Chapter Six
My eyes are dark, my heart is heavy, even smiling seems like an insurmountable task, but I manage to eek out the last of my positivity for Penny.
It’s weird waking up in Mia’s spare room, the space barely big enough for one person, let alone two, but it’s kind of cosy being cuddled up with Penny, safe from the outside world. Bless her, she’s confused by the whole bizarre situation, but she was excited to sleep in the little single bed last night.
‘It’s like we’re having a sleepover, Mummy!’ she gushed, clutching a downy pillow to her chest.
I almost burst into tears then. She’s such a strong little soul.
This morning, she’s still being my brave girl, eating up her porridge and chatting to Mia as if she hasn’t lost her home and her father, all in one terrible night.
As I bustle her into the car, ready for school, a chilling thought settles over me like a cloud of sleet. Jerry pays for this car, is he going to stop the payments and leave me with no mode of transport? What about my bank card, will he cut me off completely? Surely not, since I’m the one who’s taking care of his daughter. But then again, he kicked us out of the house with no regard to Penny’s welfare, so who knows what depths he’ll sink to?
At least I have a small amount of money coming in from my job at Kat’s Creams, but it’s not enough to afford a place for Penny and I to live. I know Mia will let us stay as long as we need to, but room and board at her place is not exactly a long-term, sustainable solution. A child needs a stable home, a place to call her own, and it just kills me that I can’t provide that for my little girl.
Once I’ve dropped Penny at school, I make my way back to Mia’s. Well, not at first, my mind is on autopilot, and I start driving to our once-family home. Bleary-eyed, I stare up at the house, and though I’ve only been out of it one night, it seems alien to me. Was it ever really a home? Can a place be a home when you’re constantly walking on eggshells trying not to wake the beast, when you’re forever lonely and trapped despite the freedom you appear to have?
Feeling foolish, I make a clumsy three-point turn in the middle of the street and go back to the two-bedroom semi. When I drag myself through the door, Mia has a cup of tea and a chocolate biscuit waiting for me in the kitchen.
‘How are you doing?’ she asks, though she needn’t have bothered, it’s clear to everyone how I am.
‘Exactly as you might imagine.’ I plop down in the chair next to her, and Hettie the tabby cat leaps onto my lap for a fuss. ‘My life is in tatters, my marriage is dead on arrival, and my daughter is suffering the fallout.’
Mia reaches out to squeeze my hand. ‘Penny’s a strong little girl. She’ll be okay.’
‘Will she? She doesn’t deserve any of this.’
‘Neither do you, Claire. You need to cut yourself some slack. This isn’t your fault.’
I wish I could believe her. It feels as though everything is my fault, maybe I was ungrateful, maybe I wasn’t a good enough wife to Jerry. And maybe I’ve made the wrong decision staying in Sunny Shore Bay …
Desperate to rid myself of that worry, I shake my head so hard, stars flit about in front of my eyes.
‘So, are you working much today?’ I ask my friend, my voice wavering.
Mia gulps a mouthful of tea and places the mug down with a flourish. ‘My first lesson is at ten, and I’ll be busy with more most of the day after that, but you’re welcome to stick around if you want. There’s snacks in the cupboard and a telly in the living room, what more could a girl want?’
Though I feel like I might weep, I manage to give her a weak giggle. ‘Nah, it’s alright. I think I could do with a walk, you know, to clear my head.’
Mia nods, her head tilted in understanding. ‘Well, just give me a call if you need anything.’
As I head out the door, I fling my designer bag over my shoulder, wondering if I’ll soon be forced to sell it to pay for groceries.
What the hell am I supposed to do now? Where do I go? I suppose I could call Tamara or Rosalind, ask them to meet for lunch and vent it all out to them. My face burns at the mere thought of that, I don’t think I could bear their shock and pity, not right now.
There’s always my parents’ place, though their spare room isn’t much bigger than Mia’s. Kat swore that she wouldn’t breathe a word of the big argument to our folks, as we both know how they’d react. They’d tell me to stop being silly and give poor old Jerry the benefit of the doubt, the same opinion they’ve spouted countless times before. But they don’t know the ins and outs of my marriage, even Kat doesn’t know the full story, not really. No one knows how it feels to be trapped inside a gilded cage, stuck in a beautiful home full of beautiful things, yet all you want to do is scream and break out. How could I explain that to my parents, to Tamara and Rosalind? They’d never understand. They’d think I was ungrateful, selfish, a terrible mother for breaking up our ‘happy home’.
Maybe I am all of those things …
The sun is shining bright in a cyan, cloudless sky, if I wasn’t feeling so rotten, I might have called it a gorgeous day. I walk down the old wooden steps to the beach, and a slow sensation of peace washes over me in a gentle wave. I don’t come here all that often, before Penny’s party, it had been months since I’d stepped foot on the sand, and I’m not sure why. Perhaps years of tropical holidays have turned me snobby against the British seaside, but standing here, listening to the call of the seagulls and the lapping of the water against the shore, I find all the exotic beaches in the world aren’t a patch on the homely, comforting beauty of Sunny Shore Bay.
I shield my eyes from the blinding sun rays and turn away from the sea, where my focus settles on a crumbling structure atop the cliffs that crest the bay. The old lighthouse. Despite it’s grand stature, it’s easy to forget it’s there. Once, it was painted stark, brilliant white and red, but years of relentless sea salt and wind have turned it’s facade a soft, weathered gray. Tangles of foliage climb over it like an angry rash, which only help to obscure it from view. There’s something sad - redundant - about it, and before I can question my sanity, I find myself hurrying up the steps in the rock face that lead to the abandoned building, curious as a child.
I locate the lighthouse’s door, rotted and warped from age, and with a little wiggling, it gives way and edges open with a creak. A musty, dusty smell hits me as I enter the small antechamber, and a winding, spiral staircase at its centre entices me to explore further.
It seems as though I’m ascending straight into the sky, but finally, I’m standing on the very top step, where the light chamber reveals itself. It’s kind of … magical, how everything is bathed in the soft, filtered glow of daylight as it pours through the panoramic windows. The beacon is shrouded in a thick layer of dust, the floorboards are caked in years of detritus and yet, there’s something very peaceful, yet sort of melancholic about this place.
The peace shatters when sudden footsteps echo behind me. Ridiculous visions of the ghosts of drowned sailors flash through my mind, terror floods my veins and suddenly, I’m stumbling backwards, down the spiraling steps. But before I can open my mouth to scream, a pair of strong hands clasps my shoulders, steadying me before I fall and crack my head on the hard stairs.
‘God, are you alright?’ the deep voice asks, tickling my ear.
‘I-I’m fine.’
Flustered, I spin around and come nose to nose with the most striking man I’ve ever seen in my life. Locks of chestnut brown flop over his forehead in a playful, boyish manner, a shadow of stubble graces his square jaw and a pair of tortoise-shell glasses perch on the end of his long nose, giving him an intelligent yet quizzical look.
‘Sorry I frightened you, I didn’t realise there was anyone in here.’
‘Oh, well, I … I don’t think I’m supposed to be here,’ I gabble, my tongue tripping over each word. ‘I - I’m sorry!’
And with that, I rush down the stairs so swiftly, I come close to hurtling down them again. Luckily, my feet don’t fail me, and I dash off and out of the lighthouse, away for the mysterious man. I do, however, fall head over heels in the sand, practically face-planting the ground. Tugging at my clothes, I haul myself upright, praying the guy in the lighthouse isn’t peering down at me from the window.
Though I tell myself not to, I can’t help but glance over my shoulder, but I can’t see him looking back. The old lighthouse has been left abandoned and forgotten for decades, no one goes inside there anymore.
So what on earth was he doing there?