WHACK

Augustus leans on his stick. His leg is shaking, but he is not going to sit down; he does not want to be shorter than the men who are walking around his living room.

The fat sheriff has brought two deputies, just boys, with fluffy blond hair and pimples. They are striding around his house as if they live there, touching all his belongings. They are allowed to. And Augustus is not allowed to throw them out.

The woman in the grey dress does not touch anything. She just stands there, looking at him and at everything in the room as if it is too dirty to touch. She makes Augustus nervous.

What was it that he had come up with again? What was it that he wanted to say? Keep calm, that’s the most important thing. Breathe slowly. Don’t get angry. Stay polite. Say, “Yes, sir.” Otherwise you’ll only make things worse.

Yes, sir. Of course, sir. My sincere apologies, it’ll never happen again. No yelling, no cursing. Hang your head.

He can’t help thinking of Emilia, who always used to say that sort of thing to him: Don’t yell, Augustus. Don’t kick chairs across the room, darling. And certainly not the sheriff!

Now she’s dead and he has to say those things to himself. He sighs. He is not very good at it, but he has to do it. For Lampie.

 

“My, my,” says the sheriff. “What a thing. What a storm, eh? We won’t forget that one in a hurry. And that ship. Smashed right into the rock, it did. Bang! Did you hear it?”

“Saw it,” says Augustus. “You can see it from the tower.”

“Well,” says the sheriff, shaking his head. “Well. Must have been quite a climb, with that leg of yours. Bang it went. Crack! In two pieces! It’s a blessed miracle no one drowned. Do you know how much it costs, a ship like that, Waterman?”

“No idea,” says Augustus. He turns around and snatches something from the blonder deputy sheriff. “Hands off!”

It is Emilia’s mirror, the mirror that has been hanging there on a nail, hanging there since… since for ever. It belongs there. He hangs it back up and sees his own face. It is very pale and his eyes are wide and scared. Keep breathing.

The deputy sheriff raises an eyebrow at his boss. Want me to beat him to death? is clearly what he means. Now? Or shall I wait until later?

Later, says the sheriff with a nod. We have plenty of time.

Keep breathing. Yes, sir. What was the question again, sir? Lampie had better stay in her room.

“Five thousand dollars is what a ship like that costs – at least.” The sheriff slowly nods. “I don’t have that kind of money lying around. Do you?”

Augustus gives a snort. “Not with what you pay me.”

“That’s true,” says the sheriff. “We pay you. And would you just remind me what we pay you for?”

“To light the lamp.”

“Exactly. You said it.”

“Which is particularly important in a storm!” One of the deputies has come to stand beside the sheriff, and he is nodding his head, just like his boss. He is holding the drawer of cutlery from the kitchen.

“Exactly…” the sheriff says again. “Exactly. And what a storm it was yesterday. My goodness me.” He rubs his hands. “So, tell me, was the light on yesterday?”

“No, sir.”

“And why not?”

Augustus sighs. He has already told them twice. “Because the lens was broken, the mechanism. I worked all night to…”

“Oh, yes, that’s what you said.”

“And it wasn’t fixed until morning. And by then it was…”

“Too late,” the sheriff says, completing his sentence.

“Um… yes. And I’m sorry. And it won’t happen again.”

The sheriff brings his face close to the lighthouse keeper’s. Augustus can smell that he’s had a drink. Oh, he could really do with one himself right now.

“My deputy has just been upstairs,” says the sheriff. “That lens is working perfectly.”

“Yes, it is now! But it wasn’t last night, I had to fix the whole—”

“Does that happen often?”

Augustus shrugs. “Sometimes. That thing’s old.”

“And did we know about that? Have you ever reported it to the town hall? Sent a letter? Requested a replacement?”

“What? You expect me to be able to write now? I’m a lighthouse keeper, that’s what I am.”

“Yes, that’s what you are. With only one job to do. To light the lamp. And then put it out. So, did you light it yesterday?”

“Of course.”

“With a match.”

“What else?”

“But it wasn’t on.”

“That’s what I’m telling you, that was because of the—”

“So you said, yes. The mechanism, blah, blah, blah.”

Augustus’s eyes flick to the door of Lampie’s room. Did he just see it move? Stay in there, child. Please.

“Augustus Waterman, did you send your daughter Emilia to fetch matches yesterday evening? When it was far too late? When it was already dark?”

“I swear I did not.” Augustus spits to reinforce his oath. As it hits the floor with a splat, the grey woman in the corner gives a disapproving sniff.

“So how is it we heard from Mrs Rosewood that your daughter went to the shop last night and her husband gave her a box of – and I quote – ‘Swallow Brand Top Quality matches’?”

“You’ll have to ask her.” Augustus can now clearly see the door moving. Don’t come out, he thinks. Stay there. “I didn’t send her.”

The sheriff looks around the room. “Actually, where is your daughter? Blown away? Drowned? Run off?”

“No, she’s, um…”

“I’m here.” The door opens and Lampie steps into the room.

Her father takes a threatening step towards her. “Get back in your room, child. Go on! Stay out of—”

“No, no, the child is staying here.” The sheriff lays his hand on Augustus’s shoulder. Not in a friendly way, but more like a threat.

“Tell us what happened last night, little girl.”

 

Lampie takes a deep breath. She has done her very best to remember what to say. Now here goes.

“My father,” she says, “worked all night to repair the lens, because it was broken and, um, then he didn’t get it fixed until this morning and by then it was, um…”

“Too late, eh?” says the sheriff helpfully. “Goodness me, what a story. And then you went to buy matches.”

“No…”

“That’s what Mrs Rosewood says.”

“Oh,” says Lampie. “Oh yes, that’s right, then. Or no, it was earlier, it was just before…”

“Why was that? Had your father forgotten? So he sent you? In that storm? You should be ashamed of yourself, Waterman.”

“No,” says Lampie quickly. “No, it was me who forgot, it was my fault, it was all my fault.” Her cheeks are bright red but her eyes are determined. She is going to help her father. He does not have to do this all alone.

“Your fault?” says the sheriff. “Are you the lighthouse keeper?”

Lampie shakes her head.

“And where was the lighthouse keeper?”

“He can’t walk too well with his leg, not all that way,” says Lampie. “And he was… he had… He was tired.”

“Shut your mouth, child!”

Lampie sees her father’s fist opening and closing – which is never a good sign.

“Let your daughter finish, Waterman. Tell me the truth, little girl. Tired? Or drunk?”

Lampie gazes at him nervously. Lying to a sheriff is not allowed.

“Well? Answer me. Drunk? Too drunk to work?”

Lampie looks at her father and then at the sheriff and back again. “Um…” She nods her head and then tries to shake it at the same time. It doesn’t work. “Ye-no…” she says. “Or at least…” She can’t remember what to say and what not to say. “But that doesn’t matter anyway, because I always help him. I help him every day. It’s just that yesterday I forgot the matches, so it was my fault that…”

 

Augustus can see a red mist in front of his eyes. From far away and long ago, he can hear Emilia warning him: Don’t do it, my love. You’ll only make things… But he doesn’t know if things could actually be any worse. His own daughter is handing him over to the sheriff. That jumped-up sheriff and his deputies are walking around his house as if it belongs to them. That woman in the corner is looking at him as if he’s the most disgusting thing in all creation. He tightens his hold on his stick.

“Right, you lot! You can all GO! TO! HELL!” A huge voice comes out of his mouth, and he whacks the table with his stick, so hard that the cups jump up and one of the deputy sheriffs shrieks. The blonder one has Emilia’s mirror in his hands again, and Augustus knocks it away from him. The mirror shatters, the pieces flying everywhere. And now he wants to whack the sheriff’s head too, and that stupid face with the big cow eyes, but you don’t hit a sheriff, that would be really stupid. What does he care though? Everything is already…

“Stop it!” Lampie cries, in her mother’s voice. “Stop it, Father!”

And instead of the sheriff, he hits her.

Whacks the stick into her cheek, which flashes white and then glows red, and a trickle of blood comes from her ear, but his anger still isn’t over and he raises the stick for another blow, but…

“Scandalous!” The voice of the teacher whose name Lampie can’t remember echoes around the room. “Scandalous. How dare you?” In two steps, she is beside Augustus, pulling the stick from his hand. “Your own child. You brute!”

She turns to the sheriff and his men. “And look at you, just standing there. He could beat his own daughter to death and you’d stand by and watch.”

“Oh, Miss Amalia, we really would never…” begins the sheriff. “We would have, we were just about to…”

“Yes, when it’s too late, yes. Always just too late, eh?” She turns her eyes to the ceiling as if someone up there agrees with her. “I have told you about this before, sheriff. And now you have seen it for yourself. But I simply refuse to stand by and watch any longer. Not me. Not for another minute.”