Mary Baker - Meet Me at the Lighthouse - This summer’s best laugh-out-loud romantic comedy

“Oh, and Bobbie!” he called as I walked away.

“What?” I said, turning around.

He flashed me another smile, crinkling those merry eyes. “Happy birthday, love.”

***

My stream of consciousness as I wandered aimlessly along the beach’s blanched pebbles, Monty splashing happily in the baby waves, ran something like this:

He remembered my birthday!

The lighthouse… who the hell sells a lighthouse for a quid? Charlie Mason must’ve gone off his melon.

I mean, he remembered, after ten years. How cute is that?

God, a lighthouse for a quid… it’ll get snapped up by the first pillock who sees it, won’t it? Probably turn it into a crack den or something.

Wonder if he remembers when we snogged that time. Heh, bet he doesn’t know I got grounded for a week when Mr Madison grassed me up to Mum.

I hope whoever buys it does something good with it. It’d be great as a restaurant. Bit short on floor space maybe, but… oooh, or how about a bookshop? A bookshop in a lighthouse, a gimmick like that could really pull in customers. Or… art gallery?

Hang on. Did he say I was attractive before?

I wonder how much it costs to do up a lighthouse. More than I could ever afford, probably. Still, with a bank loan…

It probably doesn’t mean anything, that he remembered. Sweet though. Wish I could remember when his was. He’s older than me, isn’t he? Autumn baby, start of the school year some time…

I bet it’d be a piece of piss to get investors, if you wanted to renovate a lighthouse for a business venture. Guaranteed success, surely. It’s a bloody lighthouse.

October, that’s it. His birthday’s in October.

Oh my God! I’m totally going to buy a lighthouse!

The next minute I was tearing up the uneven steps cut into the crag. I could see Ross there still, sitting cross-legged against the little outhouse that joined the main building and looking dreamily out to sea.

Monty was at my heels, adding some drama to proceedings by barking his lungs out like the Westie of the bloody Baskervilles. He obviously thought I was treating him to his favourite game of Runny-Chasey-Barky-Catch.

“Ross!” I panted as I reached him, clutching my stomach. The burst of exercise had given me a stitch.

He looked round in surprise, tearing his gaze from the fishing trawler he’d been following.

“Hi again. That was a short walk.”

“Yeah, just wanted… God, I’m out of shape.” I stopped for a minute while I caught my breath. “Just wanted to ask you to… tell… your uncle… I’ll take it.”

It was early evening when I met up with Jess at the Fishgutter’s Arms for a birthday drink. By the time we got there, the dark little pub was heaving.

“Sorry I can’t stay out late, sis,” Jess said as we made our way to a table with a glass of white wine (me) and an orange juice (her). A junior doctor, her Saturday nights were often swallowed up by erratic shifts at the local infirmary.

“That’s ok, not really in the mood for a big one.” I sat down, Jess plonking herself opposite. “I’ll just have a couple then curl up in my PJs with a book and the dog, I think.”

“God, sounds like heaven. Wish I could join you. The only birthday treat I’ve got to look forward to is a night babysitting drunks in A&E.” She cocked her head like a budgie with Tinkerbell hair, listening to the soft indie-style music playing in the background. “Tell you what, this is a bit better than the usual live acts they have on.”

“Yeah, not bad, is it? Improvement on the glam rock covers they normally inflict on us on a Saturday night.”

“So you do anything nice for our birthday then?” she asked.

Bought a lighthouse.

“Not really, just took Monty Dog out…”

Bought a lighthouse.

“…popped round Mum’s for a cuppa, picked up our presents from her…”

Bought a lighthouse bought a lighthouse bought a lighthouse.

I groaned. “Jessie, I need to tell you something.”

“Oh God. What this time?”

I let my head sink on to my folded arms. “Mmmf mmf mmfmmf,” I muffled through a mouthful of sleeve.

“Sorry?”

I lifted my head and fortified myself with another swallow of wine. “Bought a lighthouse.”

“Oh. Right,” she said, looking puzzled. “Bit of tat for Mum’s mantelpiece?”

“No, love, not an ornament. An actual lighthouse. Charlie Mason’s lighthouse. He was selling it for a quid.”

Jess’s eyes widened. “For a quid ? Not finally cracked, has he?”

“Don’t think so. Ross told me he’d just got sick of the council badgering him about doing it up.”

“Ross Mason? Not seen him since school. Is he visiting?”

“No, he’s moved back. I bumped into him this morning.”

She shook her head, a bewildered look spreading across her features as what I’d told her sank in. “Yeah. So my sister bought a lighthouse. Welcome to another day in my world.”

“It was a quid, Jess. What else was I going to do?”

“Well, not buy a lighthouse is the thought that springs immediately to mind.” She shook her head again. “You daft cow. You know, you could get three Freddos for that and still have change.”

“I’m on a diet.” I tilted my head as another song started. It was a more upbeat number this time, a bit Kaiser Chiefs-influenced. “You’re right, this is good stuff. Who’s playing?”

I glanced over at the singer, seated on a stool providing his own guitar accompaniment, then jerked my face away before he saw me.

“Oh my God!” I hissed at Jess, reaching across the table to grip her arm. “It’s only him!”

“Him? Who him? Him who?”

“Ross. That’s him on guitar. Look.”

She examined the singer whispering into his microphone, eyes tight closed as the music carried him away.

“Bloody hell, it is as well.” She blinked. “Hey, he’s changed a bit.”

“Yeah, looks good, doesn’t he?”

Jess narrowed her eyes. “Oi. Did you buy his uncle’s lighthouse just because he fluttered his pretty-boy eyelashes at you?”

“Oh right, because I’m that shallow. Yeah, the whole thing was an elaborate chat-up effort actually. I was like ‘Is that a lighthouse on your coastline or are you just pleased to see me?’ and he was like ‘Yeah, you can polish my lamp up any time, darling’ –”

“All right, no need to take the piss. So what’re you planning on doing with this lighthouse then? Please say selling it on.”

I shrugged. “Dunno yet. Thought I’d look into how much it’d cost to do up. I mean, yeah, if it’s going to be more than I can afford I’ll sell it on; can’t go wrong on something that cost a quid, can you? But it’d be nice to do something with it, sort of a fun little project. It’s a shame it’s been left to get into that state.”

“Well, be careful, that’s all. Try not to bankrupt us with your ‘fun little project’.” Jess glanced over my shoulder and groaned. “Oh God. Did you put your pulling pants on tonight?”

“No, why?”

“Because we’re about to get chatted up.” She jerked her head behind me and I looked round to see two beefy, ruddy-faced blokes in rugby shirts making their way to our table.

“Ugh, not again. Really hoped we could just have a nice, quiet night.”

“Bagsy your turn to wingman,” Jess said quickly.

“Oh, right. Forcing me to wingman on my own birthday.”

“It’s my birthday too.”

I sighed. “Go on then.”

I plastered on a fixed smile as the two men reached our table.