The Light Between Oceans(34)

Whatever the rights and the wrongs of it, Lucy was here now, and Isabel couldn’t have been a better mother. Every night in prayer she gave thanks to God for her family, her health, her much-blessed life, and prayed to be worthy of the gifts he showered on her.

Days broke and receded like waves on the beach, leaving barely a trace of the time that passed in this tiny world of working and sleeping and feeding and watching. Isabel shed a tear when she put away some of Lucy’s earliest baby things. ‘Seems only yesterday she was tiny, and now look at her,’ she mused to Tom, as she folded them carefully away in tissue paper – a dummy, her rattle, her first baby dresses, a tiny pair of kid booties. Just like any mother might do, anywhere in the world.



When the blood didn’t come, Isabel was excited. When she had given up all hope of another child, her expectations were about to be confounded. She would wait a little longer, keep praying, before saying anything to Tom. But she found her thoughts drifting off to daydreams about a brother or sister for Lucy. Her heart was full. Then the bleeding returned with a vengeance, heavier and more painful, in a pattern she couldn’t fathom. Her head would ache, sometimes; she would sweat at night. Then months would pass with no blood at all. ‘I’ll go and see Dr Sumpton when we get our shore leave. No need to fuss,’ she told Tom. She carried on without complaint. ‘I’m strong as an ox, darl. There’s nothing to worry about.’ She was in love – with her husband, and with her baby – and that was enough.



The months trailed by, marked with the peculiar rituals of the lighthouse – lighting up, hoisting the ensign, draining the mercury bath to filter out stray oil. All the usual form-filling, and compliance with the bullying correspondence from the Foreman Artificer about how any damage to the vapour tubes could only be caused by lightkeeper negligence, not faulty workmanship. The logbook changed from 1926 to 1927 in mid-page: there was no wasting paper in the CLS – the books were expensive. Tom pondered the institutional indifference to the arrival of a new year – as though the Lights were not impressed by something as prosaic as the mere effluction of time. And it was true – the view from the gallery on New Year’s Day was indistinguishable from that of New Year’s Eve.

Occasionally, he would still find himself revisiting the page for 27 April 1926, until the book opened there of its own accord.

Isabel worked hard. The vegetable patch thrived; the cottage was kept clean. She washed and patched Tom’s clothes, and cooked the things he liked. Lucy grew. The light turned. Time passed.





CHAPTER 13



‘IT’S COMING UP for a year soon,’ said Isabel. ‘The twenty-seventh of April’s her birthday, near enough.’

Tom was in the workshop, filing away rust from a bent door hinge. He put down the rasp. ‘I wonder – you know, what her real birthday is.’

‘The day she arrived is good enough for me.’ Isabel kissed the child, who was sitting astride her hip, gnawing on a crust.

Lucy reached out her arms to Tom.

‘Sorry, littlie. My hands are filthy. You’re better off with Mamma just now.’

‘I can’t believe how much she’s grown. She weighs a ton these days.’ Isabel laughed, and gave Lucy a heave to settle her higher on her hip. ‘I’m going to make a birthday cake.’ The child responded by dipping her head into Isabel’s chest and dribbling bits of bread onto her. ‘That tooth’s giving you trouble, isn’t it, sweetie? Your cheeks are so red. Shall we put some teething powder on it?’ Turning to Tom, she said, ‘See you in a while, darl. I’d better get back. Soup’s still on the stove,’ and left for the cottage.

The steely light pierced the window and scoured Tom’s workbench. He had to hammer the metal straight, and each blow rang sharply off the walls. Though he found himself striking with more force than was necessary, he couldn’t stop. There was no getting away from the feeling stirred up by talk of birthdays and anniversaries. He set to work with the hammer again, the blows no less heavy, until the metal snapped from the force. He picked up the shattered halves and stared at them.



Tom looked up from the armchair. A few weeks had passed since the baby’s birthday celebration.

‘It doesn’t matter what you read to her,’ said Isabel. ‘It’s just good for her to get used to hearing different words.’ She deposited Lucy on his lap and went to finish making the bread.

‘Dadadadad,’ said the child.

‘Bubububub,’ said Tom. ‘So. You want a story?’ The little hand reached out, but instead of pointing to the heavy book of fairy tales on the table beside them, grabbed a beige booklet, and pushed it at him. He laughed. ‘I don’t think you’ll like that one much, bunny rabbit. No pictures in it, for a start.’ He reached for the fairy tales, but Lucy thrust the booklet in his face. ‘Dadadadad.’

‘If that’s the one you want, littlie!’ he laughed again. The child opened it at a page, and pointed at the words, like she had seen Tom and Isabel do. ‘All right,’ began Tom. ‘Instructions to Lightkeepers. Number twenty-nine: “The Lightkeepers are never to allow any interests, private or otherwise, to interfere with discharge of their duties, which are of the greatest importance to the safety of navigation; and they are reminded that their retention or promotion in the Service depends upon their strict obedience to orders, adherence to the rules laid down for their guidance, industry, sobriety, and the maintenance of cleanliness and good order in their own persons and families as well as in every part of the Lighthouse establishment and premises.” Number thirty: “Misconduct, disposition to quarrel, insobriety or immorality on the part of any keeper”,’ he paused to retrieve Lucy’s fingers from his nostrils, ‘“will render the offender liable to punishment or dismissal. The committing of any such offence by any member of the Lightkeeper’s family will render the offender liable to exclusion from the Lighthouse station.”’ He stopped. A chill had crept through him, and his heart beat faster. He was summoned back to the present by a tiny hand coming to rest on his chin. He pressed it to his lips, absently. Lucy grinned at him and gave him a generous kiss.