Finding Hope at Lighthouse Cove

by Jessica Redland

  I’d tried over the years to forget what I’d witnessed that day. I’d had no idea that anyone could possess such abhorrent views based purely on the colour of someone’s skin. My parents had called each other names, but it had been tame compared to the venom that exploded from Cynthia. Gary had tried to defend her later, saying it was just the surprise, but I knew her behaviour had shocked him to the core too. A few days later, Malcolm had a mild heart attack. A few weeks after that, he had a fatal one. Although she’d treated him like a minion, Cynthia had been devastated by Malcolm’s passing. She blamed Lloyd and Zoe for it. She wrote to Lloyd to tell him his father was dead, that it was his fault, that he was dead to the family, and he wasn’t welcome at the funeral.

  After the coffin was lowered into the ground, Cynthia, Gary and I had all stepped forward and dropped a rose onto it. Cynthia turned to Gary, took his hand, and said, ‘Promise me you’ll never let me down like Lloyd. You’re all I have left now, Gary. Promise me you’ll be a good son and never break my heart like he did.’ Gary had remained silent. ‘Please, Gary. It’s only the two of us now. If you’re going to turn out like Lloyd, you might as well push me in to join your father.’ Gary had pulled her into his embrace. ‘I promise, Mum. I’ll be the perfect son. I won’t let you down.’

  And he hadn’t. Instead, he’d let me down and he’d let himself down. He’d pretended to be someone he wasn’t to keep the peace and for what? He’d messed up his life, he’d messed up my life and Cynthia was going to find out sooner or later. And, when she did, I wouldn’t want to be around to witness it. For a brief moment, I felt sorry for Gary and actually understood why he’d done what he’d done. Then I reminded myself that he’d had a choice and that he should have been strong like his brother, sticking by what he wanted out of life. He should never have made that promise. And he should never have dragged me into it.

  10

  I woke up a little after nine the next morning. It felt strange knowing that Gary wasn’t in the house and hadn’t been there all night. I wondered where he’d stayed. It wouldn’t be his mum’s because that would lead to too many questions. His best mate Dean’s? Rob’s? I shuddered at the thought of the latter.

  My eyes focused on the large wooden frame on the wall opposite the bed, filled with photos of us as a couple through the years. How could I not have known?

  Rolling out of bed, I moved closer to the frame and squinted at each image, looking for some sort of clue to show me that Gary wasn’t happy, that he didn’t want to be with me, that he wanted to be with a man instead. Nothing. I shook my head. What had I expected? To see Gary holding up a rainbow placard stating, ‘I am gay’?

  I turned and reached for the large framed photo on my dressing table. It had been taken on holiday in the Maldives and showed us clinking champagne flutes as we celebrated our tenth wedding anniversary. We looked happy and in love, didn’t we? I squinted my eyes as I focused on Gary’s face, then my eyes widened and my stomach churned. ‘His smile doesn’t reach his eyes!’ I whispered.

  I dashed out of the bedroom and onto the landing where there were more large framed photos and snatched each one off the wall. Smiling, but not happy. Down the stairs. More of the same. Dining room. Lounge. Every image told the same story on the face of it; a couple in love, a couple devoted to each other, but scrutinise closer and it was clear that only one felt that way. It was subtle. Very subtle. But now that I knew our marriage had been a lie, I could see it.

  Stumbling into the lounge, I dropped the bundle of frames on the sofa and, with shaking hands, grabbed at the sparkly silver frame on the mantelpiece. I stared at my favourite wedding photo of Gary standing behind me with his arms round my waist and his head nuzzled into my neck. Even on our wedding day. Smiling, but not happy.

  ‘How could you live that lie?’ I yelled at Gary’s image. ‘You said you realised when you were fifteen. That’s fifteen years. Fifteen years of lies!’ In a frenzy, I pushed open the clips on the back of the frame and tossed the velvet backing onto the carpet. I snatched at the photo and let the frame drop to the floor with a smash of glass on the hearth. A tear dripped onto the photograph then, sucking my breath in, I ripped it in half, then again and again. I threw the pieces up in the air and watched as they floated to the floor like confetti. How ironic.

  I spun round, taking in the contents of the lounge: the leather suite we’d splashed out on when I secured my departmental headship; the lamps we’d bought from Greenwich Market on a ‘romantic’ mini-break to London; the carved wooden box Gary had bought me for our fifth ‘wood’ wedding anniversary and the wooden chess set I’d given him; the pair of prints we’d bought on holiday in Tuscany. Every single item in the room held a memory and every single memory involved Gary.

  Sagging against the doorframe, I gasped for air. I’d been wrong to kick Gary out and stay in a place full of memories. I should have left instead.

  I had to get out of the house and away from the lies. I ran up the stairs to the bedroom, wincing with every other step, pulled off my nightie and grabbed the first skirt and top I saw in my wardrobe. They didn’t match, but I didn’t care. I didn’t care that my hair was a mess or that I hadn’t brushed my teeth. All I cared about was escaping. I just hoped I could still drive with my injured ankle.

  Sitting cross-legged on the cool sand at Lighthouse Cove, my arms loose by my sides, a breeze chilled my wet cheeks, but I didn’t have the energy to wipe the tears away. Wispy clouds floated lazily across a cornflower blue sky indicating the start of another gorgeous day on the Yorkshire Coast. The weather felt wrong. It felt like there should be a storm and crashing waves to match the turmoil in my life, not the sort of weather that could elicit a smile from even the grumpiest person.

  I closed my eyes and tried to clear my head of any thoughts, focusing only on the soothing lapping of the waves. No thoughts. Focus on the waves. Relax. The warm sun on my face felt like a hug; just what I needed. I breathed in and out slowly. In through my nose, out from my mouth. In… and out… In…

  ‘Elise?’

  Startled, I opened my eyes. ‘Kay? What are you doing here?’ I quickly wiped at my cheeks.

  ‘Taking photos of the rock pools.’ She knelt down beside me. ‘What’s wrong?’

  ‘Nothing.’

  ‘I saw the tears. You know you can tell me anything, sweetheart.’

  The tears tumbled at her kind words. ‘It’s all gone wrong. My husband’s gay and our marriage was a sham…’

  ‘I’m so very sorry,’ Kay asked when I’d brought her up to date between sobs. ‘Where do you go from here?’

  I shrugged. ‘Arrange to see a solicitor, start divorce proceedings and somehow try to re-build my life. That’s not going to be easy given that Gary’s been the most important part of it since I was fourteen.’

  ‘I’d ask whether there’s any chance of a reconciliation, but under the circumstances…’

  ‘After I caught them together, I knew it was over. After his revelation last night that he’s always known he was gay, what would be the point? If we did stay together, it would be a marriage of convenience and that’s not going to make anyone very happy. It’s not what I want and, let’s face it, he wants Rob, not me.’

  ‘Will you keep the house?’

  I sighed. ‘The house has too many memories. There are photos of us everywhere and we picked everything together. Every piece of furniture and every item in the house right down to the utensils pot in the kitchen symbolise our life together. A lot of couples set up their own homes then meet so they’ve got their own stuff, but we were childhood sweethearts so we started from scratch together. Nothing’s mine. It’s all ours. Even if I removed everything and started afresh, there’s still the house itself. We were the first people to live in it. We had our offer accepted early enough to pick out the kitchen and bathrooms and make alterations to the layout so it was exactly what we wanted. I remember meals and barbeques and parties… and, worst of all, I remember him in the shower with Rob.�
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  Kay took my hands in hers. ‘Then you know what you must do. Come and live at Seashell Cottage with me.’

  I shook my head. ‘I couldn’t impose on you like that.’

  ‘Nonsense. You wouldn’t be imposing. After more than six months travelling the world and sharing a room with Linda, I’m finding it a little too quiet on my own again so you’d be doing me a favour.’

  ‘You really mean that?’

  ‘You know I’ve always thought of you as a surrogate daughter. I want to help.’

  What a lifeline! Yes please! I looked into her eyes to make sure she was genuine and not just being nice and saw the loneliness. I could use a mum figure in my life right now. ‘Would tonight be too soon?’

  She grinned. ‘You can move in right now if you want.’

  I dug a shell out of the sand with my bare toes as I contemplated her offer. ‘It’s very tempting, but it will take me a while to pack. Plus, I haven’t broken the news to Jess, Dad or Mother yet. I really need to do that today before anyone else does.’

  ‘Tonight it is, then,’ Kay said. ‘Good luck with your mother. Do you want me to come with you for some moral support?’

  ‘Also tempting, but I prefer to face the enemy alone.’

  I didn’t bother trying her flat. I knew I’d find her in The Flag Inn, her run-down local; Flag Inn by name and flagging by appearance. The stale smells of beer, sweat, and years of nicotine abuse before the smoking ban made me gag as I pushed open the heavy wooden door.

  When my eyes adjusted to the gloom, I spotted a woman on her own at a table by the jukebox, nursing a tumbler of amber liquid. She wore a sky-blue cotton nightie with daisies embroidered across the top, a pale grey threadbare cardigan and a pair of navy canvas shoes. Matted auburn curls hung round her haggard face. If I didn’t know better, I’d have placed her in her late sixties, not fifty-one.

  ‘Hello Mother.’ I pulled out a stool and sat down opposite her.

  ‘Jess,’ she slurred. ‘What are you doing here?’

  I took a deep breath. ‘It’s Elise.’

  She squinted. ‘Oh. Forgot my glasses. I’d offer you a drink, but…’

  ‘It’s fine. I’ll get my own.’ I stood up again.

  ‘Whiskey,’ she said. ‘Double. No ice.’

  There was no point protesting. Over the years, I’d tried it all – reasoning with her, shouting at her, enveloping her in love, shock tactics, GP appointments, counselling – but at the end of the day, she didn’t want my help or anyone else’s. I’d ended up turning to counselling myself. I’d believed that I needed to ‘fix’ her, but my counsellor, Jem, had helped me see that she didn’t want to be fixed. He was right. Only she could make that decision.

  A few minutes later, I placed the double whiskey on the table in front of her. ‘I’m not staying long.’

  She smiled after staring at the glass for a while, as though she’d managed to focus for long enough to register that it really was the double measure she’d demanded. ‘You don’t have to stay at all if you don’t want.’

  I took a gulp on my apple juice. ‘I’ve come to tell you something and then I’ll leave you in peace because I can see you’re very busy.’ The sarcasm was lost on her, but it made me feel a little better. When she showed no interest in what I had to say, I hesitated about telling her. ‘I see you’ve got a new nightie,’ I said.

  She stroked the embroidered daisies. ‘Prettier than a dress and at a fraction of the price. You got a problem with that?’

  ‘Would you do anything about it if I had?’

  ‘No. I’d probably start coming out in my slippers too.’

  She would too, just to spite me. ‘No Irene?’ I asked. Irene was Mother’s drinking partner and, from what I’d seen of her, equally as self-centred.

  ‘Her daughter dropped a sprog and has dragged her to some hideous family photoshoot, poor bugger.’ She knocked back the rest of her drink and picked up the one I’d bought, then stopped before she took a sip. ‘Ah. Penny drops. Is that what you’ve come to tell me? Are you finally sprogged up?’

  I cringed at the phrase. ‘No. I’m not pregnant.’

  ‘Is that doctor of yours shooting blanks?’

  ‘Mother!’

  ‘He is, isn’t he? He’s shooting blanks. Or, worse still, he can’t even get it up.’ She took a sip of whiskey.

  ‘I’ve come to tell you that Gary and I have split up.’

  She laughed, or should I say cackled. ‘He’s finally had enough of your pathetic “yes, Gary, no, Gary, three bags full, Gary” spineless attitude, has he? No man likes a woman with no opinions or interests of her own, you know. Men need someone they can spar with, not someone who follows them round like a lost puppy dog.’

  My stomach churned. ‘Is that really what you think of me?’

  ‘Yes, and you’ve just proved it in the ten minutes you’ve been here. You’ve bought me a double without question and you’ve just rolled over and accepted that your own mother goes out dressed in a nightie without trying to debate it. For God’s sake, Elise, why don’t you grow some?’

  I stood up, picked up the rest of her whisky and tipped it into my almost-full glass. ‘How’s that for growing some? I’ll see you at Jess’s wedding. If you can drag yourself out of the pub for such a “hideous family photoshoot”, that is.’

  Shaking from head to foot, I drove to Lighthouse Cove and sat on the sea wall above the beach, gasping for fresh air and soaking up the heat of the sun in an effort to cleanse myself of Mother’s hurtful words. The worst part of it was knowing that, although tactlessly put, she was absolutely right. At some point during our marriage, I’d completely lost sight of me and had become all about pleasing Gary. I’d carved out a great career and knew I was good at my job, but it was like I was a different person at home: no interests of my own, no challenges, no passion for anything that wasn’t about Gary. Why had I done that? Had it been an attempt to become the exact opposite of my selfish mother and somehow I’d gone too far the other way? Or, even more alarming, had it been that I’d known that things were wrong between Gary and me some time ago and, as the falling apart of my relationship would have meant no baby, I’d tried to become ‘the perfect wife’. If I kept the peace with his awful mother, ran a tidy and ordered house, and avoided arguments, surely there’d be no reason to ever leave me and therefore the family I craved would be just round the corner.

  Yet he’d still left me.

  Bending my head over, I held it in my hands. What a mess!

  I sat on the wall for about half an hour before texting Gary to tell him that he could move back in that evening because I was moving out. Then I drove back to Abbey Drive where I Skyped Dad then phoned Jess to give them the news. Dad offered to get the next flight over from Spain, but I insisted he stay put. I’d see him at Jess’s wedding and we’d spend some quality time together then. Jess, after calling Gary every name under the sun, said she would offer to help me pack, but was looking after Megan for Izzy and there’d be no chance of packing anything if she brought Megan over.

  I texted Stevie with an update and called Sarah. Despite me insisting I could manage, Sarah pulled up outside half an hour later. ‘You helped me move twice in less than a year,’ she said as I hugged her gratefully. ‘It’s the least I can do.’

  Ten minutes later, Stevie turned up too. ‘Don’t want you taking too much weight on that bad ankle,’ he said, giving me another of his amazing bear-hugs.

  Three pairs of hands made light work of it and packed up all my summer clothes, the essentials from my office, my toiletries and anything else I might need in the foreseeable future. I’d return another weekend to pack up the rest of my belongings when I’d worked out where to live on a more permanent basis.

  Closing Bertie’s boot, I took one last look at 9 Abbey Drive and sighed. It was over. My marriage was over. I’d never really known the man I’d loved since I was fourteen. As a result, I no longer knew who I was. Well, it was time to find out and, thankf
ully, I had some great friends around me who’d help me do just that.

  Sarah put her arm round my waist. ‘It’ll be okay. You’ll get through this.’

  I swallowed hard on the lump in my throat. ‘Do you think so?’

  ‘Not overnight, but it will happen. I guarantee it.’

  As I backed Bertie off the drive, I hoped she was right because, despite everything that had happened, the thought of life without Gary terrified me.

  11

  The next two weeks flew by as I settled into my new home, Seashell Cottage. A cosy white-washed eighteenth-century cottage in The Old Town, I’d often enjoyed school holiday sleepovers there with Sarah when we were kids. We used to tell each other stories by torchlight as we snuggled under the blankets and listened to the waves from the distant shore. I’d never imagined back then that I’d be sleeping in that same room, on that same bed, at the age of thirty because my marriage had fallen apart.

  The EGO programme and play rehearsals kept me occupied for a couple of evenings a week and, on the others and during weekends, I joined Kay for walks along the coast. Sometimes we talked about Gary. Sometimes we talked about Charlie, the love of her life who’d died when his car left the road on his way to propose to her on her twenty-first birthday. She’d closed herself off to relationships ever since. Sometimes we shared companionable silence while she took photos and I stared at the sea, trying to work out what I wanted from life without Gary.