Emma Stonex - The Lamplighters

Outside, the sky grew dim. In the distance, beyond the rooftops, swam the strip of sea that Jenny clung to like a lifebelt. She needed that sea, to be sure it was there, the nearest she had of him. In heavy weather the view got lost and that made her panic, imagining the sea had gone, she was nowhere near it, or it had dried up altogether and her husband’s bones knocked naked on the sand.

A keeper never abandons his light.

She had heard that plenty when Bill vanished.

Then what had he done? Over the years, she had grown used to not knowing, comfortable with it, even, a ragged pair of slippers with holes in the bottom that did nothing for her, but she never took them off.

Well, a wife never abandons her husband. Jenny would never move away. Not until she knew the truth, and then, maybe then, she could sleep.

She heard her visitor arrive on the doorstep, the shuffle of his feet and a smoker’s cough. His knuckles on the door, surprising her. She clasped her shaking hands. That’s right, she remembered, the bell was bust.

I’d sooner have come to meet you but the car’s got a flat tyre. I’m waiting for my brother-in-law to come and fix it for me. I’m no good with cars. Bill used to do everything like that. Now he’s gone, I suppose I’m lucky that Carol and Ron live close by. I don’t know what I’d do without them. I’m not sure I could cope.

You’d better come in. I’ll turn a light on. I try not to have too many on around the house because it costs. Trident set us up with an income, but it doesn’t take much for me to spend mine. I haven’t been able to work so I can’t get any extra. I never worked anyway; I was raising the family while Bill was on the lights so what else was I to do. I wouldn’t know where to start, in working. I wouldn’t know what I’d be good at.

Go on then, tell me what you want to know. I haven’t got long – I’ve got a man coming round to fix the TV. I’d be lost without the telly. I have it on all day; it keeps me company. When it’s off I feel lonely. Quiz shows are my favourite, the ones on the shiny sets. I like Family Fortunes because of the flashing lights and prizes; it’s colourful and I like that. I usually keep the TV on when I go to bed so it’s there when I wake up, then there’s someone there to say good morning to. It helps take my mind off things. The nights are the worst for that.

It’s a gloomy subject for you to want to write about. Bad enough it happened in the first place without you needing to make a book out of it. I don’t see why you’d want to read about the dark side of life anyway. There’s enough of that in the world as it is. Why can’t there be more stories about nice things? Ask your publishers that.

I suppose you want a drink, don’t you. I’ve got coffee but I’ve run out of tea. I haven’t been able to get to the shops because of the car and I don’t like walking. Anyway, I don’t drink it myself. Not even water? Suit yourself.

That’s a photo of the family at Dungeness. My grandson’s five and the twins are two. Hannah’s lot – she didn’t mean to have them early but that’s how it happened. Hannah’s my eldest. Then I’ve got Julia, who’s twenty-two now, and Mark, who’s twenty. I had my girls far apart because it took us a while to get pregnant, what with Bill being away. Oh, I don’t feel young to be a grandmother. I feel old. Older than I am. I put a brave face on because they don’t want to come over and see their nana sad all the time, but it’s a struggle. Like on Bill’s birthday or our anniversary when I want to stay in bed, and I don’t even want to get up to answer the door. I don’t care if I’m moving on or not. I don’t see the point of it. I’ll never get over what happened, never.

Are you married? No, I wouldn’t have said so. I’ve heard authors are like that. Caught up with what’s in your head instead of what’s outside it.

I’ve never read your stories so I wouldn’t know the kind of thing you cook up. One got made for telly, did it? Neptune’s Bow . Actually, I did watch that. The Beeb put it on before Christmas. It was all right. That was you, was it? OK.

I don’t see why you’re interested in our business. You don’t know the first thing about lighthouses or the people that work in them or anything. Lots of folk get excited about what went on, but they don’t feel the need to go around making an entertainment out of it. You won’t solve it, however much you fancy yourself.

We were childhood sweethearts, Bill and me. Together from when we were sixteen. I’d never been with another man before Bill and I never have since. As far as I’m concerned, we’re still married. Even now, if I can’t make up my mind about something, like how many fish fingers I should buy at Safeway when the grandkids are coming for tea, I ask myself what Bill would say. That helps me to decide.

I never understood other women who rowed with their husbands. They’d take any chance to moan and put them down in front of everyone else. Things like he left his dirty washing on the floor or he didn’t do the dishes properly. All harping on and not stopping to see how lucky they were that they could be with their husbands every night and not have to miss them. As if any of that matters anyway, about the washing and the dishes and things. That’s not what life’s about. If you can’t overlook those things, you’re in the wrong business. You shouldn’t be married at all.

What can I tell you about Bill? First thing is he wouldn’t think much of outsiders sticking their beaks in. But that won’t be much help to you, will it?

Bill was always destined to join the lighthouses. His mother died when he was a baby – that was a sad lot, because she died giving birth to him, so he just had his dad and his brothers when he was growing up. His father was a lighthouse keeper and so was his granddad and his great-granddad before. Bill was the youngest of three boys who went into it. There just wasn’t any other option. He did resent it, yes. Deep down I think he could’ve wanted to be something else, but he never got the chance because no one ever asked him. He had no power in that family, none at all.

He was always trying to please other people. He’d say to me, ‘Jen, I just want an easy life,’ and I’d tell him that was what I was here for, to make his life easy. Neither of us came from a happy background and that’s what bonded us in the first place. I understood Bill and he understood me. We didn’t need to explain ourselves to each other. Comforts normal people take for granted, like a nice home and a hot meal on the table. We wanted to do better for our children. Have a go at making it right.

To start with we were lucky, posted to land stations where we could all live together, or on the rocks where the housing was provided. I said to Bill when we met, right off the bat, I said, I don’t like being on my own, I always like to be with someone and if you’re going to be my husband then that’s how it has to be. The service was accommodating, but I knew we’d get the tower at some point. I dreaded it. I’d have to spend a lot of time on my own then, raising the children like one of those poor single mothers. It’s usually the men without families who want the towers – like Vince, the Supernumerary, he didn’t have anyone to take care of, so he didn’t mind what he got. Not us. We minded. I feel so angry that we never wanted that horrible tower, but we got it anyway – and look what happened.

The Maiden’s the worst because it’s so far off and it’s ugly and threatening looking. Bill used to say it was dark and stuffy inside and that he got a bad feeling off it. ‘A bad, heavy feeling’ was how he put it. Obviously, I think about that a lot now. I wish I had asked him more about it, but usually I changed the subject because I didn’t want him getting upset. I also didn’t like him thinking about the tower too much when he was ashore. That tower had enough of him as it was. We had to wait to see him for so long that when he was here, he had to be here in every way.