The Lighthouse Witches(13)

“It’s Gianni,” she says, itching to get him. “Can I have him please?” Luna finds herself handing over the toy, dumbfounded as the child squeezes it to her cheek. Exactly as Clover used to do. “I missed you, Gianni.”

“I’ve had him a long time,” Luna finds herself saying, but Clover is already talking again, explaining that she set him down just the other day and when she went to cuddle him in bed he was gone.

“I put him right on the bedside table. Didn’t I, Gianni? And then I got dressed and he was gone.”

Eilidh leans over to Clover and glances up at Luna. “Do you recognize your sister, Luna? It’s OK if you need a wee while.”

“You’re called Luna?” the girl asks, narrowing her eyes. Luna nods.

“Well, isn’t that lovely?” Eilidh says. “Two sisters, reunited. As soon as you’re well you’ll be returning home with Luna.”

Luna opens her mouth to say something, but she is overwhelmed with a dozen emotions at once. The girl looks so like Clover, it’s uncanny. Same pale, freckled face, same brown hair that curls at the bottom and those round denim-blue eyes fixed in the same intelligent, challenging stare—just like Luna’s. She has the same nose as Luna, too, a little too wide, and her ears stick out. She’s missing two front teeth, and her left cheek dimples slightly when she talks. Just like Saffy’s.

But she can’t be Clover. She’s more than twenty years too young.

A nurse comes in then, keen to change Clover’s drip. Luna can feel Ethan’s eyes on her, expectant, the air between them filled with questions. She knows he wants her to leave, now that it’s evident that this is all a mistake. But her heart is racing, her instinct shouting every bit as loud as her fear.

Who is she, if not Clover?





LIV, 1998



I

I sat at the kitchen table holding the hand that had slapped Saffy, as though it belonged to someone else.

What have I done?

I was strongly against corporal punishment, had never lifted so much as a finger against my children. Saffy’s words had riled me, yes, and I remembered feeling shaken by the sight of the little girl in the lighthouse, a little girl I had doubtless imagined . . . but clearly I was losing my grip.

After I struck her, Saffy ran out of the bothy. I’d taken Luna and Clover with me and driven up and down the main road, trying to find her, but there was no sign.

I’d returned to the bothy, hoping that Saffy might have blown off steam and returned. Shaken by the empty rooms, I’d called Isla and asked her to keep an eye out for Saffy on the main island of Lòn Haven. I had tried to keep the details vague, but she didn’t hesitate in prying.

“Strange for Sapphire to be out walking alone, isn’t it?” she’d said. “Given that she knows no one here.”

“There was a bit of a disagreement this morning,” I’d said awkwardly. “She’s just upset.”

“I see. Perhaps it’s a hard adjustment for her, this place.”

“Perhaps.”

“She couldn’t have stayed back in England with her father? Or grandparents?”

I’d bristled. Isla didn’t know me well enough to be asking such things.

“If you see Saffy,” I’d said, biting back stronger words, “could you tell her to stay put, please, and call me to let me know where she is?”

“I’ll do you one better,” Isla had said, suddenly obsequious. “How about Row and I take a drive around the island just now, see if we can find her, and when we do, I’ll take the girls out for a coffee. Give them a chance to become pals. How does that sound?”

I had hesitated. “Sounds . . . great. Thank you.”

Until Saffy was found, I was helpless.

“Did you and Saffy have an argument?” Luna asked as I was making breakfast. She was always the most perceptive of the three, highly in tune with the emotions of others.

“No,” I said, smiling. “She’s just out exploring, that’s all.”

Mothers are the best actors.

Once Clover and Luna were set up at the dining table with bowls of cereal, I went outside, taking in the sight of the gray ocean wrapping around the tiny lighthouse island like a fist, a mackerel sky troubled by seabirds swooping and screaming beneath the clap of the waves. Saffy had never been an easy child. Defiant and headstrong, she was born with a will already forged in iron. Nonetheless, I’d always expected that having a teenager would be a turning point, the part of parenthood where everything got better. Throughout those early years of nappies, teething, tantrums, and night terrors I’d consoled myself by imaging a time when my girls were old enough to be self-sufficient. Maybe then I wouldn’t be pulled in three different directions, always spinning plates. But Saffy’s defiance had grown into disrespect and contempt. I felt as though I needed an emotional suit of armor to protect myself from her spiteful comments. She resented every thought, cell, breath, and ounce of me.

I turned and glanced inside the bothy, noticing at once that Luna and Clover were now playing on the floor of the living room with their dinosaur toys. I left them to it, picking up my Polaroid camera and heading to the lighthouse for another look.


II

The Longing was still intimidating in the light of day. The sheer height of it made my mouth run dry. I waded quickly through the filthy sludge on the floor and toward the staircase. I took my time, focusing on every detail—the curl of the iron banister, the sound of the seabirds outside, the spots on the wall where the light rested. It was the most beautiful building I’d ever laid eyes on, and the saddest. Both cathedral and asylum. A monument to hope and to loneliness.