The Lighthouse at Devil's Point

by Gary P Moss

  ‘Is this everything, miss?’

  A row of medicines behind the till reminded her of the purpose of her visit. She paid, then decided to ask another question before she left.

  ‘I saw a sign pointing to the lighthouse. Is it far?’

  ‘No, but it’s partially hidden at the mouth of a cove; stupid place to put it. They’re going to build a new one, higher up. A quarter mile, maybe? But the weather’s not great for exploring.’ He stared at the woman’s dirt-splattered legs. ‘As you know.’

  A rush of cold air greeted the woman as she headed away from the mist, back towards the hill. The smile stayed with her all the way back to the hotel; the potential for rumours and gossip had already lifted her mood, a partial antidote to an evening with a sulky child and sneezing husband. She wished she’d come on her own.

  Chapter Two

  Tuesday

  * * *

  Agnes placed plates of bacon and eggs on the breakfast table. ‘Well, it’s nice to see the weather’s better this morning. Any plans for today?’

  The man tried to answer, but instead coughed into a handkerchief. The woman passed him a dirty look before replying.

  ‘I thought we’d find a beach, take a picnic. If you could make us up two large and a small, that’d be great.’

  ‘I’ll do that in a jiffy, no problem. There’s plenty of beach to choose from, and this time of year, you’ll likely have it to yourselves.’

  She arched a severe eyebrow.

  ‘Some parts are better than others, mind.’

  The child lifted a bacon rasher, throwing it down onto the tablecloth. The woman picked it up, cutting it into small pieces. She glared at the boy.

  ‘Behave yourself. Anymore and you’ll stay here and miss the beach.’

  The man sneezed, a great roar that bent his body over.

  ‘Oh, for crying out loud, go and do that somewhere else, will you,’ the woman said.

  Agnes rubbed her hands on her apron, turned and scuttled off towards the kitchen. The fury in his wife’s eyes made the man shake his head.

  ‘What? You said you’d really try today, not to spoil our holiday.’

  The man stuffed his breakfast down as quickly as he could. He struggled to swallow the food. He rose to leave the table, but his wife put out a hand to stop him. She pointed to the boy.

  ‘Take him as well. He’s just playing with his food.’

  The man straightened. He stared at his wife, his misty eyes evidence of his own upset. He said nothing, lifted his son from his chair, and headed out of the dining room. The woman grabbed some toast, lowering her eyes as she sensed other diners watching her.

  You can all go to hell.

  She furiously spread the marmalade, ripping the toast.

  As the woman finished her breakfast, Agnes approached the table.

  Oh, what now?

  Agnes bent to whisper in her ear.

  ‘Best find a nice beach spot to the left as you reach the bottom of the hill. It’s much safer, and the tide seems to come in a little slower. I wouldn’t use the beach to the right; too rocky and unpredictable.’

  She mouthed the last word as if in slow motion, her tongue pausing over each syllable.

  The woman looked up sharply, causing Agnes to lean back quickly. There was a glint in the woman’s eyes, her curiosity piqued.

  ‘You mean Devil’s Point? I thought I might go and see the lighthouse. Why, what’s so bad about the place?’

  Agnes moved closer again. The woman smelled stale meat on her breath.

  ‘It’s not the lighthouse that’s the problem, but anyway, you can’t visit it; it’s private.’

  Agnes looked around, as if she were checking there were no eavesdroppers. The other diners tucked into their breakfasts.

  ‘It’s the rock. It’s dangerous.’

  ‘Well, we won’t be swimming in the sea.’

  Agnes lowered her voice to a whisper.

  ‘It’s not that. They say if there’s any instability, or you’re not happy, seeing the rock can…’ she looked around the tables again ‘…tip you over the edge, as it were.’

  The woman laughed.

  ‘What are you trying to say? That I’m unstable?’

  The words came out louder than she intended, causing a few of the other diners to look her way again. Agnes shook her head, then patted the woman’s arm.

  ‘Oh, no, dear, that’s not what I meant. I tell all my guests the same thing when they arrive. Just in case. And anyway, even if there’s only the slightest chance of it being true, it wouldn’t be wise to ignore it, would it?’

  The man stared at the signpost. He squinted as a sliver of sunshine squeezed through the clouds.

  ‘Says here, beach left and beach right. Toss a coin? We can visit the other one tomorrow.’ He caught the start of a sneeze before it erupted.

  The woman pretended to think about it. Her son pointed excitedly towards a large ship on the horizon.

  ‘Yes, it’s a very big boat,’ she said.

  ‘Looks very little,’ the boy said.

  ‘That’s because it’s very far away,’ the man said.

  The woman shot him a look.

  ‘I was just about to say that.’

  The man rubbed his forehead, as if deciding which way to go was more than he could bear. The woman had already decided.

  ‘I say we go to the right, towards Devil’s Point.’

  ‘Ooh, spooky,’ the man said. It came out nasally, as shpooky. ‘Wonder where the name comes from.’

  ‘Some rock, I think, but anyway, let’s go,’ the woman replied, feigning disinterest.

  They followed the signs to the beach, carrying the child’s buggy down a single flight of steps, the handrails in serious disrepair, rusted and wobbly. A few beach huts, locked and bolted to rock, huddled together in the middle, while huge rocks protruded far enough out to break up the beach into smaller compartments.

  The mixture of sand and pebbles made it hard going underfoot. They found a spot several yards in front of the beach huts, laying towels and their picnic on the ground. Apart from themselves, the beach was deserted. The sea, to the untrained eye, seemed far away, but the sand changed colour only a few hundred yards in front of them. A light breeze curled the edges of the towel. The man propped himself up on his elbow while the boy ran and squealed in delight.

  The woman’s eyes were drawn to the rocky outcrop to their right.

  ‘Did you remember to bring the binoculars?’

  The man reached into his rucksack.

  The woman stretched out her hand, her eyes still on the rocks. She met his gaze.

  ‘I’m just a bit disappointed, that’s all. I thought that being in a different place, change of scenery, no pressure, we might have, you know. It’s been ages.’

  ‘It’s the cold, makes me feel rotten. Soon as I’m better.’

  ‘And last week, last month, last year? You didn’t have a cold then. It hurts, this rejection, makes me feel like there’s something wrong with me.’

  The man turned his head away, unable or unwilling to respond to the allegations of neglect.

  She ran off towards the rocky outcrop while her son ran the other way. She turned once before the rocks to see the boy bashing his plastic spade into the sand as his father looked on. At the tip of the outcrop, waves smashed onto the rocks, but she didn’t intend on going that far out. She clambered up, using a hand to steady herself on small, jagged peaks slimy with seaweed, while with the other hand, she held on tight to the binoculars. Skirting a shallow pool, she climbed down to the other side.

  It was another unoccupied beach, to the rear of which stood a clumsy-looking breakwater made up of huge granite lumps, and at the end of this section another outcrop reached a little farther out to sea than the one she’d just climbed over. Visible over these farthest rocks, she could at last easily make out a lighthouse rising from the sea, its body not tapered like ones she’d seen far out to sea on England’s south coast, but a
solid, uniformly round shape, soaring up to the red lantern room right at the top.

  The woman sprinted across the beach, determined to get a closer look at this grand-looking thing known as Devil’s Point Lighthouse.

  Balanced on two rocks, her legs trembled. She raised the binoculars. As white foam rose, reared and crashed around the lighthouse, she noticed it didn’t rise directly from the sea at all, but rather it had been built on a rocky plateau a couple of hundred yards out, its raised causeway clearly visible. Though the sea lashed its base, the lighthouse looked immovable, as if any storm thrown its way would be merely shrugged off.

  The woman shook her legs, forcing the blood round, increasing the circulation to stop the tingling, and steadied the binoculars on the lighthouse door, which was opening. A tall, broad shouldered man wearing waders and braces over a heavy Aran jumper, strode out and turned onto a railed circular platform that surrounded the base of the lighthouse. After watching him for several seconds, the woman couldn’t see any other reason than the lighthouse keeper only wanted to be closer to the sea, in the flesh as it were, to perhaps feel some spray on his face. He leaned against the rail. He turned slightly. She could see his profile. Bearded, with wavy, straggly hair. Wild.

  The trembling in her legs had now run the length of her body. She held her breath. The sight of this rough-looking man, straight from a high-seas adventure, she imagined, quickened her heart so much that she clamped a hand to her chest, her other hand shaking with the sudden weight of the binoculars. She willed her breathing to a steadier rhythm, but it was near impossible.

  Reluctantly, the woman climbed back down. She made her way back to the first outcrop, her mind only filled with the image of the lighthouse keeper gripping the railing, staring out to sea.

  She had barely noticed the huge jagged rock soaring from the sea, on a diagonal from the lighthouse, and only really remembered its ominous presence, like a bladed finger pointing towards the sky, once her heart had returned to a near-normal pace. Something about it unnerved her. Her sight of the man had appeared to shove the rock from view. Weird.

  The woman skipped off the last rock. Her legs seemed to be lighter yet stronger, fortified somehow. She half smiled, half sniggered, realising the cause of this sudden transformation. Her eyes scanned the length of the beach. The man lay on his side reading a novel, sneezing into the sand and wiping his face with his arm. The boy was nowhere to be seen. There was no panic, only frustration.

  ‘Where is he?’ she shouted. She didn’t run, but rather attempted a slow jog, her limbs heavy, unresponsive. The man looked towards the woman, a realisation animating his face as he scrambled to his feet, the book thrown to the side.

  The woman raised the binoculars to her eyes, took a deep breath then pointed along the beach while shouting at the man.

  ‘He’s down the far end, still moving away. Well go on, you’re closer than me!’

  The man looked disorientated, a huge sneeze erupting before he sprinted off in the direction of the woman’s pointing arm. The woman stared through the binoculars, the boy slowly moving away, towards an outcrop of rocks.

  The woman gauged the man’s progress. He struggled to run now. ‘Hurry up!’ she shouted, though a strengthening breeze caught the words and threw them away. It appeared the man increased his speed again but then he was no longer running. He’d fallen. The woman stared as he lay still. She raised the binoculars. The boy had stopped to dig in the sand. She thought the rocks lay only several yards beyond him. She located the man. She brought him into focus. He was barely moving, his face contorted in pain. The woman ran, her legs at first leaden, then lightening as they stretched.

  She passed the man, increasing her speed till she reached the boy. She bent over, panting, eyeing the boy’s quizzical stare.

  ‘Look, Mummy, look what I found!’ The boy pointed to a tiny worm, wiggling through wet sand. The woman shook her head.

  ‘Why are you all sweaty, Mummy?’

  She grabbed his hand, pulled him away from his digging.

  ‘Come on, we need to find Daddy; he might need some help.’ She glared ahead. ‘He fell over, chasing you. Typical.’ The boy trotted along beside her, smiling and swinging his spade, seemingly oblivious to any drama he might have been a part of.

  The woman heard the man’s cries long before she reached him. A piece of half-rotten wood lay near him. It was studded with rusted screws and nails, some bent over, their points harmless as they rested against the wood, others standing in mock defiance despite their poor state. I can still hurt you, these seemed to say.

  The woman examined the man’s bleeding foot. It had twisted and was at an odd angle. She turned to the boy.

  ‘Stay here while I get the bag.’

  The woman strode back, her eyes flitting to the sea. She poured water onto a tea towel, wiping away the blood. He winced, his body stiffening as she pressed down.

  The man’s face was red, sweaty.

  ‘Leave it alone; it’s obviously broken!’

  ‘Is it? Well that’s done it, hasn’t it?’

  ‘Never mind that, go and find a phone box or call for help; I need an ambulance.’

  She searched his face, perhaps for answers she’d long forgotten the questions to. Perhaps for her state of mind, the state of her marriage, the state of everything. His lips were firm, pursed in pain, frustration, anger, no longer the taut kissing machine she had once desired. His jawline, still chiselled, no longer called to her to touch; it now accentuated a gauntness, as if stripped of flesh and feeling. Skeletal. She shivered, then sighed.

  ‘You’ll be lucky. A dead-end town high up the Scottish coast. Might be quicker to put you in a boat and sail you to Iceland.’

  ‘Just do it. Please, go and find some help.’ He sounded resigned, helpless.

  The woman stared out to sea.

  ‘I’ll see what I can do. The tide will be coming in soon though so you might have to walk.’

  ‘Go! I can’t bloody walk, can I?’

  The boy looked up, startled.

  She walked off, in the direction of the steps.

  ‘Take him with you,’ the man called out.

  The woman turned.

  ‘Oh yes, the tide. I forgot.’

  The tide galloped in.

  A couple of holidaymakers, early thirties, the woman guessed, hooked an arm each over their shoulders. The man hopped, each step making his head involuntarily snap back. The woman stayed with the boy and the couple’s boy, who was about eight years of age, close to the beach huts, while the rescue operation was underway. The ambulance still hadn’t arrived, after calling 999 over an hour ago.

  The older boy’s nose was a mini version of his father’s. Thin, as if there would be no room to breathe. Stuck on a pale face. The woman glared at him. She found him annoying but didn’t know why. She imagined he would grow up and be in everyone’s business. Progress was slow, with frequent stops, the couple frequently turning their heads to check on the tide’s relentless approach. The woman stared at their efforts, then back at the sea, as if entranced. The slamming of heavy doors broke the spell, before footsteps pounded down the steps, two sets of feet whirring past, a stretcher between them.

  The female holidaymaker touched the woman’s arm.

  ‘You’ll want to go with him, won’t you?’ she said.

  ‘No, I don’t think so. I have my son, and we came by train, so I don’t know how I’d get back.’ She searched for the spot where the man had fallen. The area was now underwater.

  An ambulance man spoke to the woman, letting her know where her husband would be taken, and was she sure she didn’t want to come along? She was sure. She would find a way to visit, perhaps tomorrow, bring him some things.

  The couple held their child’s hands, preparing to leave.

  ‘We’re at the cottage, not far from the lighthouse, next to the causeway. If you need anything,’ the man said. All three of them were dressed in hiking gear. The woman looked down at her bea
ch wear and felt oddly out of place, despite the location.

  ‘Oh, you rented Mike’s cottage?’

  The other woman’s eyes shone.

  ‘Yes, that’s right. Is he a friend of yours?’

  ‘No, not really. I came across his … wife, is it? Marie. She mentioned it was let.’

  ‘Oh yes, nice woman. She popped in yesterday for some papers she’d forgotten. But him, Mike, he doesn’t say much; not one for conversation. Seem an odd couple, really. No, I don’t think they’re married or anything. No ring, anyway.’ The woman grinned, then winked. The combination looked odd, as if she were practicing facial expressions. ‘So, you’ll be all right, will you?’

  The woman grabbed the boy’s hand, then turned to leave.

  ‘Yes, I’ll be fine.’ Her heart fluttered.

  Chapter Three

  Wednesday

  * * *

  Agnes hovered as the woman spread marmalade on her toast.

  ‘I’m sorry to hear about your husband, dear; it must have been an awful shock.’

  ‘Yes, well, he has these ingenious ways of surprising me.’

  Agnes patted the boy’s head. He ignored her, dipped toasted soldiers into a runny boiled egg.

  ‘Well, if there’s anything I can do for you, let me know. I expect you’ll be wanting to visit him, to see how he is?’

  ‘Thank you. I know, I’ll have to go at some point. It’s just the train, and with the boy.’ She stared up at Agnes, her eyes misty, as if she were about to cry. ‘It’s difficult, you know?’

  ‘Now, now, don’t you go upsetting yourself. If it makes things easier for you, you can leave the little one with me. My daughter’s popping along later so she can take him to the park; she’s a little one, too.’ She tousled the boy’s brown curly locks.

  ‘He’ll be no bother at all I’m sure, such a quiet little thing.’

  The man’s leg was suspended in traction. His eyes shut, the woman thought he was asleep.