From a Distance

by Raffaella Barker

  She broke off, sighing, and muttered something else Kit couldn’t hear.

  ‘I’m sorry, I don’t follow?’ Kit wondered what the point of this call was. Did this woman think he had a dog? ‘I haven’t got a dog,’ he said.

  ‘Really, what a shame. There are some puppies almost ready to go, they’re about five miles away. That reminds me, I promised I’d go and look at them this week.’

  Luisa sounded vibrant and attractive. Kit was curious, but he didn’t need a dog. ‘That’s very kind, but I think I’ll leave it for now,’ he said.

  Luisa laughed. ‘I’m so sorry, I got carried away. I would love everyone I know to have one, so I thought . . . Oh dear, where did we get to?’

  Kit tried to imagine what she looked like. Lots of hair, laughing eyes, attractive. Cheerful and not all droopy and depressed like Virginia Woolf. Was she married? Probably. She said ‘we’.

  ‘You were talking about walking your dog,’ he said.

  ‘Oh. Sorry, I was sidetracked. So sorry. What I meant to say was that I understand the lighthouse is your property now and I have to apologise. Some of Jason Tye’s Houdini sheep have escaped into your field. Honestly, they never stop escaping. Anyway, I’ve only just been told and I’m not sure how much damage they’ve done, and I’m on my way but my car’s blocked in by those people who are digging a tunnel all the way through Norfolk and – Oh! Here comes someone, and they’re moving all the traffic. I’m on my way. Are you still there?’

  Kit had let the car drift to a halt in the middle of the road so engrossed had he been by Luisa. Sheep, more bloody sheep. What was it with Norfolk and the sheep? Though if they weren’t hers, why did she care? Perhaps she was a professional shepherdess? It was more than he had hoped for, but she seemed to be planning an imminent arrival at the lighthouse. His lighthouse.

  He tried to sound nonchalant. ‘Yes, I’m here, well, almost. But please don’t worry, there’s no need to come all the way here—’ He stopped himself from turning her away. What was he thinking of? He didn’t want to put her off. Here was a chance to start meeting people, to make some friends. ‘Yes, perhaps you should come, could you? I’m not sure.’

  Luckily she hadn’t noticed his feeble wavering, she was bubbling with excitement and apology, and from the sound of crashing gears, she was under way and driving badly. ‘No, no, of course I’ll come, and actually, we are really quite close neighbours, just a few miles. They aren’t my sheep but I feel responsible and embarrassed. We’ve all been so excited to hear that the lighthouse has a new owner at last, and now we’ve already behaved badly. I’ll be there in ten minutes. Are you in?’

  Amazing. Who said life was slow in the countryside? Luckily this woman was talkative, as Kit was almost speechless.

  ‘In? No. I mean yes. Almost. I’ve actually never been there and I’m just arriving with the key now.’

  His new confidant was delighted. ‘Oh that’s thrilling. You’ve never been there? You must be so excited. I’ll first foot you or whatever it’s called. You know the old custom? I think I need some coal. Or sugar. I’ll stop at the Spar shop. I can’t remember which it is, so I’ll get both. See you in a minute.’

  ‘Isn’t first footing something you do at Hogmanay? In Scotland?’ Kit was speaking into a silent phone, she had gone. He laughed. Whistling cheerily, Kit pressed the accelerator swerving through the narrow lanes and round a final hairpin bend. ‘Christ!’ he hissed, and almost crashed the car. There was the lighthouse, towering in front of him, larger than life, stripier than he’d imagined, and utterly unreal. It had shot out of a hazy blue field, and the red stripes were hot and bold. There was nothing close by to give it any perspective, the lighthouse dominated the flat fields that rolled away to a group of cottages and houses. The bizarre contrasts of scale reminded Kit of Venice, and the sudden presence of cruise ships, colossal like painted backdrops behind the ancient buildings. Even for someone used to the biscuit-tin beauty of the Cornish coast, Kings Sloley was lovely. The cliffs stippled with poppies tumbled to a sliver of beach, the edge serrated by the bite of the incoming tide.

  Walking up to the front door, Kit felt as though he was in a film, or a children’s story. Maybe he should have read that Virginia Woolf book after all, it might have given him a clue on what to expect. Pitted and gnarled with the sheen of age to the touch, the oak door had patterns carved into it, and looked as if it belonged in a church. The key made sense now. Kit held his breath as he inserted it. The door swung open and, as if on cue, four sheep charged up from the garden beyond, bleating hysterically.

  Kit groaned, half laughing. ‘Sheep? Again? Christ, what do you want? Why are there sheep everywhere I go?’ It was like being in some warped nursery rhyme. All he needed now, he reflected, was Miss Muffet in the kitchen eating curds and whey. Whatever they might be. He supposed there must be a kitchen. One of the sheep skipped on to the threshold and trotted into the hallway. ‘Come on then, show me round,’ said Kit, and stepped inside. As he did so, he felt a pang of loss that could be fathomless if he gave it the chance. ‘It’s a bit bloody late now,’ he said to himself. One of the sheep was chewing a mouthful of something bushy and gazing up at him. Really he could do without them.

  ‘Shoo?’ he suggested. Another one jostled forward, something in her tone suggesting dissatisfaction. Kit decided her name was Virginia. Perhaps he was the Woolf?

  ‘What?’ he raised his eyebrows at her. ‘You don’t like it here? The trouble with you is you’re never satisfied. You refused to stay in nursery rhymes and insisted on getting into droopy novels didn’t you?’ Virginia bleated again.

  Kit couldn’t really take anything in. Everything was wildly removed from his usual experience, and the sheep were, quite simply, surreal. The best approach was surely to tolerate them, or better still to embrace them. But not literally. They didn’t exactly represent the approved new-home dream, where a handsome hero carried his bride over the threshold, but Kit found he was enjoying their company, especially now he could be the Woolf. He would show them round, there was nothing else that could be done.

  Kit opened a door. The kitchen. Pretty basic. An old yellow fifties dresser, a stone sink propped on wooden shafts and an enamelled stove stood at intervals around the edge of the room. One of the sheep walked over to a bucket on the floor and sunk her nose into it. Kit wasn’t sure if it was Virginia or not. He patted her anyway, and noticed that her coat was springy and dense. She knocked the bucket over and skittered away. As he walked around, he found himself becoming nostalgic for the old boy who had moved out. The bucket was painted red. A neat red brush and dustpan stood by the door, and a boot scraper painted to match. He wondered if the old man had known his landlord. Had Felicity ever visited? What a gift.

  He’d taken a quick look at the interior and now he wanted to see the outside again properly. Craning his neck up, the limitless blue sky framed the light bulb – was it called the light bulb? – in different crazy angles. Spinning clouds, a spiral of red and white like a gondola pole, everything heightened. Kit pursed his lips and whistled to himself. It was hard to believe it had a practical function; it looked like the most wonderful folly. Wrapped in stripes.

  He sighed. He’d never classed himself as much of a romantic, but this was mind-expanding stuff. He ought to go back to check on the sheep, though why they all had to be inside rather than out was mystifying. They were still in there of course, though now they had all drifted to the wall, and were standing staring at it. It would be nice to make a cup of tea. As if he expected there to be the essentials, Kit went into the kitchen. The floorboards reminded him of the segments of an orange, curving voluptuously into the walls. Nothing was straight, the effect was giddy-making. The sheep stood staring. They looked like Kit felt. One of them came up to him and leaned against his leg. The insistent pressure was reassuring. Francis of Assisi had nothing on him for animal skills.

  He decided to call them all Virginia, it was easier. ‘Do you like it here, Virginia? I know
you don’t approve of the curved walls, you’re right they present real challenges to furnishing the place. Lucky the tenants have left a bit of stuff, isn’t it? Don’t listen to any—’

  ‘Hello?’

  ‘What?’ For a split second Kit thought Virginia had spoken. He leapt back against the table. No. Standing in the doorway, vibrant as a flame with sunglasses in one hand and a brown paper bag in the other, was a woman in a red dress. Red as a movie star’s lips. Lighthouse red, he thought. She stepped into the room, bringing a delicious scent of summer, hot leaves, or hothouse flowers, he wasn’t sure which. She was introducing herself, but he missed what she said. Luisa something, he remembered from the phone call earlier.

  ‘Hi?’ It came out as a question. He recognised her, he thought he knew her for a moment. Where had he seen her? How had he seen her?

  ‘I heard voices so I came in, this is wonderful.’ She waved the bag and bits of coal shot across the room.

  ‘Oh God. Sorry,’ she crouched to pick them up, scrabbling on the floor. She stood up and she was right in front of him. He smiled. ‘You know it’s not a housewarming thing? It’s Scottish for New Year.’

  ‘What’s Scottish?’ Her face was close, he caught a trace of exotic perfume and the smell of sunshine on her gleaming skin. She had a fine gold chain around her neck, and a red thread was caught in it above her collarbone. He half lifted his hand to remove it, then remembered himself and snatched it back, pointing his finger instead at the bag of coal. ‘The coal you kindly brought. It’s for Hogmanay.’

  ‘Oh. I thought it was housewarming.’ Her peal of laughter was infectious. A second later she stopped, an arrested expression on her face as she looked at him.

  ‘I know you,’ she said, ‘I’ve seen you before.’ Her hair had fallen across her face, and when she lifted her hand to brush it away their eyes met. Time expanded, stretching the moment. Heat shimmered and a swallow darted through the open door and out through the window. Luisa jumped, her paper bag split and rained the rest of the coal at their feet.

  ‘At least you can light a fire,’ she said. Kit nodded. Her dress clung to the soft contours of her body. He liked it. Absently he reached out, put his finger in the cuff of the sleeve, feeling the weight, the knit.

  ‘Italian, isn’t it? Silk jersey?’

  She gasped, colour rushing to her cheeks. ‘That’s clever. Actually, me and the dress are both Italian,’ she shot a look at him. ‘It’s an unlikely thing for a man to notice.’

  ‘It’s my business. Textiles. I spent a lot of time in Northern Italy, looking at equipment, factories, technical stuff.’ He still had his hand in her sleeve. How? ‘God. Sorry, I wasn’t thinking.’ Reddening, clumsy, he snatched it back.

  Then her hand was on his arm, cool.

  ‘Would you like a glass of water?’ Kit moved away.

  Laughter welled up, ‘Have you got glasses? Already?’

  Kit opened a cupboard, and another. ‘Um. No. It would seem not. Just water. Plenty of that,’ he turned on the tap with a flourish.

  Luisa leaned over the sink, cupping her hands to drink. ‘It’s really cold,’ she gasped.

  ‘Good,’ the cold water on Kit’s hands was refreshing. The novelty of the Lighthouse, its kitchen, its curves and Luisa in it bubbled inside Kit and came out in a euphoric clapping of his hands and a beaming smile.

  The sheep clattered back in, milling around Luisa, she bent to stroke one of them. ‘Do you mind them coming and going like this?’

  ‘They’ve lived here as long as I have,’ Kit laughed. ‘Which is all of about half an hour. Shall we have a look at the rest of the place?’

  Luisa followed him out of the kitchen. ‘It’s going to be hard for them to come back to the farm when they’ve got used to the high life here,’ she pointed at the ceiling with a smile. ‘You may have to keep them.’

  Her exuberance delighted him, she made it easy to talk. It was as if they’d always known each other. What had she said about knowing him? How could she? He had to calm down, he wanted to know all about her and her life here, but he’d only just met her, and they were meant to be talking about sheep.

  ‘Oh look, the stairs are incredible. You can see the whole way to the light, I think. Have you been up?’ Luisa opened a narrow door, and a wooden staircase spiralled up the wall.

  Kit followed her, looking over her shoulder. He touched the leather strap of the bag on her shoulder. ‘No, I got here just before you arrived. The sheep were showing me round, but I don’t think they’re very interested in the other floors.’

  ‘Well I am, aren’t you?’ Luisa put a foot on the bottom step. Suddenly, she turned, and tried to come back past him. ‘I’m so sorry!’ She was close against him in the small space. ‘It’s your house, you should go first, I’ve just barged ahead.’

  ‘No,’ he had his hand hovering above the small of her back. ‘Go up, it’s fine.’

  ‘Are you sure?’ She was climbing ahead of him, chattering, and her voice echoed up the stairs like a bell. ‘We saw you in Blythe, you know. I guessed you were a stranger.’ Luisa laughed. ‘Well, of course you were a stranger, but I mean I guessed you weren’t from around here.’

  ‘You saw me? When?’ A kick of excitement flooded his body.

  ‘In town yesterday.’

  ‘In town? Really?’ He flipped through his thoughts, wanting to remember exactly where he could have been to be seen by her. ‘I bought a cake, and . . . Oh yes. I saw you too, didn’t I?’ He had forgotten. How had he forgotten? Her eyes in the street, meeting his. One tiny moment in time. That’s all.

  Luisa was a few steps above him, breathless. ‘D’you know, I’ve never been inside a lighthouse before. Have you?’

  Laborious to go on about yesterday. ‘No, it’s a bit like going up a church tower, except the light at the top is real not spiritual.’

  Luisa laughed. ‘Some sailors lost at sea in a storm might have thought it was spiritual as well as practical,’ she said. ‘I’ve been as far as the front door here. Old Jim Fisher used to get very cross about the sheep, so I’d bring him things as a bribe. He loved Scotch eggs. Goodness, it’s been ages since I made Scotch eggs, maybe I’ll do some at the weekend.’

  ‘So those sheep of yours are recidivist trespassers?’ A door on the staircase yielded to a whitewashed room.

  ‘Good,’ Luisa panted. ‘It’s so steep, I’m out of breath already.’

  Smaller than the ground floor, very round. Like being in a salt cellar, Kit thought.

  The soft quack of a duck grew louder in Luisa’s handbag. ‘Oh, it’s Dora,’ she said, ‘Sorry. My sister-in-law,’ as she answered it. ‘Dora? Hi.’

  Kit took in the room, a panelled ceiling, a sagging green sofa, dusty and clearly not worth taking down the stairs, and diamond-latticed windows. He opened one. Already, just one floor up from the ground, he felt high above humanity, the cliffs swooping down the coast into distant obscurity. Luisa had perched on the arm of the sofa. She had whitewash on her dress. ‘I’m not at home, I’m catching the sheep,’ she said into her phone, her fingers twisting the gold chain at her throat.

  Kit wondered how the sofa got into the room in the first place.

  ‘I know, but I didn’t do it yesterday.’ She glanced at Kit, with a quick smile. ‘I’ve got to go. I’m at the Lighthouse. Going bowling will be fine, it’s not make or break, you know.’ He heard a change in tone, she laughed. ‘I hope we will. I’ll ask him. Bye.’

  Switching off the phone she walked to the window where Kit leaned. ‘I’ve been told to make sure we can all meet up, so I hope you’ll come over for supper or something. What d’you make of Norfolk anyway? Have you been here before?’

  ‘So friendly I can’t quite believe I’ve never set foot here before this week.’ He paused apologetically. ‘I live in Cornwall, in Mousehole, so I’ve always had my own version of all this sea and sky and so forth. But this place is quite something.’ He shrugged as he looked around. ‘I’m just not sure what the
something is.’

  Luisa gestured out of the window, and a ring flashed on her hand. ‘The big skies are what I love,’ she said. ‘There’s room for all sorts of people here. Every lost soul has a place.’

  There was silence for a moment before Lisa spoke again, her gaze sweeping the room. ‘I’m amazed it’s so stark. I imagined it would be full of old hutches and rolls of chicken wire. Jim, the old chap who lived here, used to keep rabbits. My daughters must have had about five of his lop-eared ones over the years.’

  The door slammed as a gust of wind caught it. Luisa’s hair blew across her eyes, Kit watched her push it away, and a nagging sense of something slipping out of his grasp seized him. To her husband this gesture was familiar, like her scent and her voice and the way she poured tea. Tea. He must offer her some. She was making signs that she might be leaving.

  ‘I might be able to make some tea?’ he said, pretty sure as he suggested it that he couldn’t.

  She got up, brushing her skirt down. ‘That’s a kind thought, but I should go. I’m supposed to take those sheep back to a field with a proper fence.’

  Kit looked at her red dress. ‘Really? You don’t look dressed for it to me.’

  She brushed away a cobweb on the skirt. ‘I’m never dressed for anything properly. My husband says I do it on purpose, destroying my clothes to make way for new ones, but who doesn’t?’

  ‘Quite,’ he agreed lightly. ‘And that’s the reason people like me stay in business.’

  Luisa pulled on a black lace cardigan and looked suddenly Sicilian, exotic. Kit noticed she had big gypsy hoop earrings. She was extremely stylish for a shepherdess, he thought.

  ‘He’s right about one thing though,’ she was saying. ‘I’ve never worked out how I can blend in with the surroundings. I still feel I’m outside looking in.’

  ‘Red dress, flashing smile. You’re almost camouflaged here you fit in so well,’ teased Kit. ‘But where are you from originally, did you say you’re Italian?’