“You know,” he said, breaking the silence, “no woman ever came close to you.”
When she looked up into his eyes, the skin gray and tired, that one on the left still a droopy reminder of what had landed them here in this spot, she realized in many ways they were unchanged. That bright blue still as vibrant as ever. He was still to her as beautiful as he ever was.
“And no man was ever a patch on you either, Thomas Hale.”
“And you know something, we need to be honest about one thing. Neither of us know how long we’ve got left together. If there was anything we needed to say, anything we needed to get off our chest . . .” He smiled, paused. “Of course, I mean other than cancer.” It was a poor joke, but still she smiled for him. “I just mean that, well, now would be the time.”
She sat back on her knees. “Was there something on your mind?”
“I suppose so, yes. I want you to know that I’m sorry, for any time that I let you down. For when I wasn’t good enough or didn’t support you.”
“Oh, Tom,” she said, touching his face. “Nothing like that matters now.”
“I’m just looking back, that’s all. Thinking about those wishes and hoping you might forgive me my failings. Wondering how different it could have been.”
“There’s nothing to forgive. Not anymore.”
His lips were soft against hers as she kissed him. It was a kiss of old that felt as if it was leading somewhere, even though she knew it couldn’t. At least that was what she thought until she felt his lips curl into a smile.
“What’s up with you now?” she asked. He motioned toward his lap. “Oh, you dirty old bugger,” she said as she wiped away a tear. “The door isn’t even locked.”
He was laughing, and she began to crumble into a fit of giggles too, getting steadily wetter until they heard Panny’s voice.
“Everything all right in there?” Panny said, knocking on the door. “Sounds like you’re having a bit too much fun for a hospital.”
“Not as much as I’d have liked,” Tom sniggered, still laughing as Elizabeth slapped him on the arm.
“Would you stop it,” she hushed. “We’ve got to go out there and face them in a minute.”
“What about if it was my last dying wish?”
“Oh, get away with you,” she said, pulling back, pushing herself to her feet. She kissed him on the forehead, still giggling despite herself. “You don’t half know how to pick your moments, Thomas Hale.”
* * *
Three out of five patients gave them a round of applause when they emerged, red-faced and both more than a bit wet. It was like a club of teenage boys, and Panny was right there with them, tutting and laughing along with the crowd.
“I thought Tom was the one supposed to be having a shower,” she said, looking at Elizabeth’s clothes. Elizabeth felt her face flush as Panny moved toward them. “Let’s get back to the room and I’ll get you a spare towel.”
Tom eased into his freshly made bed, and Elizabeth looked down at her clothes. A towel would be no use.
“Would you like me to bring you something?” Panny asked, pointing to Elizabeth’s clothes. “I could find some pajamas for you while they dry.”
Elizabeth shook her head. “It’s okay. I’ve got something else.” She picked up the bag and disappeared into the bathroom.
Panny set a little bottle of tablets on the table and Tom snatched it up. He gave it a good inspection, shaking it to get a look at each different drug.
“I don’t know why I have to take these,” Tom said. “Not doing me any good, are they? Make me feel sick every time.”
“We can give you something to counteract that if you want,” Panny said. Tom rolled his eyes at the thought of yet another tablet. As if one more made a difference. “Because they’re doing you a lot of good.”
“Not going to cure me, though, are they,” he said to himself, before tipping the tablets into his mouth and washing them down with a sip of water. And just like that, the moment in the shower when Elizabeth had made him feel like the teenage boy he was when they first met was gone. But just a couple of moments after Panny left the room, Elizabeth arrived before him, wearing the pink robe he had given her as part of one of the wishes.
“You still have it?” he said, his eyes wide and mouth soft.
The silk brushed her bare skin as she stood self-aware in the doorway to the bathroom. Francine had sent it to her, along with the bottle of champagne last week. It was obvious from the easy expression on his face that he liked what he saw, and it gave her a sense that she was exactly where she was supposed to be, doing exactly what she was supposed to be doing. “Of course I still have it. I kept everything you ever brought for me.”
“When was that one? I can’t remember.”
Warm air billowed out as she lifted the sheets and slipped into the bed alongside his shrinking frame. From the robe’s pocket she handed him two slips of blue paper. Holding the first at some distance in the absence of his glasses, he read.
“1985. ‘I wish I could see you in this beautiful pink robe.’ And 2010. ‘I wish we could take a long shower together.’”
“I think it just about counts. Don’t you?”
He rested his head on her shoulder. Another two of his wishes coming true. He had to hand it to her; even in this place filled with disease and death, she had found a way to help him experience what it meant to live. “I daresay it does, Elizabeth. If only we could make them all come true, eh?”
“If only,” she said. But there was a part of her that dared to hope that they might still find a way.
Then
On the day of Catherine Davenport’s funeral, the sky was clear, the soft gray of cashmere rising from the ocean. Standing in the churchyard at Saint Sennen’s, one hand in the loose grip of her father’s, the other in the tight hold of James’s, Elizabeth listened to the committal. Numb feet shuffled as they lowered the coffin, and then, when it was all over, she watched as her father retreated to the vestibule of the church to where she saw Tom’s mother dressed in a simple black dress, waiting almost out of view. Her hair was neat, a small hat perched on the top. Elizabeth’s father held her in a brief embrace.
“Why don’t we get out of here?” James said, almost as if he was trying to hurry her away.
But keen to see what was exchanged, she waited, watching as they spoke. From behind her, she heard one of the village women in attendance mutter, “Some things never die,” and Elizabeth knew there and then that Tom had been telling her the truth about their parents’ past.
Porthsennen had quieted like a hibernating bear, adjusting to life in the new season. Fishing had all but finished, even the most experienced keeping well away from the rougher seas of fall, and most of the tourists had gone home. The village was quiet, contemplative, regarding the season it was leaving behind. Elizabeth had been walking up to the old Mayon Lookout most evenings since her mother’s death, sitting among Tom’s belongings, which almost made her feel as if he could return at any moment. The quilt stitched by his family kept her warm while she sat gazing from the window toward the light from Wolf Rock. When it turned colder still, she lit his small gas stove, read his copy of Pride and Prejudice in the soft light, wondering all the time what she was supposed to do without him.
One night not three weeks after he’d left, she was blessed by the silvery smudge of the Milky Way streaking through the sky like the sunlight from a fish’s scales. It made her feel closer to Tom somehow, even though he was a world away. Her efforts focused on trying to imagine him out on that tiny outcrop of volcanic rock. Fears for his safety stirred, the fog creating nightmares that sometimes made it hard to breathe. Other times the thought of his return, and all the things she had to tell him, made her feel even worse.
* * *
James positioned a plate of warm buttered toast on the table, but even just the smell of it was enough to make her feel nauseated. Since Tom left just over a month ago, that feeling had become a regular dist
raction. Still, she took a slice to please James, didn’t want to negate his efforts.
“Have you written it yet?” he asked, turning to the countertop for a pot of tea. “I have to go in a moment.”
In her father’s absence from the medical practice, James had been manning the clinic, which had become busier than ever since her mother died. The whole village had sickened at once, an epidemic of intrigue. Half of them had nothing wrong with them. He also seemed to have taken on the role of head of the household in the most discreet of ways, paying the odd bill, ensuring that Mrs. Clements took her pay at the end of the week. Elizabeth wasn’t sure what to think as she watched him slipping effortlessly into her father’s shoes, as if he too were no longer there.
“It’s upstairs,” she told him. “I’ll go and get it.” Elizabeth moved to stand but James motioned for her to sit.
“I have to go up anyway because my shoes are up there. Is it on the dresser?”
“Under the doily,” she told him as she bit into the toast. “Thanks again for helping me like this.”
“What else was I to do? You need me to do this.” One night in the first week following Tom’s departure, she had lost track of time. In a panic, James had set out to find her, and did so in the old Mayon Lookout, gazing out at a misty sky with tears in her eyes. When she explained that to be there watching both the stars and the light from Wolf Rock was the only thing that eased her loss, he had seemed so sad for her. “If sending a simple letter to Tom can alleviate some of your pain, how could I stand by and do nothing?”
“Well, I really appreciate it,” she said. “What time are they setting sail?”
“The Stella leaves around ten. Mr. Pommeroy promised me that he would put the letter in the chest with the newspapers.”
“Please make sure he doesn’t read it.” It was terrifying to wonder what Tom would do when he read what she had to say. But she told herself to be strong, that she was doing the right thing. “It’s just for Tom.”
“Of course, Elizabeth,” he said, patting her shoulder. “A letter is a private thing. Mr. Pommeroy would never be so indiscreet.”
* * *
Her father appeared in the doorway to the kitchen a short while later, a smaller version of the man she once knew, cut down by the blade of death. Tiredness gripped him, even when he’d just woken up, as if he no longer had the energy for life.
“Was that James I heard leaving?” he said as he moved into the room, collecting the newspaper before sitting down at the table. Elizabeth poured him a cup of tea from the pot and slid it toward him.
“He has a full clinic. Mr. Bolitho has made another appointment.”
“Isn’t that the third time in a week?”
Elizabeth nodded. “I believe so.”
“He has nothing better to do than fish for gossip. He ought to be ashamed of himself.” It was strange to hear her father speaking that way. He never usually had a bad word to say about people. Still, what he said about Mr. Bolitho was tame in comparison to the thoughts he had shared regarding Tom’s father. “I should really make the effort to go in. I cannot stay here forever, festering in these pajamas. Perhaps if I make an appearance, they will lose interest and leave us in peace.”
“Perhaps,” Elizabeth said, although she doubted a fast resolution. A strange death would take some getting over for most folk.
“Plus, I must put a stop to this indecorous intrusion of James being here before you’re married.” Elizabeth thought that perhaps it was exactly the kind of gossip they needed to take the focus off her father. An unwed couple. Cohabitating. Simply dreadful, Mrs. Anderson would say. But Elizabeth was going to have to get used to gossip soon enough. All that she could hope for was that Tom would be back in time to help share the burden.
“It’s not like he is sleeping in my room, Daddy. He is here as a friend to help.” If he weren’t, she would be alone, and right now, with everything going on, she couldn’t face that either.
Her father shook his head. “The sooner the wedding takes place, the better. Plus, it’ll give us all something to look forward to.” He finished his tea, took a long breath. It crossed Elizabeth’s mind to ask him about his past with Mrs. Hale then, but it was so close to her mother’s death that she couldn’t bring herself to do it. “You have been quite wonderful these past few weeks, have taken such good care of me after the awful things that were said. I want you to know how much I appreciate it, and how very proud I am of you.”
“You’re welcome, Daddy.” How she was going to straighten things out between their two families once Tom returned, she still had no idea. What Tom’s father had suggested remained unforgiveable. But once Tom was back, they had no other option but to try. Things did seem to have blown over a little. Elizabeth had overheard the whispers surrounding her mother’s death, shock at her inexplicable presence on a boat and over the terrible things implied by Tom’s father. People, she was beginning to realize, loved to have something to ponder, extrapolating the how and why until they had their own, more exciting version of the truth. But the gossip had quieted now, and she thought perhaps enough for the unification of their families, once Tom came home. The flame of hope was weak, but it burned still, and it warmed her.
“You are such a wonderful girl. You will make James a very happy man. Now,” he said as he stood up and drained his tea. “I’m going to get dressed and have a walk along to the clinic. I think it’s about time, don’t you?”
It was about time, that was true. But it was also the time for something else: the truth. When she thought about telling him, the tremor of trepidation hit her so hard, she sometimes couldn’t breathe. Telling her father that which she must left her even more anxious than the idea of telling James. But there was no going back now, because the letter was already on its way to Wolf Rock, meaning she had no choice but to await the most terrifying thing of all: What the hell would Tom say when he found out?
Dearest Tom,
It still feels unreal that I am here without you, and that I must resort to writing you a letter. It seems an almost impossible feat for it to reach you in your current location. But to write it is the only thing I can do until you return. Please tell me that you are coming back soon. I promise you that I am counting the days.
Since you left, I walk each night down Cove Hill and climb the steps until I reach the fork in the path that leads to the rocks. Although I admit it frightens me to go there after the fall I took, somewhere within the black of the horizon you are painted, as a flickering light to guide people to safety. I wait for the light each night to prove to me that you are still alive. When I see it shining, I can imagine you here, with me, as if the distance between us can be overcome. For now, the light from Wolf Rock acts as a reminder that we remain in this world together.
My love, it is with great courage that I write this letter. I wish you were here so that I could say these things in person, and part of me thinks I should wait. But the truth is that I cannot bear it. Because, Tom, something quite wonderful has happened, although it is terrifying in equal measure. Tom, I think I am having a baby.
I cannot go to see the doctor to confirm this, but I asked Mrs. Clements how she felt when she was pregnant, and all the symptoms she described are exactly how I feel. She was most surprised by my questions, but I don’t think she suspected anything. I hope you are happy with the news. I pray that you are; I know you will make a wonderful and loving father.
I am sure this must come as quite a shock. It has come as a shock to me too. I was very scared when I first realized but then I thought of you, and the promises you have made to me. I remembered that you promised nothing would ever change despite everything that’s happened. I know we are young, and that our families have been tested against each other, but together I think we can do this. I was thinking about names. What was your grandfather called? I thought maybe if we have a girl, I could name her after my mother. Would you mind?
I think about you all the time and cannot wait for your
return. Please stay safe. Until you are here I will watch the light and think of you.
Your ever-loving
Elizabeth
Then
Tom had known it was going to be a long night when he saw the fog coming in. He had seen it descend within minutes out here. Sometimes it seemed to simmer up from the calm waters, blanket the lighthouse in a mist so thick you could barely see the breaking waves below. Every five minutes for the rest of the night he would repeat his task, or at least until the fog cleared. It wouldn’t be the first night he hadn’t slept since his arrival; some nights, despite the fact that his bed on the third floor was comfortable and surprisingly warm, he couldn’t settle for the thought of what he had left behind. The last time he’d seen Elizabeth and what he had said. And the things he hadn’t. What good was withholding the truth about the night he saw her mother go into the water if he ended up losing Elizabeth anyway? He felt like the worst person in the world, and all he had tried to do was the right thing. But by whom? Not by himself. Certainly not Elizabeth.
Smoke from the first firing bled into the fog, then Tom descended the spiral staircase from the lantern room. The living room had a small gas stove to boil some water, and dressed in his winter woolens, he found Keeper Robertson already there, tending the pan.
“Thought you could do with one,” he said to Tom as he arrived at the foot of the steps. “I heard the gun. Looks like it’s set in for the foreseeable, don’t you think?”
“You know better than I do, Reg.” Tom pulled his scarf tight, a cool draft licking at his skin, a dampness to the air. The mug of tea tingled as he took it, the steam welcome on his face as he sipped.
“That I do.” Reginald was in his fifties, had been manning Wolf Rock since he was Tom’s age. To watch him maintaining the weights and the lenses was to watch a craftsman oiling his tools. He knew this place inside out, could work with his eyes closed.
Little Wishes Page 21
