by Gary P Moss
‘Fine, thank you,’ the woman said. ‘I’ll wait.’
Barely five minutes later, the receptionist returned. She stopped before she reached the desk, as if she were expecting some sort of backlash.
‘I’m sorry, madam, but the doctor says you’ll have to see your own GP. Or, you could transfer to this surgery instead, providing your postcode is within our area.’
The woman slammed a gloved hand onto the counter.
‘Well, thanks, for nothing!’ she hissed, before storming out.
Two days later, the woman sat in the lounge in her bungalow. She flicked through a magazine. She shifted uncomfortably on the sofa as the front door opened. The usual greeting, the ‘Hi, I’m home!’ did not come. Her fingers twitched, rattling the pages. A nerve tingled before a pain shot up her arm, resting in her neck. She rolled her head round as her husband walked into the living room. His face was red, as if he’d been running.
‘Is something the matter?’ she asked.
‘You could say that!’
The tightness in her chest returned but she couldn’t reach for the bottle, not with him stood there, his face like a thousand thunders.
‘Well what have I done?’ Her voice was laced with panic.
The man slammed his briefcase onto the armchair. It bounced, making a mockery of his anger. The woman raised an eyebrow. He looked around the room.
‘Where is he?’
‘He’s playing next door with Sam, why?’
‘Good, because I don’t want him to hear what I’ve got to say!’ He was almost shouting now.
‘Well, everyone will hear it, won’t they? You’re shouting the house down!’ Her own voice was rising now.
The man pointed a shaking finger.
‘I’ve been swarmed with congratulations today, and do you know why?’
‘A promotion?’ she asked, shrinking her head into the high neck of her sweater.
‘No, something that an ordinary man with a faithful wife would be over the moon with. Apparently, I’m about to be a father again!’
The woman tried to meet his stare, but she couldn’t. She seemed to lose control over her eyes as they darted back and forth.
The man laid his palm out front, extending his fingers. He began to tap one after the other as he unravelled her alleged crimes.
‘So, one, you go to a different doctor, no doubt thinking no one would know you. Then two, you announce to the world that you’re pregnant…’
‘I didn’t announce it!’ she cried.
‘Wait,’ he said, before she could say anything else.
‘Three, as you so kindly reminded me on holiday, we haven’t had relations for well over a year now. And four, you went mysteriously missing in Scotland when you told the hotel landlady you were visiting me! And now I know why!’
The woman’s head was bent down, a film of tears glazing her eyes.
‘I told you why. I was feeling upset, everything was getting on top of me. I just needed to be alone.’
The man was breathing heavily now.
‘And finally, five, where the sorry tale all fits together. You didn’t tell me about your little ‘accident’ did you? Why was that, I wonder?’
She looked up to face him, tears streaking her face.
‘What accident? What are you talking about?’
‘Our son, remember him? How he ‘fell’ into the sea after visiting that lighthouse. Well, guess what? Our son, or should I say my son, has a better memory than you credit him for. And this morning, before I went to work, he was looking a bit confused, upset even.’ His voice rose. ‘And so I asked him what was wrong.’
‘It was nothing. He got a bit wet but otherwise he was fine.’
The man’s eyes narrowed.
‘That’s not how he described it. He said you pushed him into the sea after a row with a man at the lighthouse! And he’s been keeping that burden to himself. Can you imagine? He’s barely four years old! It was all I could do not to take him away from you right there and then, but I thought, no, I’ll give you the benefit of the doubt. And then I arrived at work.’ He slapped his forehead. ‘What an idiot!’
‘And you believe him? Like you said, he’s not even four yet. Kids his age have vivid imaginations. It was windy and I slipped, anyone could tell you that.’
‘And who’s anyone?’ he shouted. ‘Your lover, the father of your child?’
The woman said it without thinking. Exhaustion had claimed her. ‘I don’t even know if I’m pregnant or not.’ She groaned as the words tumbled out.
The man’s face became redder. Almost purple like a beetroot.
‘Right, that’s it. Get out! Now!’
‘You can’t just throw me out,’ she cried. ‘How will you pay the mortgage? You need the money I make from the lessons!’
‘My sister offered to help me out, not that it’s any of your business. You have half an hour to pack, otherwise I’ll call the police and let them know you tried to drown my son.’
‘You’ve got it all worked out, haven’t you?’ she screamed. ‘Your sister, she never liked me anyway. And believing some fairy tale from the boy. And I hope I am pregnant. Perhaps I’ll have a child who’ll appreciate me, and a man who’ll make me happy.’ He winced at that. ‘Oh yes, he’s something else, he is.’ She managed a smirk. ‘A man all through.’
The man turned away from her insolent glare. He clapped his hand against his forehead. Harder this time.
His voice dipped to a hush.
‘Twenty minutes now. Get your stuff and go.’
The woman ran to their bedroom. She was ruthless in her selection. Valuables. Only her very best clothes. She looked behind her. Her husband hadn’t followed. The tin right at the back of the cupboard on top of the wardrobe. She climbed on top of her dressing table chair. She emptied the tin, shoved the notes up her sleeve. Christmas and birthday money for the boy, saved all year. Hers now. Her mouth was drier than it had ever been before. If he comes in now, she thought, I’ll… She stared at the steel-toothed comb on the dresser.
No, not sharp enough. And anyway, why should I lose my freedom?
An hour later, the woman turned up in a taxi at her parents’ house. It was on a quiet road close to a river. She hauled a suitcase from the boot, glaring at the driver for not helping her. Her eyes darted up and down the street. No curtains twitched. It was all very quiet.
Her father, a tall, serious man in his mid-fifties, answered the door with a scowl.
‘Well, this is a fine old mess you’ve got yourself into, isn’t it?’
‘You’ve spoken to him already? I only left half an hour ago!’
Her mother came to the door. She stood beside her husband, a deep frown on her lined face.
‘You’re not welcome here,’ she said. ‘It’s like Ted, all over again; runs in the family.’
The woman’s shoulders slumped. Tears welled in her already sore eyes.
‘But why, Mum? You believe everything he says without even giving me a chance to explain?’ She looked to her dad.
‘Dad? Please! I’ve got nowhere to go!’
‘If it hadn’t happened before, I might have waited to listen to your side.’ He jabbed a finger to the side of his head. ‘You’re doolally, do you know that? They could have helped you, could have stopped this… this…’
‘What thing before?’ she cried.
‘That fellow you courted. You know, the one you pushed in front of the car. Surprised they didn’t lock you up there and then! I see him sometimes, you know, when I’m with your mother in town. He looks at me with utter fear in his eyes, as if I’m about to hurt him. As if the whole family are like you. But I thought you’d changed. Thought you’d stopped all that.’
The woman’s look turned to one of defiance.
‘He was lying! He tripped and fell. It was just a row that was blown all out of proportion. He wanted to punish me. I was leaving him.’
He passed her a brown envelope. Although clearly angry, his
voice cracked.
‘Here, take this and sort yourself out. It’s all we have. There’ll be no more.’
The woman peered inside, saw the small wad of banknotes. Along with the indignation of having her husband turn her own parents against her, there was also a sense of relief. She could survive on this. At least for a while.
‘Thank you, but…’
Her father put his hand up for her to stop.
‘You know, the hardest part for us to take is not only that you’ve thrown your marriage and family away for the sake of your own selfishness, and your vile temper, that’s bad enough. Do you want to know your husband’s final words before he put down the phone?’
The woman shook her head.
‘He said that we’re not welcome either. I said what about taking care of the boy during the day? He said the neighbour’s going to do it and it’s better if him and his son cut all ties with our side of the family!’
‘I’m sorry,’ the woman said. ‘It was one mistake. I was lonely. Please may I use your phone to call a taxi?’
Her father’s face reddened.
‘And pushing the boy into the sea? Was that just one mistake, too? You’re lucky you’ve not been arrested, that’s all I can say about that. Always some excuse or another. And no, you can’t use our phone. There’s a telephone box at the end of the road. Use that.’ He spat the last of his words. ‘And this house, our house,’ he pointed to himself and his wife, ‘is no longer yours, all right? Not now, not ever. Goodbye!’
The woman was about to argue that it had been an accident, but the door had already been shut in her face.
‘You never loved me!’ she shouted. A curtain twitched in the house next door. She glared at the window. ‘Fuck off!’
She shoved the envelope inside her coat pocket and walked away. She’d never seen her father so angry. She loved that house. Now, it seemed, it would never be hers. She needed a drink. A bitter wind blew in the encroaching darkness, lifting old leaves. They swirled, like her thoughts.
But as the door had closed, she’d made up her mind. There was only one place for her to go.
Chapter Seven
The woman found a cheap bed and breakfast in the town. She was the only guest, the elderly couple telling her they usually shut the place for the winter. They kept themselves to themselves, they said. They liked the peace and quiet, they told her. They asked the woman how long she was intending to stay.
‘Just for a few days. I wanted somewhere quiet.’ She mimicked shyness. ‘Away from people.’
‘Aye well, you’ll get that here, you will,’ the man said.
‘And the hotel on the hill. Is that still open? I only ask because I stayed there once, a long time ago.’
‘Ach, no,’ the landlady said. ‘They shut up shop a week ago. They go away, somewhere in England I think, with the daughter and the bairn. There’s nothing here at this time of year.’ She smiled at the woman. ‘Unless you want it that way, of course.’
‘Well, this will be perfect,’ the woman said.
‘We’ll need payment up front,’ the man said. ‘It’s just the way we operate. No misunderstandings that way. Out of season rate, just for you.’
The woman was pleased that the room she was given was only on the first floor. Even though she’d discarded a few of the older clothes she’d grabbed from the bungalow in a hurry, her suitcase was still hefty, not helped by the couple of bottles of brandy she’d purchased earlier in the day. She’d bought cigarettes, too, even though she’d never smoked before she was kicked out of the family home. She’d spluttered at first but had now become used to the acrid taste. They settled her nerves. And nervous, she most definitely was. She’d come to tell him she’d sacrificed her world so she could become a part of his. She’d given all of herself to him that one, glorious afternoon, and he’d told her, quite clearly, that no one had ever made him feel like that before.
And not only that. If she were pregnant, then it could only be his child. They’d be a new family, could live at the lighthouse. The place that Marie hated so much. That he loved so much. That she already felt a connection to. A solid sentinel, not even bothering to stare down the bladed finger of Devil’s Point rock so much as shrug off its presence. Staring across the sea, quietly laughing at the rock’s taunts, rising above its arrogance.
But the rock held her too, like a secret lover.
The woman lay on the bed, smoking, a bedside lamp now the only illumination in the room. Early winter’s black night had been thrown over the town like a blanket. The guest house was high up, at the back of the town. Her room sat at the front. She knew that even in the dark, she’d probably be able to see both the rock and the lighthouse from her window, but they could wait. The curtains were still closed. She inhaled, letting the smoke steady her tingling nerves, ease the pain in her chest like a steel band that on occasion would wind tight like the main spring in a clock.
Her cigarette stubbed in an old cracked saucer, the woman dozed, still fully clothed. A radiator reluctantly let some heat into the room but as the early evening wore on, the temperature dropped. It woke her, forcing her to retreat underneath the sheets and blankets. She was dog tired, lacking the energy to fetch the brandy bottle and take a swig. Even the anxiety had disappeared. Sleep grabbed her this time, sending her deep into dreams of a lighthouse, a man in a rough sweater, and life in a new town by the sea.
In the dream, the woman sat with the lighthouse keeper on the edge of the causeway, letting a gentle sea kiss their feet. The sun was high, and it warmed her neck and her back as it beat down. The lighthouse keeper stared out to sea. He was saying something, little more than a mumble, but she couldn’t make out the words. When he turned his face towards her, he wore a mocking grin. She asked him to repeat what he’d said.
‘I don’t love you anymore.’
The sun retreated. The sky was iron-black.
She grabbed the back of his neck, pushing him so that they both fell into the water. She tried to force his head under, but his resistance was too strong. As she looked around her, she could see the townspeople had gathered to watch. They laughed at her, grotesque faces jeering. The lighthouse keeper straightened, pushed her head towards the rising sea.
The woman woke. Her body shook. Her clothes were bathed in sweat. Her mouth was sand-dry, and her eyes stung with tears. She jumped from the bed, reached into the suitcase, pulled out a bottle of brandy. She half filled a glass tumbler, retching as she drank the fiery spirit too quickly, but she liked the heat when it hit her stomach. She poured another, drank it slowly this time, savouring the burn. She hadn’t noticed the light that played on the wall either side of the window. Now she saw it, went over to the window, pulled the curtains open. The pulsing light seemed to electrify her body, making her dismiss the dream for the silly nightmare that it was. She wanted to inhale the beam, bathe in its warm light. As it swept across to the right, it illuminated Devil’s Point rock. It looked even more menacing in the dark, its outer surface slick from rain and spray, like a faceless demonic lover waiting for … who? But she’s on the other side, the side of light, the home of the lighthouse keeper, the rough man of the sea in his rough sweater. But the dark side is fun, keeps her wanting more, wanting all of it, wanting all of him. The dark side knows her. Like a best friend.
The time was approaching midnight, but the woman needed some fresh air. She slipped on her coat and shoes before closing the door quietly behind her. It clunked shut and she was relieved to find the room’s Yale key still in her coat pocket, along with the key for the front door. She hoped that she hadn’t woken the proprietors; she needed peace, to be left alone, not surrounded by bothersome interferers. The boy had turned into one.
Well, now he’s made himself motherless; might make him keep his mouth shut in future.
The woman followed a narrow road banked by heather; she could smell its subtle woody, musky perfume, and remembered it from her previous visit; fields of it stretching back for miles. Th
e road was unlit but there were no cars out this late, not that she had seen many during daylight hours. She kept to the side, nudging her shoe till it hit soft ground and following its line. As the lighthouse’s beam swung to the right, the sea reflected some of the light back over the town. At one point, it helped her avoid a ditch as the road took a gradual bend. When she looked towards the heather, a fog had dropped, hiding even the shadows and shapes from before. It shrouded the land, blocking it like a wall, a dark veil that forced her attention towards the sea. Towards the lighthouse. Towards Devil’s Point rock.
She was heading to the edge of town where she believed that the road followed a peninsular before eventually heading inland. Long before she reached its tip, the woman gauged that she was nearing the street where she’d had a drink with the lighthouse keeper. It came upon her suddenly, a steep cobbled drop to the town’s main street, and the sea.
A sharp wind lifted the hem of her coat. She pulled it tighter, stuffing her hands into its pockets. She glanced at the houses on her way down, but she wasn’t sure which two were the pub. There were no house lights shining, and the street was lit only by a couple of weak lamps on either side.
She could hear the sea now. The tide was either coming in or was fully in, she couldn’t yet tell but waves crashed along the rocks, and farther out, the sea spewed white foam up against Devil’s Point rock. She wanted to stand still and stare, but she also needed to get close to the lighthouse.
As she reached the causeway and could see the full splendour of the lighthouse, it was clear that there were no lights on. The beam pulsed away, unhampered by the lack of human interference. The brandy was making her feel a little sick.
He can’t see me like this. I need to plan it, need to think about what I’m going to say. To let him see me free.
She stood, rooted to the head of the causeway, her body swaying in the wind. She needed a drink of water, could taste her sour breath. But what if that girlfriend of his was here? They wouldn’t be in the lighthouse, would they? The woman stared into the black night at Devil’s Point rock. Anger bubbled inside her as she thought of the two of them, him and Marie, lying together, Marie in the woman’s own rightful place. It was though, wasn’t it? I’m carrying his child so that supersedes everything else.
