Queenie introduced us by slapping our ration book down into Ephraim’s hand. ‘Your evacuees. This is the war effort too, you know.’
The lighthouse keeper’s dog took a sniff of Queenie’s shoes and growled. It was probably a good judge of character, I decided. Yet as my brain caught up with what was happening, I realised life had taken a sudden turn for the better. Putting down our suitcases, I gave Cliff’s arm an excited squeeze. We were going to live in the lighthouse!
Ephraim, though, was confused. ‘Hold on a—’
‘You might’ve convinced Mrs Henderson that you couldn’t have Esther Jenkins,’ Queenie spoke over him. ‘But the situation’s changed.’ Turning on her heel, she strode back up the street, leaving us on the harbourside.
Ephraim studied us in disbelief as if we’d been magicked out of thin air. He was nothing like I expected a lighthouse keeper to be. Instead of a jolly-looking, bushy-bearded old man, he was young – about Sukie’s age and, unlike Queenie, actually looked it. He had pale blue eyes, dark ruffled hair. And his face, not much given to smiling, made me rather like him. He wasn’t remotely whale-sized, either; it was only the oilskins that were huge.
I remembered what Mrs Henderson had said about him preferring to live alone, though that wasn’t why Esther couldn’t stay here. It seemed to be to do with a plan they didn’t want her to know about. As it was, Ephraim seemed unsure what to do with us too, or what to say, though his dog happily set about licking Cliff’s knees.
‘He’s smashing!’ grinned Cliff, smoothing the dog’s head. ‘What’s his name?’
‘Pixie. It’s a she.’ Ephraim frowned. ‘She doesn’t usually like strangers, but she’s taken to you.’ Which seemed to convince him we were all right; with a big sigh, he picked up our suitcases.
‘Come on, then. We’d best get moving before the tide comes in.’ Whistling to Pixie, Ephraim set off back towards the lighthouse.
‘Is he talking to us or the dog?’ Cliff asked me.
‘Us, you ninny.’ I gave him a playful nudge. ‘Are you okay? Really?’
‘Honestly, Olive, stop fussing. I’m fine.’
I had to admit he looked happier than I’d seen him in days.
Picking our way over the slippery cobbles, we followed Ephraim. The road out to the lighthouse was set so high it felt like walking along the top of a very wide wall. A drop of about fifteen feet separated us from the beach below. From up here the wind, blowing off the sea, felt mean even by Budmouth Point’s standards. It blew straight through Mum’s smart coat and I quickly found myself wishing for my old one that didn’t fit but at least kept out the chill.
After a hundred yards or so the road stopped at steps which led to the lighthouse. The front door was about twenty feet up and reached by a rusty iron ladder set into the building itself. If there was a downside to living in the lighthouse then this was it: just the sight of the ladder made me distinctly queasy, though I knew it’d be even worse for Cliff.
Ephraim was waiting at the bottom of the steps.
‘The dog goes up first,’ he explained.
‘The dog?’ I frowned. ‘Don’t you carry her?’
As Pixie yapped and spun in circles at Ephraim’s feet, it dawned on me she’d done this before, many times.
She hopped on to the ladder, front paws on the nearest rung, hind paws on the one below. On she went, up and up and up. It wasn’t exactly graceful – she sort of stepped, sort of climbed. It was heart-in-mouth stuff to watch. On reaching the top, she pushed open the front door with her snout, then sat inside, looking down at us.
‘That’s incredible!’ Cliff cried, though he was beginning to look a bit sick.
‘Amazing,’ I agreed, forcing myself to smile.
Next it was the suitcases’ turn. Hoisting mine on to his shoulder, Ephraim went up the ladder. Just watching made my mouth go dry. Pushing my case inside the front door, he came back down for Cliff’s.
‘Once I’m at the top you follow, got it?’ he said to me, settling the second suitcase on his shoulder.
I nodded anxiously. Cliff was jiggling his leg like he always did when he was nervous.
‘Deep breaths,’ I told him. ‘Be brave.’
He gulped. ‘Can I go first and get it over with?’
‘All right.’
‘Come up behind him,’ Ephraim yelled to me. ‘Don’t hang about.’
I’d noticed how the beach on either side of us was already underwater. Though looking up wasn’t any more comforting: from this angle the iron ladder seemed steeper and more precarious. Squaring his shoulders, Cliff placed his hands on the lowest rung. When he’d climbed far enough, I got on behind.
The higher we went, the stronger the wind became. It didn’t help that the ladder felt greasy with sea spray, making it hard to get a firm grip; harder still to stop your feet slipping forwards. Beneath my coat, I began to sweat.
There were only a few rungs left now. Beyond Cliff, I saw the ledge of the front door, its red paint peeling. Just inside, quivering excitedly, was Pixie.
Above me Cliff stopped. His ankles were shaking badly.
‘Keep going! We’re nearly there!’ I called.
But he seemed to be stuck.
‘Cliff,’ I said slowly. ‘Nod if you can hear me.’
He gave a tiny nod.
‘Good. Now lift your left foot up.’
He did it. I breathed in relief.
‘Brilliant. Now do the same with your right.’
And he did do the same, but the ladder was too slippery. In panic, he grabbed the sides of the ladder. His feet kicked in the space above my head.
‘Find the ladder!’ I screamed. ‘Put your feet back on the ladder!’
Yet the more he kicked, the more he missed the rung.
‘The ladder, Cliff! It’s there, just to your left!’
Don’t let go, I begged. Only now his hands were slipping down too. Any second he’d come crashing into me, and I didn’t think I could catch him.
Then, just like that, his feet lifted up. He wasn’t above my head any more: Ephraim was, his arms working madly to haul my limp brother in through the door. Within moments, I was inside too. I flopped down beside Cliff, too weak to fend off Pixie’s muzzle as it nudged under my arm.
When I managed to sit up, I saw a room with curved walls and a staircase in the middle that twirled upwards. Hung about the place were fishing nets and fat coils of rope, and slumped against one such pile was Cliff, looking terribly relieved. On my hands and knees, I crawled over to him.
‘You’re going to have to practise that ladder,’ I told him, getting my breath back. ‘My heart won’t stand it otherwise.’
Cliff smiled, not at me, but up at Ephraim, who was peeling off his wet oilskins. ‘You saved my life.’
‘’Tis only a ladder,’ Ephraim muttered shyly. ‘No one’s ever fallen off, not even the dog.’
I wasn’t sure I believed him, swallowing the lump in my throat. ‘Well, thanks awfully anyway.’
I think he blushed. ‘Right,’ he said, moving on quickly, ‘let’s get you both settled in.’
Passing us our suitcases, he hurried up the stairs. My legs still felt shaky; Cliff, though, bounded eagerly ahead. On the next floor, Ephraim unlatched an old-looking door.
‘This is where you’ll sleep,’ Ephraim said, pushing it open.
‘Gosh!’ I gasped. ‘I mean … wow!’
It was perhaps the nicest room I’d ever seen. For one thing, there was so much light. I counted at least six windows – little ones, arched at the top and set deep into the walls. Everything was painted white, even the floor. On either side of the room two beds hugged the curved lighthouse walls. Above each was a shelf of books from which hung beautiful, sea-blue lanterns. I didn’t even mind having to share the room with Cliff. The beds weren’t made up, so I asked where the blankets and pillows were kept.
‘I’ll do that after I’ve shown you the rest,’ said Ephraim, heading back to the stairs. He seemed to be in a bit of a rush.
Leaving our suitcases unpacked, we followed him to the next floor, which was where Ephraim slept. The level above that was a sitting room with a kitchen. Again, it was another light-filled room with rugs on the floor and cushions on the chairs in colours that didn’t match. There were saucepans hanging from hooks, plates stacked on shelves. Log baskets. Old newspapers. Balls of wool where someone had been knitting what looked like socks. Mum would’ve said the place needed a jolly good tidy, but to me it was a nice kind of mess.
‘Where’s the actual “light” of the lighthouse?’ I asked.
Ephraim pointed to the ceiling. ‘The control room’s at the top. That’s where I work.’
‘What do you do – being a lighthouse keeper, I mean?’
‘Give guidance to ships as they pass by, look out for problems, ships in difficulty, that sort of thing. I have to record everything that happens in my log book – weather, traffic, who I speak to, what I see. It’s the law. Oh, and I keep the equipment in good order too.’
It sounded an awful lot of work for one person.
‘Is the light on now?’ Cliff wanted to know.
Ephraim shook his head. ‘Only at night and in bad weather. There are rocks on this part of the coast that could easily snag the bottom of a boat. And the quicksands – you wouldn’t want to get caught in those.’
‘Queenie told us,’ Cliff said enthusiastically. ‘Has anyone ever died there?’
‘Well …’ Ephraim took a deep breath. ‘Not recently, which is one reason why the light is so important.’
It was obvious how much he cared for the lighthouse: it was by far the most he’d said to us all in one go.
‘Miss Carter says there’re plans to turn off the light, but how’ll that help if the Germans are flying over in daylight?’ I asked, a bit baffled.
Ephraim’s face darkened. ‘It’s just gossip. You can’t not have a lighthouse at Budmouth. It’s too dangerous.’
I thought German bombs were pretty risky too, though judging by the look on Ephraim’s face I thought it best not to say so.
*
He didn’t speak much after that. Nor did he offer to show us the top floor. Yet, unlike Queenie, he realised that children ate and drank. Setting the table with cups and plates, he made us tea and toast, which we spread with a funny pink jam that he told us was made from crab apples.
‘Do they come from the sea?’ asked Cliff, so seriously it made me snort. I don’t think Ephraim got the joke.
‘Your lip needs cleaning,’ he said to Cliff after we’d eaten. With water from the kettle, he wiped the blood off my brother’s face, and much to Cliff’s disappointment said he didn’t need stitches.
Getting up from the table, I began to collect our plates. It was best to start as we meant to go on and show Ephraim that we could look after ourselves. As lighthouse keeper he had enough to do already.
Ephraim leaped to his feet. ‘Leave the dishes!’
‘Oh.’ I put the plates down. ‘Shall I make up our beds, then? If you show me where the blankets are—’
‘I’ll do that too,’ he said.
Confused, I sat down again.
I tried to explain: ‘At Queenie’s I did her deliveries, and Cliff worked—’
‘There’s nothing for you to help with here,’ Ephraim interrupted sharply.
Now I was embarrassed. ‘Sorry. I didn’t mean to—’
‘Just don’t go touching anything that’s not yours, all right?’
‘None of it’s ours,’ Cliff replied. ‘So how can we?’
It was a fair point. All I’d meant was that he should let us muck in. The jobs at Queenie’s made us feel like we were contributing.
Yet Ephraim was firm. ‘You’re both welcome here but those are my rules. No snooping in cupboards, no listening in on conversations or going up to the lighthouse control room, got it?’
‘Because there’s a war on,’ I muttered, thinking of what Queenie’d said. ‘And careless talk costs lives.’
I’d heard that line a bit too often today: it was beginning to sound like an excuse. Queenie, I was sure, was up to something in her cellar, something secret we weren’t allowed to know about.
And what was the real reason why Esther couldn’t stay here? Something to do with not getting her hopes up, that’s what Mrs Henderson had said. I glanced at Ephraim, at his closed face, and wondered if he was hiding things too.