Letters from Lighthouse Cottage

by McNamara, Ali

  ‘Hi, are you going to Duncan’s to watch the football?’

  I’ve no choice but to respond.

  ‘Yes, are you?’ You idiot, Grace! I cringe internally. Of course he is or he wouldn’t have asked you.

  ‘I am,’ he says, nervously smiling at me. ‘Do you know which house it is by any chance? I’m new here.’

  I cross the road to join him. ‘It’s not far, just around the corner a bit. I’ll show you, if you like?’

  ‘Thanks, I appreciate it,’ the boy says, looking at me as we begin to walk awkwardly next to each other in the direction I’ve pointed. ‘Nice to meet you, by the way,’ he says, holding out his hand, then he looks down at it with absolute horror, as if he’s just done the stupidest thing ever.

  Empathising immediately with this level of awkwardness, I quickly take hold of his hand and shake it.

  He smiles gratefully at me, then he notices my clothes. ‘Nice outfit.’

  ‘Thanks, er… so is yours.’

  ‘Well it would be, wouldn’t it, twinnie?’ he grins. ‘And to think I nearly wore my football shirt too, but I thought that might be too obvious!’

  ‘You like football then?’ Oh, good grief, Grace – could your questions get any dumber? He must if he has a shirt!

  ‘Actually no, I was going to borrow my brother’s spare one, then I decided at the last minute not to. Between you and me, I hate football, but when they invited me tonight I thought it might be a good way of getting to know a few people.’

  So I wasn’t the only one using this as a way in with the cool kids. ‘You’ve just moved to Sandybridge?’ I didn’t think I’d seen him before.

  ‘Yes, about a week ago. My parents are taking over the tea rooms on the front.’

  ‘I saw there was work being done. It looks like it’s going to be nice when it’s finished.’

  ‘Yeah, I got roped into that, like I always do. Family business, see.’

  ‘I know all about that – my family run the antiques shop in Lobster Pot Alley.’

  ‘Ah right, I don’t think I know that. I’ll have to come and have a look one day.’

  ‘Oh, it’s nothing special. There’s much better things to see in Sandybridge.’

  ‘Really?’ He raises an auburn eyebrow at me.

  ‘Nah,’ I reply. ‘It’s mega dull here.’

  ‘Just as well I met you then!’ His freckled face flushes a little, and he looks down at his feet.

  ‘Look, we’re here!’ I say to cover his and my embarrassment as we arrive outside Duncan Braithwaite’s and walk up the short drive to the semi-detached house. I ring the doorbell, and we wait awkwardly together on the doorstep.

  Duncan Braithwaite eventually comes to the door; he’s wearing an England shirt that says Lineker on the back. ‘Oh hey… er… Grace,’ he says, struggling to remember my name. ‘I didn’t know you were coming, and you brought a friend too?’

  ‘No, we just met on the way, didn’t we… Oh, I’m sorry – I don’t even know your name.’

  ‘Charlie,’ my companion says, not seeming to mind at all. ‘Charlie Parker.’

  Three

  ‘Right, Charlie and Grace, come on in!’ Duncan declares, throwing the door wide open. ‘The match doesn’t start for a while yet, but there’s plenty of booze in the kitchen.’ He looks expectantly at us.

  Damn, I hadn’t thought to bring anything.

  But Charlie lifts a rucksack from his shoulder. ‘Beer!’ he says, holding it up.

  ‘Good man!’ Duncan says, patting him on the back. ‘It’s through there.’

  We wander into the kitchen together, pushing through the kids already hanging out in there. ‘Where did you get beer from?’ I ask Charlie, wondering how he’d managed to buy alcohol.

  ‘My brother got it for me,’ he whispers, ‘he’s eighteen.’

  Charlie puts his cans of beer down on the counter with the other alcohol, then pulls one from the plastic and offers it to me.

  I hesitate.

  ‘It’s OK,’ he says, whispering again. ‘I don’t really like it either.’ He puts the can back down on the counter and looks around him. ‘Fanta?’ he enquires, finding some cans hidden behind the bottles and cans of booze everyone else is tucking into.

  I nod gratefully, and take one from him.

  Charlie takes one for himself, and we turn around and awkwardly watch our fellow ‘footie fans’ enjoying themselves. They don’t even seem to have noticed we’re here, and carry on laughing, chatting and swigging tins of lager in their own little gangs.

  ‘Are you into this football lark then?’ Charlie asks, removing the ring-pull from his can of Fanta. ‘Or are you just here to socialise like me?’

  ‘The latter,’ I tell him, doing the same to my can. ‘Can’t bear football actually! But don’t tell anyone here, will you?’

  Charlie grins. ‘Nah, your secret is safe with me. So, if you’re not keen on football, what do you like?’ he asks, as one of the cool girls from my class reaches past us for more beer.

  ‘All right, Grace,’ she says to my surprise as she retrieves a can. ‘Nice shirt.’

  ‘Thanks, Lucy,’ I say, about to try and continue the conversation, but Lucy has already disappeared back to whatever clique she’s currently inhabiting.

  ‘Sorry… what did you ask?’ I say, turning back to Charlie, my fleeting moment as one of the ‘in’ kids over as quickly as it had begun. ‘Oh yes: what I like?’

  Charlie nods.

  ‘Erm… I like going to the cinema. There’s one just up the road in Cromer, I get the bus to it sometimes.’

  ‘What else?’

  I think hard: what else do I like doing?

  ‘That’s it really,’ I say, a tad apologetically. ‘Most of my spare time is used up helping my parents with their shop. I mean, I like music, but doesn’t everyone our age?’

  ‘Nope, not me,’ Charlie says matter-of-factly. ‘I’m not into music at all.’

  ‘Really?’ I’m astonished by his honesty. Everyone our age always tries to fit in with whatever anyone else is into, whether they like it or not. ‘What sort of things do you like then?’

  ‘Nature,’ Charlie says, again surprising me. ‘Real things, things that live and breathe, not manufactured rubbish that someone else has decided for us we should like.’

  I stare at him for a moment. Charlie is a bit shorter than me, so from here I can see the way his thick red hair tufts and forms into a cowlick at the crown of his head.

  ‘What do you mean?’ I ask, suddenly aware I’ve been staring a bit too long at his hair.

  ‘How can you not know what I mean by nature? Plants, animals, the way things grow. I’m so excited to be living by the sea. I’m going to be able to investigate all sorts of marine life now. It’s going to be great!’

  I’ve never met anyone I thought might be weirder than me. But Charlie definitely is. He isn’t cool, and he knows it, but he doesn’t care. It’s quite refreshing.

  ‘I’m glad you’re excited by the prospect of living here in Sandybridge. I can’t wait to get away myself.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘I want to travel the world, that’s all. See stuff.’

  ‘Nice.’ Charlie nods thoughtfully. ‘So, are you going on this trip next week to Norwich? It’s not exactly the world, but it will get you out of Sandybridge for a day.’

  I wrinkle my nose. ‘Nah, it’s being organised by the youth club, and the youth club is run by the church, so it’ll be all holy stuff and monuments.’

  ‘Not necessarily, it might be fun.’

  ‘So you’re going then?’

  ‘I may have signed up for it…’

  ‘Well good luck with that! You won’t catch me bussing it down to Norwich on a Saturday morning to look at old stuff – I get enough of that here in Sandybridge.’

  Charlie smiles. ‘I guess you do. But I thought you wanted to get away from here?’

  ‘Yeah, but further afield than Norwich – I have my sights set on mu
ch more exciting places.’

  ‘Cool.’ Charlie nods. ‘So what do you want to do when you leave school? If you want to travel the world then you’ll either need to earn a pretty hefty holiday fund, or do a job that allows you to travel.’

  Oddly, in all my daydreams about travelling the world, I’ve never actually considered how I’m going to fund it.

  I feel silly.

  ‘I haven’t decided yet,’ I bluff. ‘Depends on how my exams go next year.’

  ‘How do you feel about us being the last ones to do O-levels and CSEs?’ Charlie asks, changing the subject to my relief. ‘What is it they’re calling the new ones?’

  ‘GCSEs,’ I tell him. ‘They reckon it will be a lot easier to get the grades then too. Totally not fair.’

  ‘Such is life, Gracie, such is life.’

  ‘It’s Grace,’ I tell him. Then I stop. Wait, wasn’t that what the letter said? Someone would call me Gracie? I look with suspicion at Charlie.

  ‘What?’ he asks. ‘A slip of the tongue, that’s all.’

  ‘No, it’s not that, it’s…’ Oh, how do I explain this? ‘I was told earlier today that someone would call me Gracie.’

  ‘And you didn’t expect it to be me – right?’

  I didn’t expect it to be anyone. Let alone a ginger kid called Charlie who I didn’t even know.

  ‘I didn’t know who it would be.’

  ‘But you don’t like to be called that?’

  I shrug. ‘It’s just that no one has ever called me Gracie.’

  ‘Is that your name – Gracie?’ I hear a deep, sexy-sounding voice to my left. ‘I always wondered.’

  I turn around to find Danny Lucas standing behind me, lifting a can of Pepsi from the counter.

  ‘I… I…’ I stutter. Pull yourself together, Grace; this is your big chance! ‘I mean, yes, my name is Gracie, you’re right.’ When Danny Lucas said it like that, it sounded like the most perfect name ever.

  There’s a shout of ‘Football’s about to kick off!’ from the other room, and most of the kitchen dwellers begin mooching off into the lounge.

  ‘Time to go!’ Danny says, smiling at me. ‘How do you think the match will go, Gracie?’

  ‘Er…’ Oh God, I know nothing about football. Then I remember Duncan’s shirt. ‘I think Lineker will score,’ I say, trying to sound knowledgeable.

  ‘And get the golden boot? Yes, you could be right.’

  ‘Do they have golden boots?’ I ask stupidly. It’s as if I can’t hear myself speak; all I know is that Danny Lucas is talking to me, and it feels fantastic! ‘Isn’t that a bit expensive?’

  Danny’s gorgeous face breaks into an even more gorgeous smile. ‘And she’s funny too! How have we never met before, Gracie?’

  ‘I… I really don’t know.’

  ‘Wanna come and sit next to me for the match?’ Danny asks, like there was ever a choice.

  ‘Yes please…’ I stupidly grin, then I remember Charlie and glance back at him.

  ‘Oh, are you guys together?’ Danny asks, surprised. ‘Sorry, I didn’t realise.’

  ‘No!’ I snap, seeing the chance I’ve been waiting for, for so long, slipping away with every word. ‘I mean, we arrived together, but we’re not… well you know?’

  ‘Even so, I don’t want to step on anyone’s toes.’ Danny smiles, and begins to walk towards the door. ‘I’ll catch up with you two dudes later. Can’t miss the most important match England’s played in years, can I?’ he calls as he disappears through the kitchen door with me forlornly watching him.

  ‘Like him, do you?’ Charlie asks innocently.

  ‘No…’ I turn back towards him. ‘Well, yes… actually.’ I sigh. ‘Is it that obvious?’

  Charlie grins. ‘Just a bit. Come on, Gracie – as I’m sure you’re quite happy to be known as now. Let’s go through and endure this football with the others, shall we? We don’t want to seem antisocial. Otherwise there was no point in either of us coming tonight!’

  So Charlie and I sat and watched the football match. I tried to look interested, shouting, cheering and groaning when the others did. But it was quite a strain to maintain the charade for over ninety minutes.

  All the good seats had been taken by the time Charlie and I went through to Duncan’s parents’ lounge, so we ended up squeezed together on some sort of gigantic double bean-bag, which – as all good bean-bags do – looked extremely comfortable, but was a complete bugger to sit in with any sort of elegance, and even harder to climb out of with any degree of dignity.

  When Maradona – or Madonna as I thought he was called for most of the match – apparently scored with his hand instead of his foot, pandemonium broke out in Duncan’s sitting room, with much derision and name-calling of the referee. But when he scored again a few minutes later there were begrudging mutters of ‘pure class’ and ‘genius’, so I was a little confused, to put it mildly.

  I passed the rest of the match by surreptitiously eyeing up Danny Lucas at any moment I knew he’d be engrossed in the game.

  God, he was gorgeous. His bright blue eyes flashed with intensity as he concentrated on the match, then they danced with delight whenever England did something well.

  When Gary Lineker scored towards the back end of the game, the room erupted and everyone jumped around cheering and hugging each other. Charlie and I took so long to struggle from the beanbag that the hugging was all but over when we finally managed to get to our feet. So we turned awkwardly and gave each other a consolatory high five.

  Then everyone settled down again, and where despair had filled the room before, hope now took its place as we all urged England to score again. Even Charlie and I were firmly caught up in the emotion of the game. But sadly it was not to be. Argentina won 2-1, and England were defeated once more.

  Duncan stands up and gloomily turns off the TV pundits, clawing over every moment of the last ninety minutes – particularly Maradona’s handball, which they seem intent on viewing from every angle possible.

  ‘Well, that’s that,’ he sighs, reaching above the fireplace to pull down the giant England flag that has hung there throughout the game. ‘Losers once again.’

  The others nod miserably in agreement.

  What’s wrong with these guys? I ask myself. It’s only a game!

  Even though there’s still plenty of alcohol to be drunk, the party never quite gets going again, as people mooch about dissecting the game, and in particular the referee’s decision on the handball.

  ‘Cheery, isn’t it?’ Charlie comments as we stand in the kitchen again, back in our positions from earlier, watching everyone.

  ‘I know. You’d think someone died out there, not lost a football match!’

  ‘I bet half of them don’t even care that much,’ Charlie says knowingly. ‘They’re only putting on the melancholy act to blend in with the others.’

  I smile at him.

  ‘What?’ he asks, looking at me.

  ‘Annoying, isn’t it?’ I say. ‘When people do that. Don’t they have any thoughts of their own?’

  Charlie looks around the room, as if considering this.

  ‘You know what, I don’t think they do!’

  I grin; I’m beginning to really like Charlie. He’s different to anyone I’ve ever met.

  ‘Looks like you were right, Gracie.’ I hear the sweet tones of Danny Lucas next to me, so I immediately spin around.

  ‘R-right about what?’ I ask, desperately trying to make my voice coherent.

  ‘About Lineker scoring and winning the golden boot! Clever girl!’

  ‘Ah yes, I did say that, didn’t I?’

  ‘Well, technically Danny brought up the golden boot,’ I hear Charlie mutter behind me. ‘You thought they wore them.’

  I choose to ignore him; I have more important things to think about right now, like Danny Lucas’ gorgeous face right in front of me. Those blue eyes looking right into mine, and his perfect lips saying something…

  Oh, what is he sayin
g? Something about a trip…

  ‘I’m going on that,’ I hear Charlie say, ‘but Gracie isn’t.’

  ‘I… I never said that.’ I smile up at Danny. ‘I said I was thinking about going.’

  ‘You should,’ he insists. ‘The youth club trips are usually pretty good.’

  ‘Well, in that case, I’ll definitely sign up for it.’

  And in that moment this whole night is made worthwhile, as Danny presents me with the most perfect smile.

  ‘That’s great, Gracie. I’ll see you next Saturday then.’

  ‘Yes, for sure,’ I whisper, watching mesmerised as he drifts away, back to his customary territory of the in-crowd.

  And for once I don’t mind being on the edges of it, as I turn back to Charlie.

  Charlie shakes his head at me. ‘I don’t know about Great Gracie,’ he says, grinning. ‘More like Gullible Gracie, if you ask me.’

  But I don’t care. Danny Lucas has noticed me at last. He called me Gracie, just like the typewriter had said someone special would.

  Danny Lucas is going to be important in my life, of that I have no doubt.

  Four

  Another letter is waiting for me in the typewriter when I wake up the next morning.

  I don’t see it at first, but as my eyes gradually begin to get used to the light that streams through my thin curtains on these bright summer mornings, I notice that the crisp white piece of paper I’d wound into the spool of the typewriter before I went to bed last night, in the hope something else might happen, has been covered in the old-fashioned black font again.

  I jump out of bed and rush to the chest of drawers, then I carefully unwind the paper and read:

  Dear Grace,

  Congratulations, you met him, your very own Mr Right! I hate to say I told you so, but I did! He called you Gracie and you liked it.

  I’m so very pleased that you’ve decided to participate in the school trip this weekend with your new friends, as this day will be important to your future in so many ways. I only wish I could tell you why, but as you know, sadly I cannot.