The Light Between Oceans(32)

‘The weight. People always ask the weight.’ She thought back to Sarah Porter’s baby. ‘Say seven pounds one ounce.’

Tom looked at her in surprise at the ease with which the lie came to her. He turned back to the key and tapped out the figures.

When the reply arrived, he transcribed it and noted it in the signals book. ‘Congratulations stop marvellous news stop have officially recorded increase in Janus population as per regulations stop Ralph and Bluey send cheers stop grandparents will be informed pronto stop.’ He sighed, aware of a pressure in his chest, and waited a while before going to report the response to Isabel.



In the weeks that followed, Isabel bloomed. She sang as she went about the cottage. She could not keep from showering Tom with hugs and kisses all through the day. Her smile dazzled him with its sheer uninhibited joy. And the baby? The baby was peaceful, and trusting. She did not question the embrace which held her, the hands which caressed her, the lips which kissed her and crooned, ‘Mamma’s here, Lucy, Mamma’s here,’ as she was rocked to sleep.

There was no denying that the child was thriving. Her skin seemed to glow with a soft halo. Isabel’s breasts responded to the baby’s suckling by producing milk again within weeks, the ‘relactation’ Dr Griffiths described in clinical detail, and the child fed without a moment’s hesitation, as though the two of them had agreed some sort of contract. But Tom took to staying a fraction longer in the lantern room in the mornings after extinguishing the light. Time and again he would catch himself turning back the page of the log to 27 April, and staring at the blank space.

You could kill a bloke with rules, Tom knew that. And yet sometimes they were what stood between man and savagery, between man and monsters. The rules that said you took a prisoner rather than killed a man. The rules that said you let the stretchers cart the enemy off from no man’s land as well as your own men. But always, it would come down to the simple question: could he deprive Isabel of this baby? If the child was alone in the world? Could it really be right to drag her away from a woman who adored her, to some lottery of Fate?

At night, Tom began to dream he was drowning, flinging his arms and legs desperately to find ground somewhere, but there was nothing to stand on, nothing to hold him afloat except a mermaid, whose tail he would grasp and who would then pull him deeper and deeper into the dark water until he awoke gasping and sweating, while Isabel slept beatifically beside him.





CHAPTER 12



‘GEDDAY, RALPH. GOOD to see you. Where’s Blue?’ ‘

‘Back here!’ shouted the deckhand from the stern, hidden from view by some fruit crates. ‘How ya doing, Tom? Glad to see us?’

‘Always, mate – you’re the blokes with the grog, aren’t you?’ he laughed as he secured the line. The old engine chugged and spluttered as the boat drew alongside, filling the air with thick diesel fumes. It was mid-June, the first time the store boat had visited since the baby’s arrival seven weeks earlier.

‘Flying fox is set up. Got the winch all ready too.’

‘Struth, you’re a bit keen, Tom!’ Ralph exclaimed. ‘We don’t want to rush things now, do we? It’s a grand day. We can take our time. We’ve got to see the new arrival, after all! My Hilda’s piled me up like a packhorse with things for the little ’un, not to mention the proud grandparents.’

As Ralph strode off the gangway he grabbed Tom in a bear hug. ‘Congratulations, son. Bloody marvellous. Especially after – after all that’s happened before.’

Bluey followed suit. ‘Yeah, good on you. Ma sends all her best too.’

Tom’s eyes wandered to the water. ‘Thanks. Thanks a lot. Appreciate it.’

As they hiked up the path, Isabel was silhouetted against a washing line of nappies strung out like signal flags flapping in the brisk wind. Strands of her hair escaped from the roll she had just pinned it in.

Ralph held his arms out as he approached her. ‘Well, can’t you just tell, hey? Nothing makes a girl bloom like having a littlie. Roses in your cheeks and a shine in your hair, just like my Hilda used to get with each of ours.’

Isabel blushed at the compliment, and gave the old man a quick kiss. She kissed Bluey, too, who bowed his head and muttered, ‘Congratulations, Mrs S.’

‘Come inside, all of you. Kettle’s boiled, and there’s cake,’ she said.

As they sat at the old deal table, Isabel’s glance strayed now and then to the child asleep in her basket.

‘You were the talk of every woman in Partageuse, having your baby on your own like that. Of course, the farmers’ wives didn’t turn a hair – Mary Linford said how she’d had three without any help. But them in town, they were mighty impressed. I hope Tom wasn’t too useless?’

The couple exchanged a look. Tom was about to speak, but Isabel took his hand and squeezed it tight. ‘He’s been wonderful. I couldn’t ask for a better husband.’ There were tears in her eyes.

‘She’s a real pretty little thing, from what I can see,’ said Bluey. But all that peeped out from the fluffy blanket was a delicate face in a bonnet.

‘She’s got Tom’s nose, hasn’t she?’ chipped in Ralph.

‘Well …’ Tom hesitated. ‘Not sure my nose is what you want a baby girl to have!’