The Light Between Oceans(94)

By the time Sergeant Knuckey has arrived at the park, there is only a satchel on the park bench, and an apple core with small teeth marks, though ants have overrun the remains now.

As the night falls, lights begin to twinkle in the gloom. Dots in the darkness, sometimes from a gas lamp in a window; sometimes electric lights, from the newer houses. The main street of Partageuse has electric street lights strung along its length on either side. The stars, too, illuminate the clear air, and the Milky Way rubs a bright smudge across the darkness.

Some of the bright dots amongst the trees sway like fiery fruit: people with lanterns are searching the bush. Not just police, but men from Potts’s timber mills, men from Harbour and Lights. Hannah waits anxiously at home, as she’s been instructed. The Graysmarks walk the bush paths, calling the child’s name. Both ‘Lucy’ and ‘Grace’ fill the air, though only one child is lost.

Clutching her drawing, of Mamma and Dadda and the light, the child recalls the story of the Wise Men finding their way to Baby Jesus by a star. She has spotted the light of Janus, out to sea: it’s not far at all – the light never is. Though there’s something not quite right. The flash has a red beam between the white ones. Still she follows it.

Down towards the water she heads, where the swell has picked up for the night and the waves have taken the shore hostage. At the lighthouse, she will find Mamma and Dadda. She makes her way down towards the long, thin isthmus – the ‘Point’ of Point Partageuse, where years before, Isabel taught Tom to lie down when looking into the blow-hole, to avoid being swept away. Every step takes the little girl closer to the light, out in the ocean.

But it’s not Janus’s beam she’s following. Each light has a different character, and the flash of red that punctuates the white in this one tells mariners that they’re nearing the shoals at the mouth of Partageuse Harbour, nearly a hundred miles away from Janus Rock.

The wind picks up. The water churns. The child walks. The darkness abides.



From his cell, Tom heard voices carried on the air outside. ‘Lucy? Lucy, are you there?’ Then ‘Grace? Where are you, Grace?’

Alone in the cells, Tom called out towards the front of the station, ‘Sergeant Knuckey? Sergeant?’

There was a rattling of keys, and Constable Lynch appeared. ‘Want something?’

‘What’s going on? There are people outside, calling Lucy.’

Bob Lynch thought about his response. The bloke deserved to know. Nothing he could do about it anyway. ‘She’s gone missing, the little girl.’

‘When? How?’

‘A few hours ago. Ran off, by the looks.’

‘Christ Almighty! How the bloody hell did that happen?’

‘No idea.’

‘Well what are they doing about it?’

‘They’re looking.’

‘Let me help. I can’t just sit here.’ The expression on Lynch’s face was reply enough. ‘Oh for crying out loud!’ said Tom. ‘Where am I likely to get to?’

‘I’ll let you know if I hear anything, mate. Best I can do.’ And with another metallic clang, he was gone.

In the darkness, Tom’s thoughts turned to Lucy, always curious to explore her surroundings. Never afraid of the dark. Perhaps he should have taught her to be fearful. He had failed to prepare her for life beyond Janus. Then another thought came to him. Where was Isabel? What was she capable of in her current state? He prayed she hadn’t taken things into her own hands.



Thank Christ it wasn’t winter. Vernon Knuckey could feel the coolness setting in as midnight approached. The kid was wearing a cotton dress and a pair of sandals. At least in January she had a chance of making it through the night. In August she’d have been blue with cold by now.

No point in searching at this hour. Sun’d be up not long after five. Better to have people fresh and alert when the light was on their side. ‘Spread the word,’ he said as he met Garstone at the end of the road. ‘We’re calling it off for tonight. Get everyone to the station at first light, and we’ll start again.’

It was one a.m., but he needed to clear his head. He set off on the familiar route of his evening walk, still carrying his lantern, which took a swing at the dark with each of his steps.



In the little cottage, Hannah prayed. ‘Keep her safe, Lord. Protect her and save her. You’ve saved her before …’ Hannah worried – perhaps Grace had used up her share of miracles? Then she soothed herself. It didn’t take a miracle for a child to survive a single night here. She just needed to avoid bad luck. That was a different thing altogether. But that thought was pushed aside by the more panicked, more urgent fear. Exhausted, a thought came to her with a twisted clarity. Perhaps God didn’t want Grace to be with her. Perhaps she was to blame for everything. She waited, and prayed. And she made a solemn pact with God.



There’s a kicking at the door of Hannah’s house. Though the lights are off, she’s still wide awake, and springs up to open it. Before her stands Sergeant Knuckey, with Grace’s body in his arms, her limbs floppy.

‘Oh dear Lord!’ Hannah lunges for her. Her eyes are fixed on the girl, not the man, so she doesn’t see that he’s smiling.

‘Almost tripped over her down on the Point. Fast asleep,’ he says. ‘She’s got nine lives, this one, that’s for sure.’ And though he’s grinning, there’s a tear in his eye, as he recalls the weight of the son he couldn’t save, decades before.