Longships Light was a stark and solitary grey granite structure with waves surging and pounding at its base. Thrusting up out of the sea were sharp, dangerous rocks and Dad told me that the seas round Cornwall were amongst the wildest, most storm-lashed coasts off Britain and that in the old days even the lantern had become submerged by the uprushing waters.
‘Oh, Dad, does that still happen?’
‘Not now, sweetheart. The tower’s been rebuilt and it’s safe as can be, don’t you fret. But it’s still pretty wild out there. There’s not been such severe storms of late – not like they got in the Forties. Forty-Seven was the wildest year, they tell us – as I well know, being out to sea on HMS Crossbow at the time myself, right in the middle of it all.’
It sounded dangerous to me but as Dad said, he’d been through a lot worse in the Navy and this was a piece of cake in comparison.
It was such a beautiful spot where we lived – on a good day, we could see out for miles, though in bad weather we could see nothing more than the faint looming shape of Longships through the thick sea mists and listen to the muffled boom of the fog horn. Either way, I found it comforting to be able to see the lighthouse in the distance and know Dad was there.
‘Let’s go down to our little hidey place today, shall we Ryan … say yes!’ said Susan one Sunday morning. She’d just come back from Sunday School and was raring to use up all that excess energy of hers after two hours spent singing hymns and listening to Miss Trevelyan natter on about Daniel in the lion’s den.
Ryan was seated outside on an old wooden chair busy mending a fishing line. He looked up, a piece of thin twine between his strong white teeth and snapped it in half. He stared over at the horizon and gave it some ponderous thought.
‘It’ll be a good day for it today,’ he said. ‘Might as well, I suppose.’
I stared from one to the other. Was I to be included? And what was the secret place about?
As if reading my mind, Ryan stood up and said, ‘You comin’ then, Bridie?’
I felt a warmth inside at this casual inclusion in his plans. ‘Where are we going?’
Susan skipped about, ‘It’s our secret place, our secret place! Come on, Bridie, you’ll love it.’
She seized me by the hand and pulled me indoors, calling to her mother.
‘Mum, we want sandwiches today. We’re going on an adventure.’
Sheila was busy stuffing a chicken for Sunday lunch but didn’t seem the least bit put out by the request.
‘Ah, yes, its’s just the day for it. You do that and we’ll have our meal later,’ was the cheerful reply.
From Trinity Cottages, we scrambled down the cliffs till we came to a tiny cove and a little sandy beach. There was a pleasanter and wider beach at Whitesands Bay, the long golden sands stretching for miles, but this little spot was superb, totally private and unused.
‘None of the other kids know about this,’ said Ryan with a look of secret pleasure. ‘They want the bigger beach where they can muck around and eat ice creams. I don’t want none of that. This one belongs to us; Sue and me and now you.’
‘You don’t mind my knowing it too?’
‘No, you aren’t the talking, telling sort.’
‘No, I’m not. And I don’t want to muck around either.’
‘I reckoned you wouldn’t.’
I smiled at this. In his way, Ryan really seemed to understand me. It was as if he knew me deep inside and I felt as if I knew him like this too. There were no words needed – a communication of the soul. That’s how I saw it and it felt beautiful and oddly tender.
We spent a lot of time peering into the tiny pools to find crayfish and mussels washed in by the tide. Then Susan and I went for a swim while Ryan lay back on the rocks and stared up into the skies. I wondered what he was thinking about, his mind always occupied and interested in things. Later, I sat beside him, towelling my hair, looking out to sea, watching the flow of ripples on its calm surface. For a while he studied me with a detached air as I shook out my long chestnut hair and ran my fingers through it like a comb.
‘Got nice colour hair. Like autumn leaves.’
It was said with cool appraisal, as one might speak of a piece of china, a picture or any inanimate object but all the same it thrilled my heart to hear it. No one except Dad Joe had ever complimented me on my hair before, rather it had been the butt of jokes and teasings. I made no reply, casting my eyes down with sudden surprised modesty. When I looked up again, his gaze and thoughts were already elsewhere.
I followed Ryan’s eyes and looked up at the clouds.
‘See them little thin ‘uns, all wispy and soft,’ he said dreamily, ‘them’s what they call mare’s tails. Cirrus is their proper name. When they’re all bunched up and white and bold they’re called cumulus and they can get real towering and end up stormy. There’s lots of other types of cloud formations but my favourite is at sunset when you get a mackerel sky of altocumulus, all yellow and orange where the sun sinks away underneath dark little bands of clouds swimming across the sky. I mean to learn all about it, what the weather means and what it shows.’
I was impressed and looked once more at the wispy trails of cirrus across the sky. Fairweather clouds, I always called them, but mare’s tails was an even better name.
Amazingly, Ryan was chatty today and inclined to expound on his favourite subjects. I enjoyed listening to what he had to say and was glad he was in a good mood. It wasn’t fair to call him a moody person for that implied emotions and changes. Ryan was always the same, really. Cool, quiet, withdrawn. Now and then he got onto something that appealed to him and then he’d talk the hind leg off a donkey. Susan was lying beside us, her eyes closed, drifting off to sleep. Perhaps she’d heard all this before.
‘Tell me more,’ I said.
‘You want to learn about this stuff too, don’t you?’ he said, looking pleased to have an audience. I nodded and he continued.
‘See, Bridie, I only like to read books on oceanography and meteorology. Nothing else is interesting to me but the sea and the sky. I can’t read books about people, like you do. I don’t much like people – animals, yes, but not people. It’s the sea I love most of all, the sea and the sky, they go together like friends. Sometimes at peace together, sometimes fighting and storming at each other. I want to know what’s in those heights and in those depths, especially right down there in the unknown, in the darkest part. I’m going to go deep-sea diving some time to see what’s lurking down there.’
‘But I think people are like that,’ I said, ‘they live in different layers too. Some on the top in the light bit where the sun shines; dancing and diving into the waves and playing like dolphins and flying fish. Then the others are in the middle: more ponderous and sensible and less frisky. And on the bottom, where there’s no light at all, the monstrous people live and move in darkness and haven’t any idea about the light and the sun and how life can be fun.’
Ryan looked at me in his slow, thoughtful way. ‘You say some queer things.’
‘No more queer than you,’ I retorted. ‘Millie is one who lives in the dark, her and her son Andy,’ I added.
‘Who’s Millie?’
‘My foster mother. Andy’s her dear, baby son. She was cruel to me, really cruel and even Dad hated her in the end. That’s why he took me away and left her.’
‘Maybe she had a reason for being cruel; maybe she was unhappy.’
‘No, Ryan. She just liked to make everyone else unhappy. I hate her and I always will. Andy, too. I hope they both rot in hell!’
Ryan almost smiled at my passion. ‘I like people who know how to hate,’ he nodded. ‘It’s not natural to love everyone all the time. Hate and love are funny things.’
‘Do you hate anyone passionately?’ I asked.
He turned his face away and stared out over the sea.
‘A lot of people,’ was the short reply.
‘And do you love anyone?’
‘No. Well – my mum, I suppose, but most people love their mums.’
‘I love Dad Joe,’ I said. ‘He is my Prince. He rescued me from Mean Millie.’
‘He’s not your real dad then?’
‘No,’ I said, matter-of-factly. I had learnt to look on my story in this manner as if it had happened to someone else. ‘My real father shot himself after my mum died having me. He loved her, you see. He couldn’t live without her. I wonder if I’ll ever feel that way about anyone.’
‘You’ve had a good start in life and no mistake,’ said Ryan, sitting up and looking at me. His voice had a sudden tenderness in it that sent a shock wave of feeling through my heart. I looked up at him as he sat there, on a rock just a little above me. He had on his serious, thoughtful look and there was a grim look about his mouth I hadn’t noticed before. Suddenly he glanced down at me and smiled and that smile, so rare and unseen, was like a ray that lit his face. It made his hard dark eyes look almost sweet. I think it was then, when I saw that smile light his brooding, serious eyes with tenderness that I fell in love with Ryan Waterman.
‘Could you ever love someone like that, Ryan?’ I asked.
‘What – kill myself over a woman? No flamin’ fear. From all I hear and see, people are miserable together and miserable apart and marriage is all a lot of daft nonsense. Maybe I’ll stay alone all my life. I mean to be a lighthouse keeper like my Pa. He can’t wait to go off to his rock. He loves Mum and all that but he loves it best out there, just him and the other blokes, busy, quiet and peaceful like. I mean to apply as soon as I can and I know they’ll take me on. I know more about lighthouses and how to mend the lights and how to maintain them than half the men on there. Wherever we’ve lived, Dad’s always taken me up and shown me how everything works on his light. And we’ve been to lots of places.’
‘Isn’t it hard to make friends when you’re always moving about?’
‘I don’t want any friends and neither does my dad. His friends are all keepers and their wives. We’re like one big family in Trinity House. We look after each other, we understand the way of life.’
‘It sounds a good sort of life,’ I said thoughtfully, ‘the idea of living in different places, having new experiences. I don’t care about having friends either. I prefer to be alone like you do.’
It struck me then how alike Ryan and I were, though on the surface I was one of the ones playing in the light and frisking about and he seemed to be quite dark at times. But he was no deep-sea monster; he was just silent, intense and not prone to laughter at all.