Letters from Lighthouse Cottage

by McNamara, Ali

  Charlie, on the other hand, has remained fair-skinned, with a few freckles scattered haphazardly over the bridge of his nose. But his hair, which was nothing short of full-on ginger when we first met, is now a pale strawberry blond. He too has filled out, particularly in the upper body; his T-shirt – which once would have hung baggily over his narrow shoulders and scrawny arms – is taut, so you can just make out his small but well-formed pectoral muscles through the fabric, and the beginnings of smooth round biceps are clearly visible where the tight sleeves of his T-shirt end.

  Boys they are certainly not.

  Charlie nods at Danny’s double-pronged dig, and decides not to bite. Instead he offers Danny a lift.

  ‘Sure, man, that would be cool,’ Danny replies.

  So we all head across to Charlie’s little two-door car, and I proceed to squeeze into the back with my suitcase, while Charlie takes Danny’s rucksack from him.

  ‘Not too heavy for you, Charlie, is it?’ Danny asks, watching him swing it into the boot.

  ‘Not at all, mate. Not at all.’

  We drive back to Sandybridge with minimal conversation. What little chat there is relates to any local gossip that Charlie can recall, and our plans for the Christmas holidays.

  ‘Maybe we can all meet up for a drink one night?’ Danny suggests as Charlie drops him off outside his house. I switch to the front seat while Danny retrieves his bag from the boot.

  Charlie glances at me, and sees I’m already nodding.

  ‘That would be great, I’d like that!’ I call, winding my window down.

  Danny comes around to my side of the car. ‘Good,’ he says, leaning through the window. ‘Because I’d like that too.’ He glances at Charlie. ‘Thanks for the lift, mate. Much appreciated.’

  Charlie shrugs. ‘Any time,’ he says gruffly.

  ‘Gracie, I’ll see you soon, yes?’ Danny asks.

  I nod.

  ‘But just in case I don’t see you before the big day, would it be all right to give you a quick Christmas kiss now?’

  I’m about to look over at Charlie, when I hear the crunch of a Nova being shoved rapidly into first gear.

  ‘Sorry, gotta go!’ Charlie calls and I’m thrust sharply back in my seat as the car shoots away. ‘See ya soon, Danny boy…’ he mumbles as we move quickly into second and then third gear.

  I turn quickly and wave out of my window at a still-grinning Danny. Then I wind my window up and look at Charlie.

  ‘What was all that about?’ I ask, as Charlie concentrates intently on the road.

  ‘All what?’

  ‘You know exactly what. All that stuff with Danny.’

  Charlie shrugs. ‘He winds me up with all his smug talk.’

  ‘That’s just Danny, he’s always been like that. But you’ve known him as long as me, why get wound up about it now?’

  ‘Why was he on the train with you?’ Charlie asks, ignoring my question.

  ‘I told you, I bumped into him. Well, he found me actually.’

  ‘I bet,’ Charlie says sourly. ‘Are you sure he didn’t lie in wait for you at Norwich station so he could coincidentally be on the same train as you?’

  ‘Don’t be daft, why would he do that?’

  ‘To get in with you again, before you got here.’

  ‘Again, why would he want to do that? Danny and I were over ages ago. He was my schoolgirl crush, who happened to become my boyfriend.’

  ‘They say your first love is always the strongest.’

  ‘No they don’t. They say you never forget your first love.’

  Charlie nods, but doesn’t look at me, because the traffic lights we’ve been waiting at choose that moment to turn from red to green.

  ‘What is all this, Charlie?’ I ask. ‘It isn’t like you to be bitter.’

  ‘I’m not being bitter. I’m… well, I’m just disappointed, that’s all. I wanted to surprise you at the station, show you my new car, catch up on everything that’s been going on in our lives. I haven’t seen you since the summer, and then he shows up to spoil it.’

  I realise now why Charlie is upset. Having this car is obviously a big deal for him; he wanted me to see it, so I’d know that he’s achieving success too, even without going to university.

  ‘I’m sorry,’ I say, reaching over and resting my hand gently over his on the gear stick. ‘It wasn’t my plan to arrive here with Danny. It just happened.’

  ‘I know,’ Charlie says, taking his eyes off the road to glance at me. ‘I’m sorry too, for being a miserable old bugger. I miss you when you’re not here.’

  ‘And I miss you too!’ I pat his hand. ‘But I’m here again now. I’m here to enjoy Christmas with my family and my best friend in all the world… That’s you, by the way, if you didn’t already know.’

  I glance sideways at him, then I wink when I catch his eye.

  ‘Happy Christmas, you old bugger!’ I lean across the car and kiss him on the cheek.

  ‘Happy Christmas, Gracie,’ Charlie says, with cheeks so red they could have belonged to Santa Claus himself.

  Thirteen

  Christmas is a quiet, but very pleasant couple of days, which I spend mainly with Mum and Dad, enjoying all the usual spoils of the festive season: too much food and drink, lots of naff but well-meant gifts, far too much trashy TV, and board games that only come out at Christmas.

  But it’s what we always do, and have done for as long as I can remember. Things have changed since I’ve been away at university, and I’ve changed too. Though I have no desire to return to Sandybridge permanently, I’m more than happy to slip back in time for a few days to temporarily become the old Grace again.

  The day after Boxing Day, Mum and Dad open up the shop again, so for the first time since I’ve been back, I’m alone in the house.

  Wilson is asleep in his basket – he sleeps quite a lot these days – so I decide not to disturb him, and keep his walk for later.

  After drifting around the house for a bit pretending to tidy up, I decide to run a bath. It’s a rare luxury to have a long, hot, peaceful soak; the house I live in in the centre of Edinburgh only has the one bathroom, and with four girls sharing there’s always someone waiting. So a long soak seems a lovely post-Christmas treat, and also a chance to use some of the many bath salts I’ve been given by well-meaning relatives.

  After checking on Wilson, still sound asleep in his basket, I head upstairs to run my bath. Once I’ve got the water temperature up high enough, I leave the bath running and go across the landing into my room in search of my old dressing gown.

  I’ve been living out of my suitcase since I got home, and there’s stuff strewn everywhere. While I wait for the bath, I make an attempt to tidy it up. As I pick up a pair of jeans and a sweater from my dressing table, I also lift the small woollen blanket that I had placed on top of the typewriter the night of the party at Sandybridge Hall. I’ve often thought about hiding the old typewriter in a cupboard, or disposing of it in one of the skips that Mum and Dad sometime used for house clearances. But something prevented me from doing so. Even though I’m 100 per cent sure I’ll never use it again after what happened, the thought of taking the option away permanently scares me a little. What if this typewriter really can foretell my future? The letters had appeared to come from someone who knew what was going to happen in my life. But if that were so, why had they told me to do something that would result in something bad for someone else?

  Still holding my clothes in one hand, I look down at the typewriter – Remy, I’d called it six years ago. Because that was what the woman… oh, what was her name, the one we did a house clearance for at Lighthouse Cottage… Mabel, yes that’s it. Mabel had said Remy was its name. She’d also been the one who said I should have the typewriter; she’d said it might help me.

  ‘Help me to arse up someone’s life, more like,’ I mutter, looking at the typewriter.

  But Charlie seems happy. He’s never once moaned or complained about not going to university.
His business with his parents is going great guns; would that have happened if he’d gone away? Probably not. It’s Charlie’s drive and tenacity that has pushed their business in directions Maggie and Peter would never have thought to go. Maybe it’s a good thing he’s stayed.

  I shake my head again, this time in frustration. No, it can’t be a good thing, having to stay here in Sandybridge. All I’ve ever wanted is to get away.

  But Charlie isn’t like me, is he? All Charlie’s ever wanted is to settle down somewhere. He has no urge to see the world like I do.

  We’re alike in so many ways, but in that one we’re very, very different.

  I finish tidying my room, then go to check on my bath. I’m pleased to find the water hot and topped with white frothy bubbles. So I turn off the tap, head back to my room, undress, and pop on my old dressing gown.

  Gosh, that’s a snug fit, I think as I attempt to wrap the fabric around me. Surely I haven’t put on that much weight over Christmas? I take a look in my mirror. The dressing gown is straining at the seams in two areas: my chest, where, like the boys, I’ve definitely filled out since I was fifteen; and along its length. It used to sit halfway down my thighs, but now it’s barely long enough to cover my bum.

  ‘Oh well,’ I say to myself in the mirror, ‘so you’ve got bustier and taller – that’s not a bad thing, is it?’

  A quick double-check in the mirror reassures me it’s only in those two areas I’ve grown. Happy I haven’t filled out too much, I head for my long-awaited bath.

  I’ve peeled off my dressing gown and I’m hovering with one foot gingerly poised to dip into the water to test how hot it is, when I hear the familiar tune of our doorbell ringing.

  ‘Oh Lord, who’s that?’ I cry, as I debate for a second whether to ignore it or not. But as the theme tune to the Antiques Roadshow continues to play (Mum and Dad’s idea of a joke), I realise I’m going to have to go downstairs to answer it.

  ‘Hey, you,’ Charlie greets me when I open the door. ‘Did you have a good Christmas?’

  ‘Hey, yourself! Yes, very good, thank you – and thanks again for your present. They’re beautiful.’

  ‘No worries,’ Charlie says, blushing slightly. ‘You liked them then?’

  Charlie had bought me a beautiful collection of books about the progression of fashion and home decoration during the nineteenth and twentieth centuries. The gift was so perfect that I’d been quite choked when I opened it, and had rung Charlie immediately to thank him.

  ‘Of course I did. You know me too well, don’t you, to get it wrong.’ I glance at Charlie’s attire. ‘And I can see you liked your gift too.’

  Charlie is wearing what I bought for him: a navy blue cashmere scarf and gloves set from the Edinburgh Woollen Mill. They may not look much, but they’re beautifully soft, and I’d known they would not only suit Charlie, they’d keep him warm in the icy wind that often blows through Sandybridge in the cold winter months.

  ‘They’re great,’ Charlie says, adjusting the scarf. ‘Snug as a bug in a rug, me! Can I come in?’

  ‘I was just about to take a bath actually.’

  ‘Oh, I wondered why you were in your dressing gown.’ Charlie deliberately averts his eyes from my cleavage, which with the tight fit of the gown is very definitely on show. ‘Shall I come in and wait then? Only there’s something I want to show you.’

  ‘Can I call round for you later?’ I ask apologetically. I don’t want to offend Charlie, but I really want to take a long relaxing bath without having to worry that someone’s downstairs waiting for me. ‘I’ll bring Wilson and we can go for a walk, if you like. What is it you want to show me?’

  ‘Surprise…’ Charlie says mysteriously. ‘Yeah, sure, if that suits you better. I’m free all day, cos we’re still closed for Christmas.’

  ‘About two then?’ I suggest.

  ‘OK.’ Charlie turns and begins to walk away down the path. ‘See you later,’ he calls with a cheery wave. ‘Enjoy your bath!’

  I close the door and make my way upstairs again, wondering what it is Charlie wants to show me. I’m about to get in the bath when that same annoying tune rings out through the house again.

  ‘What!’ I cry. ‘You have got to be kidding me!’

  But the tune continues to play, so I go through the same routine of pulling on my robe as I head down the stairs.

  ‘Yes!’ I say sharply as I open the door.

  ‘Whoa! Who’s pulled your chain?’ Danny says, stepping back a few paces and holding up his hand. Then he notices what I’m wearing. ‘Oh, have I called at an inopportune moment?’ he asks, his eyebrows raised suggestively. ‘Have you left some poor unfortunate soul tied to the bedposts?’

  ‘No, I have not!’ I snap, trying to pull my robe around my chest so it’s less revealing. ‘I’m about to take a bath, that’s all. But I keep being disturbed,’ I finish in a slightly gentler tone.

  ‘Looking like that, I’m not surprised!’ Danny says, moving up the path towards me. ‘I’d be quite keen to disturb you too!’ He rests his hand up above me on the doorframe, the way you see men do in movies. ‘What do you say, Gracie? Want someone to follow you upstairs and scrub your back?’

  For all his clichéd patter, for the briefest moment the Danny effect begins to race pleasantly through me, causing its usual disruption to my heart and stomach, and for an equally brief moment I’m tempted…

  ‘What do you want, Danny?’ I ask, coming back to my senses.

  He grins.

  ‘Not that! I mean, what did you call around for?’

  ‘I wondered if you liked your Christmas gift?’ he asks in all innocence.

  ‘You mean the extremely inappropriate underwear? Yeah, that was a fun few minutes on Christmas morning: unwrapping the contents of an Ann Summers shop in front of my parents!’

  Danny grins. ‘Yeah, but did you like it?’

  I roll my eyes, and go to shut the door on him. But he puts his foot in the doorway. ‘I’m sorry, Gracie, couldn’t resist. Drink later? I’d ask you out for dinner, but there’s nowhere in Sandybridge I’d want to take you, and you did say we could meet up while we were both here.’

  ‘Yes, OK,’ I agree, knowing it’s the only way to get rid of him so I can take my bath. ‘A drink would be good. The Arms at eight?’

  ‘Perfect,’ Danny says, turning to leave, then he pauses and turns back, his eyes sparkling with mischief. ‘Now you will make sure you wear my Christmas present tonight, won’t you? I think it would be extremely bad taste not to!’ Before I can reply, he winks at me and strides off down the path whistling.

  I close the door and shake my head. Then I reach for the bell next to the door, find the control switch, and set it firmly to off.

  Fourteen

  I call on Charlie with Wilson as agreed at two o’clock, and we take one of our usual routes across town, over the bridge and on to the sandy beach. The weather is cold, but bright and sunny, and by the time we’re halfway across the sand I’m wishing I’d worn my sunglasses, the glare from the sea and sand is so strong.

  ‘So what is this big surprise?’ I ask Charlie after we’ve been walking for a while. Wilson is doing his usual investigation of the sand, but I notice he doesn’t stray quite as far away from us across the beach as he used to.

  ‘In good time, Gracie, in good time,’ Charlie says, smiling secretively.

  ‘What are you hiding, Charlie Parker?’ I ask, narrowing my eyes at him. ‘What’s going on?’

  Charlie sighs. ‘Well, you know how well the café has been doing?’

  I do; Charlie regularly writes to me in Edinburgh and tells me all about what’s happening in Sandybridge – any news or gossip, and what’s going on in his own life. ‘Yes…’

  ‘And how we expanded into lunchtime deliveries?’

  ‘Yes…’

  ‘Well now we’re expanding again.’

  ‘How?’

  ‘There,’ Charlie says, pointing.

  I follow the direction
of his hand, and see the old lighthouse that we often walked towards along this stretch of the beach.

  ‘Where?’ I ask, slightly confused.

  ‘The lighthouse,’ Charlie repeats. ‘It’s been for sale for a while – too long in fact. So the price kept dropping and dropping, and I kept watching it while it did.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘So I could buy it if the price went low enough.’

  ‘Yes, I gathered that. But would you want to buy a lighthouse? Are you thinking of changing jobs and becoming its keeper?’

  Charlie laughs. ‘No! It’s disused now, isn’t it? Has been for some time, since the new one was built years ago. And no, I’m not going to live in it; I’ll live in the cottage next door, and use the actual lighthouse as the base for my new business.’

  I stand on the sand and stare in disbelief at Charlie. ‘What new business?’ I manage to ask.

  ‘The Lighthouse Bakery,’ Charlie proudly announces. ‘The idea is to produce home-made cakes, using as many natural ingredients and as few additives as possible. I’ll start small, but I hope to expand in the future if it’s profitable.’

  ‘But how are you going to run a bakery? Can you cook?’

  Charlie laughs. ‘I have picked up a few skills here and there over the years working in the café. But I’m not the one who’ll be doing the baking. Hopefully, my staff will.’

  I look up at the old lighthouse again; much of its white paint peels from the exterior walls, and the rust-covered metal staircase that leads up to the entrance looks extremely rickety.

  ‘But here?’ I ask. ‘Is it practical?’

  ‘Oh yes, I’ve done my research, and I know exactly how I’m going to run the place. It’s a lot bigger inside than it might seem from out here. I’m looking forward to the challenge of getting it refitted, and up and running. I think it will be a great marketing ploy – a Norfolk bakery in a lighthouse.’

  ‘Well it’s different, I suppose.’

  ‘I’d like it if you were pleased for me, Gracie,’ Charlie says, turning towards me. ‘I’m very excited about this. The café was always Mum and Dad’s, even after I got involved and we expanded. But this…’ he looks up at the lighthouse again, ‘this will be all mine.’