The Light Between Oceans(78)

‘I’m sorry! Ma made me do it. I never should have listened to her. I wouldn’t touch the money with a bargepole.’

‘Might as well be you gets it as some other bloke. Makes no difference to me now.’

Whatever Bluey was expecting from Tom, it was not this indifference. ‘What happens next?’

‘Buggered if I know, Blue.’

‘Is there anything you need? Anything I can get you?’

‘A bit of sky and some ocean’d be nice.’

‘I’m serious.’

‘So am I.’ Tom took a deep breath as he considered a thought. ‘There is something you could do. You could look in on Izzy for me. She’ll be at her parents’. Just … see she’s OK. She’ll be taking it hard. Lucy meant the world to her,’ and he stopped because a crack had found its way into his voice. ‘Tell her – I understand. That’s all. Tell her that I understand, Bluey.’

Though the young man felt utterly out of his depth, he took his commission like a sacred charge. He would convey the message as if his own life depended on it.

Once Bluey had gone, Tom lay down on the bunk, and wondered again how Lucy was; how Isabel was coping. He tried to think of any other way he could have done things, starting from that very first day. Then he remembered Ralph’s words – ‘no point in fighting your war over and over until you get it right’. Instead, he sought comfort in perspective: in his mind’s eye, he mapped out on the ceiling the exact position the stars would be in that night, starting with Sirius, always the brightest; the Southern Cross; then the planets – Venus and Uranus – all easily visible in the sky over the island. He traced the constellations as they slid their way across the roof of the world from dusk till dawn. The precision of it, the quiet orderliness of the stars, gave him a sense of freedom. There was nothing he was going through that the stars had not seen before, somewhere, some time on this earth. Given enough time, their memory would close over his life like healing a wound. All would be forgotten, all suffering erased. Then he remembered the star atlas and Lucy’s inscription: ‘for ever and ever and ever and ever’, and the pain of the present flooded back.

He said a prayer for Lucy. ‘Keep her safe. Let her have a happy life. Let her forget me.’ And for Isabel, lost in the darkness, ‘Bring her home, back to her self, before it’s too late.’



Bluey shuffled his feet and silently rehearsed his speech again as he stood at the Graysmarks’ front door. When it opened, Violet stood before him, her face wary.

‘Can I help you?’ she asked, the formality a shield against any new unpleasantness.

‘Afternoon, Mrs Graysmark.’ When she made no acknowledgement, he said, ‘I’m Bl— Jeremiah Smart.’

‘I know who you are.’

‘I wonder if – do you think I could have a word with Mrs Sherbourne?’

‘She’s not up to visitors.’

‘I—’ He was about to give up, but remembered Tom’s face, and persisted, ‘I won’t hold her up. I just have to—’

Isabel’s voice drifted out from the darkened lounge room. ‘Let him in, Ma.’

Her mother scowled. ‘You’d better come through. Mind you wipe your feet,’ and she stared at his boots while he wiped, and wiped them again, on the brush doormat, before following her.

‘It’s all right, Ma. No need to stay,’ said Isabel from her chair.

Isabel looked as bad as Tom, Bluey thought: grey-skinned and empty. ‘Thanks for – for seeing me …’ He faltered. The rim of his hat was damp where he clutched it. ‘I’ve been to see Tom.’

Her face clouded and she turned away.

‘He’s in a real bad way, Mrs S. A real bad way.’

‘And he sent you to tell me that, did he?’

Bluey continued to fidget with his hat. ‘No. He asked me to give you a message.’

‘Oh?’

‘He said to tell you he understands.’

She could not keep the surprise from her face. ‘Understands what?’

‘Didn’t say. Just said to tell you.’

Her eyes remained fixed on Bluey, but she was not looking at him. After a long time, in which he blushed deeper at being stared at, she said, ‘Well then, you’ve told me.’ She rose slowly to her feet. ‘I’ll show you out.’

‘But – well?’ asked Bluey, shocked.

‘Well what?’

‘What should I tell him back? I mean – a message or something?’ She didn’t answer. ‘He’s always been good to me, Mrs S … You both have.’

‘It’s through here,’ she said, guiding him to the front door.

As she closed it behind him, she leaned her face against the wall, shaking.

‘Oh, Isabel, darling!’ her mother exclaimed. ‘Come and have a lie down, there’s a girl,’ she said, and led her to her room.

‘I’m going to be sick again,’ said Isabel, and Violet manoeuvred the old china basin onto her daughter’s lap just in time.



Bill Graysmark prided himself on being a good judge of people. As a headmaster, he got to observe human character in the process of formation. He was rarely wrong about which ones would do well for themselves in life, and which would come a cropper. Nothing in his gut told him Tom Sherbourne was a liar, or a violent man. Just to see him with Lucy was enough to show that the child hadn’t the least fear of him. And he couldn’t have asked for someone to cherish his daughter more.