From a Distance

by Raffaella Barker

  ‘There’s such a lot I don’t know,’ said Kit. ‘But go on. Tell me about the Lighthouse.’

  Back in the present, on the beach, Kit wanted to relive the conversation with Bella before he forgot it. He squinted into the sun and rolled over onto his side on the sand and looked up at the cliffs and the sky. The tang of the sea on his lips reminded him of home. Suddenly, appearing as if from nowhere, there it was, keening crazily beneath fast moving cloud, the bottom half sliced from view by the bulk of the cliff, his Lighthouse. His very own Lighthouse. He hadn’t really stopped to think before, but it was an incredible thing to be given.

  Bella said Michael used money his mother had left him to buy the Lighthouse. ‘He was sad about you. I was born by then, and I guess that as he watched me grow, he realised what he was missing with you.’ She was looking into a distance Kit couldn’t see, but she turned to glance at him, and as she did, the screen froze. She was still talking, but her face was caught in that moment, and the pixelated squares showed her kindness graphically. Kit’s heart swooped with sudden recognition of his connection to her.

  ‘I would hate to have a child I never saw,’ she added as the screen unfroze again. ‘Anyway, he wanted to give you something, so that you would know you mattered. He said the Lighthouse was a kind of emblem for your mother. He bought it in her name, for her to keep in trust until she was ready to share it with you. At first it seemed crazy, but then he said it made perfect sense. He said he wished he had known you.’

  ‘Did you stay angry with him?’ Kit couldn’t imagine having a father at all, let alone one who revealed a whole secret past.

  Bella shrugged. ‘I don’t know. I didn’t tell the others though. There never seemed to be the right time, and I couldn’t see what good it would do.’

  ‘I wonder if he and my mother kept in touch?’

  ‘They did, or it seemed that way from how he spoke about her . . .’

  Bella broke off to smile at someone who had entered the room. ‘Hey there, love, come and meet my new brother!’

  A face dropped down over the top of the screen, silver stubble, a worn red cap, narrowed eyes used to gazing at the sun. ‘Hey’ said Drew, and wandered off again. His voice rumbled, and Bella called out to him, ‘I won’t be long, get a beer my love.’

  ‘Better go.’ Kit felt confused, and a little overwhelmed. He’d had enough for now. Bella had rampaged into his house and woken him up. He’d met her husband, seen her porch all those miles away in New Zealand, had a virtual sundowner with her that was a sun-upper for him, and now she was going to have dinner and spend her evening as usual and he was alone with a new past. That was just the sort of thing that families did to one another all the time. He mustered a grin. She was kind, he reminded himself, she was taking trouble to look at the past with him, and now she was his sister.

  ‘Isn’t it odd that we’re connected?’ he said. ‘I mean we were before but we didn’t know. I mean I didn’t know. Now the distance is only geography. Thank you for telling me all this, I appreciate it.’

  ‘It’s all a long time ago,’ said Bella. ‘And as Mum and Dad are both not around, and your Mum has died, it isn’t going to hurt anyone. I reckon we all gain by having family. I’m gonna send you this watch, though, through the post.’ She tapped at the face, back on her wrist now, and blew a kiss at the screen.

  ‘Thank you, I’d really like that.’ As he spoke, Kit realised how much he meant it. ‘You’re right. Let’s talk again soon, I’ve enjoyed meeting you.’

  Bella blew him a kiss, and teased, ‘Me too. I’m glad you’re gorgeous, you look like a big brother should. We want to get you over here and hear all about your life before us, too. Let’s have another Skype soon. Bye, Kit, bye bro.’ She’d turned her camera off and Kit was left feeling dazed, staring at his own reflection in the screen.

  He got up off the sand and dusted himself down. To swim or not to swim? A shout from the cliffs behind and a dog he recognised as Grayson hurtled towards him then round in a great circle. Sand sprayed like flames at its heels. Tom had arrived.

  ‘Hey, Kit, we’ve got something for you. Luca’s up at the Lighthouse.’ He slapped Kit jovially on the arm, grinning. ‘I hope it doesn’t backfire.’

  ‘Oh?’ Apprehension coloured Kit’s response. ‘Haven’t we all had enough of surprises for one lifetime?’ He and Tom were at the tide’s reach now, Grayson had slowed to a trot and moved along the beach like a shadow, his brindle markings scarcely visible against the camouflage of wet pebbles dark as pewter. ‘D’you fancy a swim? I thought I’d go in.’

  Tom threw a stone, his action fluid. ‘Oh well, one more surprise after all we’ve dealt with is nothing. I came down here to get you to come back up there, but what the hell. Luca can wait. Luisa’s been on at me to embrace all these bloody revelations. I guess a swim could be a bit of a baptism.’

  Kit had already taken off his shirt and barefoot, clad in just his shorts, dipped a tentative foot in the water. Cold gripped his toes like a clamp. ‘Christ, it’s certainly not a baptism of fire,’ he said, hopping out again, splashing drops of the icy sea spray up his legs where they burned.

  ‘More like the bloody Arctic,’ agreed Tom. ‘Any towels?’

  ‘Towels? I wish,’ Kit was regretting the invitation. There was a keen breeze, running like a razor over his skin, and he didn’t much relish the steely tone which coloured the water. Alone he might have thought better of swimming. A bracing walk would be plenty. He heard himself answering Tom, ‘I guess we’ll just have to drip.’ Crazy. Perhaps this was some sort of torture he felt he needed to go through as an act of attrition to Tom. He only hoped it worked. Goosebumps walked over him like ants.

  ‘Here goes then,’ Tom dropped his clothes in a heap next to Kit’s and, wearing his shorts, plunged in and dived under a wave. He emerged, throwing his head back, and struck off through foaming surf. There was no way out except to shoot himself or follow. Stripping to his boxer shorts, Kit took a deep breath. Head under, and the rush of cold water was like a depth charge. And another. And another. Suddenly, a gasping moment later, it was as if they’d turned down the volume in an action movie, the blistering cold biting feeling ceased, and his limbs became lithe and supple. He was alive and kicking, and the sea was a silken bath.

  Tom drifted towards him. ‘Hard to beat once you’re in.’

  ‘It’s my summer ritual back home,’ said Kit, ‘even if it’s raining. But we have the Gulf Stream in Cornwall, and it’s usually quite warm, I haven’t been in here until now. Wasn’t sure about the North Sea.’

  ‘Must be good for you,’ Tom had a flush of goose pimples on his arms, ‘I must say, I don’t usually bother, but the kids love it.’

  ‘My mother was very keen on it.’ Now they had been in for a few minutes Kit was relaxing. He loved the silky pull of the tide, the sensation of flying through the water as he swam a few strokes on the current. ‘She carried on swimming every day until a few months before she died. Said it did wonders for the organs.’

  Tom groaned. ‘Not sure I believe that. Mine feel like I’ve beaten them into submission. This is a bit macho for me you know, if you weren’t here I’d be out by now.’

  ‘If I wasn’t here,’ mused Kit, ‘I don’t know about you, but this whole business—. My – our father, I’m relieved more than anything else. It’s as if I’ve been heading towards this point all my life.’

  ‘I know what you mean,’ said Tom. ‘I feel I’ve been an idiot. Taken so much as read, you know. But actually, this makes sense of things I never questioned, and should have. Like how come Dad, a Norfolk farmer’s son, was so caught up in the idea of the post-war art scene? He had books and books about the artists down in Cornwall. You know, Ivon Hitchins, Lanyon, Hepworth and Nicholson and Naum Gabo, and he was always trying to find ways to get them into his teaching legitimately. I mean, I’ve got a lot of respect for them myself, but I understand his passion now, because he lived among them. With you.’

  Kit sho
t him a questioning look, but Tom was drifting, staring up at a blob of cloud as it trailed through the sky like a forgotten thought bubble in a cartoon. He didn’t appear resentful. Perhaps there was no reason why he should? Dora had been kind too. She was clear that she wanted him in her life. Maddie’s new uncle, her new brother. She was already planning to visit him at Christmas when she had decided to take Maddie to see Aaron’s sister in Bristol. Kit had offered to go with her, and the grateful look she had thrown him gave him the warmest sense of what being a brother could be like. Bella too. The watch that had belonged to his uncle. All of them were so welcoming and inclusive. He had never imagined that siblings could enhance his life. He’d never thought about siblings at all, come to that.

  He took a deep breath and duck dived underwater. It was green and murky near the seabed, clear on top. Kit swam under Tom as he floated like a cut out, his body straight and strong. On the bottom, small fish streaked about, tails twirling tiny drifts of sand as they hid under fronds of seaweed. He swam through a warm patch of water and rolled over and over like a seal. Delicious, luxurious warmth, who could ask for more?

  Surfacing, he saw Tom’s back propelled by strong shoulders, powering a burst of butterfly stroke towards the shore. Kit was impressed, he could no more do that than fly. He met Tom in the shallows. Neither of them made a move to get out.

  ‘What was he really like?’ Kit hadn’t realised how very much he had yearned to know this until the question was out. Asking Felicity had never felt right. There was his stepfather for a start, and he’d always imagined that it would be painful for Felicity to be reminded of Michael. Stupid, really, as having Kit in the house was a living, walking, talking ever-present prompt to the past.

  Tom kicked up a foaming trail of bubbles. ‘I’ve never really thought what he was like, he was just Dad. He used to read to me at bed time when I was little. I remember he read Moonfleet, when I was about eight. It was his favourite book, so I wanted it to be mine, but I was pretty terrified. Mum said I was a bit young for it.’

  ‘My middle name is Mohune,’ said Kit.

  ‘Is that so? Mine’s John. I always thought it was after my uncle but maybe mine was after John Trenchard.’

  ‘I’m John Mohune as well you know,’ said Kit. ‘Christopher John Mohune.’

  ‘Christ, we’re the same person,’ Tom laughed,

  ‘No,’ said Kit, straight-faced, ‘one of us has to be Captain John Blackbeard Mohune, with his stolen diamond. Come on, we should get out. Didn’t you say Luca’s waiting for us?’

  Striding out of the sea behind Tom, Kit looked up and down the shoreline. There was no one else there. In front of them grasses sprouted from the cliff, quivering with a breath of wind and tickling the vivid spray of poppies. Kit shook himself as he picked up his shirt and dragged it across his wet skin. ‘I’m touched by the welcome your family’s given me, you know. You’ve been so kind, I thought I’d be frozen out.’

  Tom finished rubbing his hair with his shirt.

  He didn’t look at Kit when he spoke. ‘It’s funny,’ he said, ‘if I’d been told this would happen, I would’ve thought I’d be livid, but here you are,’ he turned, walking backwards in the sand, meeting Kit’s gaze. ‘I think the weight of time is stacked towards me at both ends of this story.’

  He blinked hard, Kit looked away. ‘What d’you mean?’

  ‘There’s less than ten years between us, but I had a whole lot more of Dad in my life than you did,’ said Tom, flicking the sand with his dangling shirt sleeve. He looked embarrassed.

  Kit gave a crack of laughter, which annoyingly came out as more of a croak. ‘Christ, yes. I’m old all right, I feel it now, I can tell you. What’s the thing Bella said to me, something from Milton. Your dad – our dad I mean – loved it. “The age of gold”, or something. D’you know?’

  ‘Of course, “Time will run back and fetch the age of gold”.’ Tom shook his shirt out before putting it on. ‘He had a few favourite things like that he’d bring out for us, checking we’d learned them, you know, always the teacher.’

  ‘Was he?’ asked Kit. ‘Always the teacher?’

  Tom nodded, eyes narrowed. ‘He loved poetry, painting, all that sort of thing. Not your average Norfolk farmer.’

  ‘They must have loved one another, him and my mother,’ said Kit. ‘I mean the message she sent him sewn on that cushion was “light of my life”, wasn’t it?’

  Tom sighed, ‘I feel protective of my mother, but as Luisa says, what do we know of any of it? It was all a long time ago, we’re looking at it from a distance and from a different perspective.’

  ‘Time will run back and fetch the age of gold,’ said Kit.

  ‘Well remembered!’

  Kit laughed. ‘It’s the blood of the teacher in my veins,’ he said.

  They walked in step with one another up the beach.

  ‘When exactly are you off?’ Tom slung his shoes, laces tied together, over his shoulder.

  Kit began to climb the narrow cliff path. ‘The tenants move in next week, so I’ll leave in a couple of days. I want to make sure that it’s shipshape so it doesn’t cause a lot of grief for me to deal with from the other end of the country.’

  ‘How long is it let for?’

  ‘A year. I’ve got a lot going on with the business at the moment, and I just wanted the Lighthouse to be occupied while I decide what to do about it.’

  ‘Well, if you need anything done, Luisa and I would be happy to help.’

  Kit was touched by the genuine kindness of Tom’s offer.

  ‘I think, if it wasn’t for you guys being here, I would put the Lighthouse on the market, but as it is, it feels like some day this could be a new chapter.’

  ‘I hope so,’ said Tom. Catching sight of Luca sitting on the roof of the Land Rover, he cupped a hand to his mouth and shouted. ‘Sorry son, we got waylaid.’

  Luca jumped down and ambled towards them. He looked unphased. ‘Swimming? You, Dad? That’s cool.’

  ‘It was cool all right. Icy would be more accurate,’ laughed Kit.

  Tom had walked around to the other side of the Land Rover and opened the passenger’s door. ‘Okay, here we go,’ he cleared his throat ostentatiously. Kit turned to look at him, as a ball of exuberance, ears, legs and a pink tongue hurtled out of the car.

  ‘It’s a puppy,’ said Tom.

  ‘So I see,’ said Kit. ‘Whose puppy?’ He groaned. ‘Actually, I think I can guess.’

  The wall, part flint, part old red brick and crumbling plaster, was all that remained of the oldest outhouses at Green Farm House. A lawn ran across the former cattle-shed floors, and honeysuckle scrambled up the rough red and grey mottled surface. This small walled garden was sheltered and peaceful, protected by its aspect, and adorned with remnants of its past. A metal cartwheel had been embedded in the earth, and where it had leaned through all weathers, it had sunk into the wall like a fossil. An iron water pump stood at the other end near the house, with a cracked china bowl under the spout for the drips. The roof of the house sloped down to head height, a deep brow over the windows looking on to the garden, and in the wide expanse a few black pan tiles made a random display.

  Kit tried to imagine Michael here, up a ladder, making the walls good, pulling down the derelict sheds, stopping the rot, or in the house, at his desk, sorting the farm accounts, preparing for his teaching. He thought of him inside, in the sitting room by the fire, settled in the old blue armchair, the lighthouse cushion supporting his back. Michael had done his best, there was no doubt. It was hard, Kit thought, to live a life where people didn’t get hurt.

  Kit dragged a bench alongside the table and pulled the cloth straight. He finished laying the table for Luisa, marvelling as he did at how frequently these days he sat down to eat with more than half a dozen people. This would be the last time. It was his final evening in Norfolk, he would leave tomorrow morning at dawn. He wandered back towards the house. Luisa was on the doorstep, carrying a concoction she
’d just got out of the freezer. She looked as though she was about to step out into the garden. Then something fell off her ice-cream creation, and she gave a yelp of frustration, shrugged at him and went back into the house. By the time he entered, the whole family was milling about. Dora had rescued the creation by scooping it into mounds and pouring rivers of liqueur over it. Luisa was in the midst of her family, and she made sure she didn’t catch his eye. He didn’t see why she should forgive him, but he hoped she would one day. Kit poured himself a drink, and went back out to the garden. A life lived without hurting people sounded good on paper, but was it possible?

  Tis better to have loved and lost

  Than never to have loved at all

  And by the same token then, it was better to have been loved and been lost than never to have been loved at all. Kit didn’t want his life to be empty and solitary any more. He wanted to take Norfolk home with him. A shout from the house alerted him, he spun round in time to see the puppy galloping towards him, with a lump of butter not melting in its mouth. In time he would understand how lucky he was that he’d been given the dog, he thought.

  Chapter 13

  The long grass squelched. The rain had stopped, and all sound seemed to be magnified in the gold fish bowl of the dripping day. A family whizzed past the gate on bicycles, and the piping voices of the children reminded Luisa that she had offered to have Maddie for the night. Was it tonight or tomorrow? She must call Dora. Maddie would love the ice-cream van. They could go and see her friends in it. When it worked.

  Luisa heard Tom before she saw him. Metallic hammering, a pause, the soft bark of a saw. In the shed, Tom and the ice-cream van seemed to be glaring at one another in some sort of stand-off. The impression was fair of Tom, he was lost in scowling thought, brandishing a metal pipe and a piece of wood. He’d been frowning ever since Kit left. He said he missed him. Odd to miss someone he’d only just met, but on the other hand, all the years of not knowing he had a brother were wasted in a way, and it made sense to want to catch up.