Chapter Twenty-Five

EDWIN WAS BACK at work in his bakery. While he wished he was getting stuck in with the repair work, the fact remained the people of the village needed food, so people like himself, Mr. Blackwall, Mr. Bounsell, and others were needed back at their businesses. Aside from those that had been levelled, most the buildings on Hill Road and Ridge Street suffered only minor damage. The village’s other oysterman, Mr. Hirst, had made a full recovery and already resumed his fishing activities in the cove.

Duncan had been at his toyshop collecting some tools. His shop was undamaged by the hurricane but remained closed while more important matters were dealt with. He’d been working day and night preparing frames, joists, and posts. With all of the trees brought down by the storm, timber was easy to come by. On his way home, he called in to Farriner’s Bakery and invited Edwin round to his house that evening. Edwin, somewhat flabbergasted, said he’d be delighted.

When Edwin arrived, it was just getting dark. The sky was still cloudy, and a light rain fell. As he walked up the laneway towards Duncan’s little house on the hill, with a wrapped fruitcake in his hand, he spotted a moth fluttering among the hedgerow. With its brilliant blue wings it looked just like the one Robin had told him he’d seen huddling for shelter in the framework of the lighthouse gallery. He’d never seen one like it.

“Thank you for coming,” Duncan said as he hung up Edwin’s coat.

“I brought you something. Freshly baked this afternoon,” Edwin said, handing over the parcel.

Duncan thanked him again and ushered him into the comfortable living room. On a table against the far wall were four model lighthouses in varying stages of completion. Edwin picked up the one on the end, as it was the only one painted—in blue and white stripes—and it looked the sturdiest. Duncan arrived in, carrying a tray loaded with a teapot, butter dish, and two china cups.

“Twist the key on the bottom,” he said.

Edwin turned the model over in his hand and gave the little metal key a few turns. Setting the lighthouse back on the table, a simple melody began to play—he recognised it as being the one Robin sometimes hummed. He also saw an occasional little flash of light coming from the top of the model, and he bent down to inspect it.

“It’s just a tiny mirror. It glints as it turns and catches the light. Albert Wolfe helped me with the mechanism. Took a few goes to get it right.” Duncan smiled.

“I’m sure they’ll be very popular,” Edwin said.

“I want you to have the first one. By way of an apology.”

“That’s very kind of you, but really, there’s no need.”

As he was beckoned to sit on the comfortable armchair by the fireplace, Edwin became aware he was being watched by two bright blue eyes. Bramble the kitten meowed from under Duncan’s chair. Edwin called him over, and the little kitten wobbled his way across the carpet to the waiting hands of the baker.

“I believe there is,” Duncan said and he sat down. “I was very harsh on you in the lighthouse.”

“Oh, no, you weren’t…” Edwin began.

Duncan held up his hand. “No, I was, and we both know I was. It wasn’t a pleasant time for me, as you can imagine. I did you a great injustice. I thought you were sticking your oar in where it didn’t belong, with me and Robin, but you were right to. We needed to talk, and you gave us the push we required. I felt very guilty when I heard what had happened with Robin, rescuing little May Bell. I know now that’s why you were so worried about him.”

Edwin began to blush a little at this. Duncan’s bluntness had disarmed him again. He was used to people skirting around issues, easing into them. Duncan, like Eva, had a way of just ploughing right through them. Edwin wondered if it was a habit he’d picked up when he was living on Blackrabbit Island. He also wondered if perhaps it wasn’t a better approach.

“And you know that’s not the only reason I was worried,” Edwin said.

Duncan smiled at this as he poured two cups of tea and sliced some fruitcake.

“At least we've spoken now. We can move on, as friends. And we have you to thank.”

Edwin didn't know what to say. He looked at the carved ornaments on the mantelpiece. He lifted a little bird with a bright spot of red paint on its breast.

“This is the robin you mentioned, from your childhood?” he asked, and Duncan chuckled.

“Yes, that’s the one.”

Edwin turned it over in his hands, admiring the craftsmanship.

“Have you two talked yet?” Duncan asked.

Edwin coughed slightly, and as he sat back down, he reached over and lifted a cup and saucer.

“Um, no, not yet. We’ve both been busy, and after the lighthouse, I wondered if maybe you two were…” He was uncertain of how to phrase his thoughts.

“Oh, my, no. No, no, no. You’ve nothing to worry about there,” Duncan said, holding both hands up this time, as if to prove they were clean or just empty. “We’ve aired our grievances, and we’re all the better for it, but that part of our lives is over. Too much water under that particular bridge. He clearly cares a great deal about you.”

“Really?” Edwin smiled his biggest, sappiest smile at this.

“You must realise the gamble you’re taking with your friendship, though.”

“I do. Whatever misgivings I’d had about taking a chance with him were left behind in those caves. On the boat ride back, I had a moment of clarity. I thought sure it was obvious what I was thinking, but Robin was oblivious, as usual! But it just struck me—he’s worth the risk.”

“He is,” Duncan agreed. “But don’t tell him I said so or I’ll have to thump you.”

They laughed then. Was it the first time they’d shared a laugh together, Edwin wondered.

“Look, I know it didn’t end well between me and him, but don’t let that affect you.” Duncan slathered a slice of fruit cake with butter and took a small bite. Edwin fought the urge to tell him his fruit cake was already quite moist enough and didn’t require butter.

“I remember once we went out in Bucca’s Call,” Duncan said, wiping a little dab of butter from the corner of his mouth. “Robin had this thing made—it was a few bits of wood, like a little platform that fit snugly over the first two benches of the boat. It was a beautiful summer’s evening and we lay on the platform, anchored way out in the bay, watching the clouds. Just me and him. I lay there in his arms, listening to the waves, the birds, the beat of his heart in his chest, and I felt so…at peace. The past, my past, felt like another country. So far away. We watched the sun setting, then the most beautiful starry night. We made wishes on falling stars. He had blankets ready for when it turned cold; he had wine, bread, cheese. It was…perfect, really.”

Duncan stopped there, rubbing the back of his own hairy neck with a stubby hand, and let out a little laugh. “I know how it sounds, really, I do,” he continued. “But I promise you, I’m not still in love with Robin. I just…”

Edwin held his cup tightly in his hands and felt the intensity of Duncan’s gaze. That time, though, it was different. Unlike in the lighthouse, when he was made to feel as if he was intruding on some very private territory, it was more like he being seen—really, truly seen—on his own terms. Not as an interloper in Duncan’s world, but as a welcomed guest.

“Between you and me, I pine for our relationship in its best days.” Duncan said. “I miss that Robin. And I miss that version of myself. The one finally free of my past.”

Bramble had scuttled out from underneath a chair and began trilling and pawing at Duncan’s leg. He bent down and scooped up the little kitten, who began to purr instantly. “At least I’ve got some company round the house now. Even if he never shuts up for five bleddy minutes.” He stroked under Bramble’s chin.

They talked about how Keeper Hall, recovered from his injuries, had told the village about signalling for help from the lighthouse window for only a few minutes before becoming too disorientated to continue. It was sheer luck that Duncan had seen it.

And they talked about how odd it was that Mr. Reed smiled so much now, when they weren’t previously sure it was something he was even capable of doing. They had never before seen his perfect little white teeth, or the way his eyebrows rose in the middle of his forehead and slanted over his slate-coloured eyes.

After a couple of hours swapping stories—more than a few of which concerned Robin—Edwin held his model lighthouse up and waved farewell to Duncan from the laneway. The toymaker stood in the doorway of his little blue house on the hill, framed by the golden warmth of his candlelit hallway and holding in his arms the bright-eyed Bramble. He and Edwin parted if not quite yet as friends, then at least with a better understanding of one another and a solid foundation on which to build.