding, the worn old teddy bear. None of that stuff looks even remotely new, but it’s not collectible either. And that raises some questions about why it’s still there.
I know the others aren’t as bothered as I am, but it’s in my head now and I won’t be able to settle again until I find some answers.
The path diverges when it hits the shack. One branch leads right to its door and the other follows the rise of land behind it. I noticed the second path last night but it was too dark, then, to see where it led. Now I realise that it’s a good job we didn’t head this way looking for James. There are rocks that claw out of the grass: fat grey boulders and some that are jagged and black. If we’d fallen over in the dark, we could have hurt ourselves quite badly.
I pick my way through the rocks, making sure to keep to the dirt track as a hill rises ahead. It’s a short walk but I’m soon breathless, the wind stealing my thoughts too until I’m relaxing a bit, enjoying the feeling of my legs and arms and lungs all working as they normally do. A little routine never hurt.
When I reach the peak of the rise I turn to look down the way I’ve come. The path spills out behind, the shack a dark smudge nestled between folds of green, and beyond that the lighthouse, the lamp a beacon on the cliff. The lights are on in the cottage, too, warding off the rainy dimness. I can see nearly everything from up here: even the start of the path that leads back down to the beach. Distantly I wonder what it would look like to somebody else, somebody who belongs to this island the way we never could. Would we look like intruders? Interlopers wrecking perfect peace? Perhaps, to the ghosts of dead sailors, we’d be a welcome sight: sort of like a search party.
I unlock my phone and grin to myself when I see the little bar icon appear, a spinning circle next to the 3G symbol. Not perfect, but it’ll do. I pull up the Google screen and begin to search.
It’s over an hour before I start the trek back down the hill, my lips numb from the wind and a glorious sunset beginning between swathes of more dark clouds. My heart thumps as I skid in the dirt beneath my trainers, but I resist the urge to tumble into a jog, although I’m dying to.
By the time I reach the cottage I know I’m flushed and sweaty, my hair wild, but I don’t care. I kick off my trainers next to the shoes at the door and I’m already slipping out of my coat as I head straight for my bedroom, hoping Lucas will be there.
‘Jesus, you’ve been gone ages,’ he mumbles, rolling upright from a nap I’ve clearly just interrupted by shoving the door open. ‘I tried to find you but then I just needed to rest my eyes. What time is it?’
‘Jess hasn’t even started dinner yet,’ I say. ‘But listen, I’ve just been for a walk—’
‘Find any ghosts?’ Lucas yawns and stretches, his expression playful as he pats the empty side of the bed. I sit, but reluctantly, my whole body filled with a fizzing kind of energy.
‘No – but listen, I did find something interesting.’ I pull my phone from my pocket and wave it at him.
‘Is it WiFi?’ he jokes. ‘Porn?’
‘Lucas, will you let me talk?’
His expression shifts from sleepy playfulness to more open curiosity.
‘I knew something was weird earlier, when we found that room. I started to think maybe there’s a reason for it. And I think I’ve found it.’
I pause, trying not to wish I had a slightly more energetic audience.
‘You got signal?’ he asks. ‘Seriously?’
‘Lucas!’ I exclaim.
‘All right, all right, go on then,’ he prompts without fanfare. ‘Are you going to tell me or do you want me to guess? I have about three options, all of which involve the word ghosts. But I’m guessing—’
‘That’s not funny, but you’re not entirely wrong. I said there was a weird energy, right? Well I Googled the island and the lighthouse. There aren’t many links except for the pages about island escapes and stuff, but most of it isn’t about Ora. Mostly if you type in lighthouses you get films and Wiki pages.’
‘But you found … ghosts?’ Lucas prompts again.
‘I found out why that bedroom exists,’ I say. ‘I think.’
Lucas takes a moment while this sinks in. I can see his brain working, his jaw clenching, and then he shrugs.
‘Okay?’
‘So, I’m assuming the people who own this place now used to live here. At least I think it’s the same people, anyway, since there’s no discussion about it being sold and usually that would be on the Internet, right? They’re presumably the ones who’ve renovated it and stuff, too, and left that bedroom like it was. I don’t think that can be an accident. Anyway, something like forty years ago a family who lived here lost a daughter.’
Lucas shifts uncomfortably on the bed. ‘Lost, like …?’
‘She drowned. She was two years old and she probably went into the water, I think from right off the lighthouse porch as it was then. It was in a couple of local mainland papers at the time and I found a link to somebody discussing it on some weird forum …’
‘What kind of forum?’
I’d hoped he wouldn’t ask, but I scrunch my nose up and say, ‘A ghost one. Not one of those creepy ones, just like people talking about hauntings and stuff.’
‘And that’s not creepy?’
‘No, it’s all very scientific,’ I brush him off. ‘There was one guy who mentioned the island by name which is how I found it. He said that he’d been working here last year – I assume he was here as part of the team that did the renovation. He mentioned a property development company – and that everybody got really nervous because stuff kept going missing while they were on site. Sandwiches, jackets, flasks of tea, once even a pile of folded tarps. Anything that was out of place, put down temporarily, was liable to vanish. No rhyme or reason, but half the time it’d turn up later, just in a different place. The boss apparently said it was birds or stuff got blown away or whatever—’
‘Well that sounds logical.’
‘Yeah but my point is – the thing I’ve been talking about, the feeling, that vibe I’ve been getting – this guy felt it too.’
Lucas goes quiet and very still. He’s chewing on his bottom lip like he does when he’s really unsure about something. I know it’s not a lot to go on, but I have a strong feeling about this. I’ve not been making it up. There is something here that isn’t just an old building; there’s history, and it’s seeped into the earth, the air.
‘So you think it’s actually haunted,’ Lucas says eventually. ‘Honest to God Blair Witch haunted?’
‘Not exactly—’
‘Because I have to say I’m … not thrilled.’
I don’t really know how to respond to that, because I’m not thrilled either; but I’m not afraid. Not really. Still, the thought of ghostly hands moving everyday items is unsettling.
‘Do you think the two are linked?’ Lucas asks. ‘The little girl dying and the … other stuff?’
‘I don’t think there’s the ghost of a two-year-old throwing stuff around, no. But I do wonder if the girl’s death could be linked … I don’t know. It’s just interesting, isn’t it?’
‘Do you think we should tell the others?’ Lucas leans back on the bed, resting on his elbows. It’s meant to make him look confident, I’m sure, but it doesn’t. He just looks nervous. ‘I think maybe we should.’
‘I don’t know.’ I’ve been wondering the same thing since I found the information. Is it worth it? It’s only little things going missing, and a feeling that’s getting stronger. At first I thought it was just a ‘feeling’ – not good or bad. Now I’m not so sure. Now it’s more like concern, a growing niggle at the back of my mind. ‘Do you think we should?’ I ask. ‘Really?’
Lucas thinks for a moment. ‘Yes,’ he says eventually. ‘Yes, I think we should. I think everybody will want to know. I’m not sure what it means, but I don’t like it. At best it’s carelessness on the owner’s behalf, not sharing a history like that. And Kira should have researched better. I know we were told to be careful, but if somebody has already died on those rocks …’ He shakes his head.
‘We could have easily had an issue with James wandering off,’ I agree. ‘It’s different if you know somebody’s already died.’
‘Exactly.’ Lucas rolls his head on his neck and then relaxes a little. He pats the edge of the bed. ‘I don’t want to think about it.’
I quirk an eyebrow at him. He’s got that playful look on his face again, although I’m not sure if it’s me but it seems hollow now: an act.
The others will be starting to make their way over to the lighthouse soon, gathering the booze and planning what we’ll have for dinner. Suddenly I think about earlier, about Lucas messing around before we headed over for lunch.
‘How did you get over to the lighthouse so fast earlier?’ I ask. ‘Just out of curiosity. One second you were outside the window and the next you were in the sunroom, like magic.’
Confusion flits across Lucas’s face.
‘What do you mean?’ he asks. ‘At lunch? I told you, I walked over. I was never outside any window. Which window?’
‘You were waiting to scare me,’ I push. ‘I saw you. And then you …’ I stop as the look of confusion grows. ‘It wasn’t you?’
‘No. Everybody was too wound up already. I just went straight over while you were in the bathroom.’ He pauses and his face is so earnest it’s hard to ignore the way my brain tips all the way into the bad feeling.
It is bad, now, isn’t it?
‘It wasn’t me.’
18
Moira
The whole way through dinner everybody is on edge. Lucas keeps glancing at Genevieve as if he’s waiting for something, and James won’t put his phone down even though the weather has left us with virtually no signal. Kira keeps brightly suggesting that we have a game of charades, desperate to stop the atmosphere from growing any worse. Nobody will officially say no, but it’s clear none of us want to play. Jess’s meal of pumpkin soup with crusty white bread from the M&S bakery goes down okay, but the enthusiasm we all had last night is gone. Mind you, it probably doesn’t help that I caught Lucas stuffing his face with biscuits while Jess was cooking.
It’s not until I get up to help Jess clear away the bowls and plates that I realise I’ve probably had too much wine – maybe five glasses already. We’ve been sat eating and chatting for a good couple of hours and I haven’t been keeping track, just keeping up with the others. I’m unsteady on my feet and feeling a bit sick. The garlic taste in my mouth is too strong and my head too heavy.
Jess is a bit worse for wear too. She laughs as I stagger into the kitchen carrying plates up my arms like I used to when we both worked in the same restaurant during our first year of uni. It was how we met before the term even started. The way she smiles makes me warm right through, but there’s an edge to it too, as if she needs to laugh or else she might cry instead.
‘You okay?’ I ask. ‘The soup was delicious.’ I kiss her on the cheek and run the taps to fill the sink. Jess slumps against the counter wearily.
‘I miss her, Mo.’
‘Em? We’ve only been gone a couple of days, and we’ll be back soon.’ I don’t admit that I miss her too, even though I do. It’s like missing a part of myself: a void inside my chest where the rest of my heart should be. But it’s healthy to have a break, to reconnect with each other, to spend time with friends, and we haven’t done much of that on our own since Emma was born.
‘I have these … visions. Of bad—’
‘Jess,’ I say firmly, cutting her off. ‘She’s fine. They’re fine. Come on.’
Jess rubs her hands up her arms, even though it’s not especially cold in the kitchen. Gen built another fire in the log burner while we were cooking but it’s died again now. The lounge is still passably warm and the sunroom is hot enough with food and booze and chatter to ward off the night.
I take Jess’s hands in mine for the umpteenth time this weekend and massage some warmth back into them; the skin around her nails is almost blue.
‘I just can’t get warm,’ she says. ‘It’s this place.’
‘Are you coming down with something?’
Jess shakes her head, but without conviction. ‘I don’t know. We were out late and I’m still tired. It’s cold out there. I just feel like I’ve not been warm since we got here. It’s not like me.’
I wrap my arm around her as we leave the dishes to soak and head back towards the sunroom – it’s somebody else’s turn to wash up. But as we come through to the lounge we see that everybody has migrated in here; the bottles of wine and glasses are piled up now on the coffee table, and Lucas has a fresh can of beer.
‘So, what’s the plan tonight? I still want an early night,’ I say.
Everybody looks at me. It’s clear we’ve interrupted something. Kira looks suspicious and James is twitching his leg nervously, bouncing the ball of his foot on the floor.
Nobody says anything.
‘Lucas?’ I ask. He seems the most in control, but even he looks a bit shaken. It’s the same way he’s been acting all through dinner – almost secretive – only now he looks ready to talk. ‘What’s going on?’
Lucas glances at the others before he says, ‘I was telling the others … Gen found something.’
Genevieve looks uncomfortable in her spot by the ashy remains of this evening’s fire, where she’s perched on the small footstool, her elbows resting on her knees and a glass of wine between her feet. She winces as Lucas mentions her name.
‘I wasn’t sure whether I should say, but …’
‘Oh for goodness’ sake,’ Kira mutters. ‘All this drama. What’s the matter? Have you finally actually found something to complain about?’
Genevieve’s wince becomes a full-on grimace, but the way she squares her shoulders makes me think Kira might be close to the truth. I pull Jess further into the room and we perch on the edge of the sofa.
‘It’s … not a big deal,’ Genevieve says. ‘I don’t want to blow anything out of proportion.’
‘I’m not sure I agree.’ Lucas puts down his can and leans forward intently. ‘She Googled the history of the island. Found out about that kiddie’s bedroom upstairs. We’re thinking there’s a reason why it’s still there and I really don’t like it much.’
Kira starts to roll her eyes as Genevieve says, ‘There was a little girl who died here.’
The air in the room seems to crackle with electricity as we all exchange glances. I don’t see so much as feel Jess shiver against me, and I place a warm hand on the small of her back. She’s already rigid, her muscles bunched tight, and I know that this will really upset her. Talking about the death of a child, while she’s feeling like this? While she’s worried about Emma?
But I still have to ask, for my own peace of mind. I have to know.
‘How did it happen?’ I ask.
‘She drowned,’ Genevieve says. ‘Back in, like, 1980.’ She pulls her phone out of her pocket and holds it between her palms. The screen is dark. No notifications to set it pinging to brightness. I’m suddenly aware again of how isolated we really are here.
‘Was it … an accident?’ Jess asks faintly.
‘Didn’t say, but I guess it must have been. I think she fell from the cliff, but there weren’t loads of details.’
Suddenly we’re all staring at James, and he shifts uncomfortably in his seat. I guess it’s not lost on any of us how dangerous it was for him to have been wandering around by himself the other night. It’s treacherous enough during the day; I’ve seen the way those waves crash against the cliff, the force that causes the foam to spray feet into the air.
‘Well, okay,’ Kira says, somewhat put out. ‘So there’s a reason the island hasn’t been occupied for a while, and a reason why they’ve reinvented the place. Does it matter? The lighthouse is amazing and the cottage is super comfortable. We’re only meant to be here for a nice weekend, for a break, and for me to get some bloody photos.’
‘Don’t you think the owners ought to have told you?’ Lucas says. ‘Before we came?’
