It had seemed to Aleksey, pondering his plan for Harry while he’d swum in the crystal-clear waters of the pond each morning, that if he wanted a caretaker for his precious island, then he needed to find someone whose natural inclination seemed to be taking care of things. From raspberries saved from a thoughtlessly dashed hand, to a scrap of shivery dog, to homeless veterans, Harry had been protecting everything around him as best he could.
But Aleksey knew that redemption was a long, hard road for men who believed they were unworthy of salvation. He’d listened to Ben musing on an alternate fate where he’d not methim, but had privately been picturing his own life had he not met Benjamin Rider-Mikkelsen. Everything he had now was because of Ben’s unfailing belief that he deserved redemption. Well, pay it forwards. He wanted to give another man the chance to experience forgiveness. He wanted Harry to forgive himself.
And now he had the moron’s agreement he could do anything he liked. Did it add a slight piquancy to the deal, picturing the cretin’s expression when he found his old dad installed as caretaker of Light Island? And couldn’t even mutter a single thing about it?
Ack, he’d be a very, very bad man if that were the case.
* * *
He returned to the island and it felt like coming home.
He’d put off buying the bed because as he’d driven back towards the airport, he’d realised it was time to furnish Guillemot properly. The old man resting quietly in the dust motes had finally spoken to him. If the family were to enjoy the retreat as it deserved, then they needed comfort and they needed electricity, and none of this should be done piecemeal. He suspected he knew where the generator was now. He’d worked it out while they were making the concrete for the chimera’s permanent little sarcophagus. It had suddenly occurred to him that if there was a coal cellar, the generator probably worked off that fuel and not diesel, which suited him admirably. It fit with the dignity of the house.
He’d also decided it was time to buy suitable transport. There were only so many other people’s boats you could sink before it began to get embarrassing.
He thought he might just have acquired a world-renowned sailing expert, and smirked at the longwinded and polite conversations they might now have on the subject of boat purchase.
It was quiet on the island when he arrived, motoring into the dock with the moron at the helm. Ben had apparently taken them all to the lighthouse, except Enid, and, slightly more worryingly, Molly. Aleksey wasn’t too sure he liked the idea of the baby tyrant being left with someone who couldn’t rise from her chair unaided.
However, when he entered through the double doors into the large downstairs room, he had to step over both dogs. They allowed him entry, but clearly weren’t letting anyone go the opposite way.
Enid was in her luxurious armchair by the fire, reading.
But in the centre of the vast, empty room was the rocking horse. So impressive were its dimensions that it really needed a grand drawing room like this to show it off. Perched upon the saddle, Molly was rocking for all she was worth, entirely lost in her own world of imagination. As she swung the huge animal back and forth, the rockers slid a little on the polished wooden floor. Inch by incremental inch, she was progressing slowly along from one end of the room to the other.
He thought back to Madeline’s reaction to the horse, and could not help grinning as he too pictured the skill that had gone into the making of the horse—dedicated craftsmen taking pride in their work, concentrating on stitching the leather, measuring the stirrups and deciding on the paintwork. And all for a little girl they would never know—someone else’s daughter. But those craftsmen still existed now through this magnificent creature, and the horse was given meaning by this child. It was how life was meant to be.
He could not claim any part of her creation. He would have prevented the act that had brought her into the world if he had been given the chance. But he was coming to see that, as with many other things in his life, he was not required to be in control of everything—that all things were working out as they were meant to be.
But as he’d pointed out to Sister Agnes—higher powers never say no to a little help when it’s offered. He would continue to battle inch by slow inch, one skirmish at a time.
* * *
They had another bonfire that night, and cooked food by the lighthouse. It was what the rest of the family had been preparing. Tim, Squeezy, Miles and Emilia were going to sleep in the bunkroom that night. Aleksey could see that Ben wanted to join them, but, once more, he was taking his duties seriously. The place was not suitable for a three year old, and so he would stay in Guillemot with her. Obviously, Aleksey slept wherever Ben did, so it was another night on a mat for him too.
As he was lying on his back, staring up into the stars, listening to the excited chatter but thinking his own thoughts, a very interesting realisation came to him. In all their puzzlement about the reasons for the sale of the island, they had assumed it was somehow related to the non-disclosure agreement he’d been forced to sign—suspected that whatever had forced the Royal Family to sell La Luz was related to something any new owners might find. He’d assumed this had been the photographs, the most incriminating of which he still had safely stored away for future purposes. But was not the most interesting thing they’d found been…Billy?
He accepted a lump of what resembled charred bird shit on a stick and was persuaded to taste it. They’d been cooking them over the fire. They all seemed astonished that he had never eaten marshmallows—toasted or otherwise—before. He wanted to remind them, he really did, that he’d only been eating sugar at all for a month. He had a long way to go still in learning all its delights.
He lay back once more to watch for shooting stars and felt Ben come and lie alongside him, his warmth transferring from the press of their arms. He rolled his head from the panoply of liquid light above them and found Ben watching him. They just gave each other tiny smiles of private understanding and returned to contemplating the vast mysteries above them.
* * *
He was able to bring his final plan nicely to fruition two weeks after returning from the island with the family. He’d put feelers out with certain firms in Exeter and was waiting for news of something coming up for sale. When it did, he bought it. Its previous owners had no use for it now, after all.
One night, a couple of weeks after this, when Ben was over at the farmhouse, he uncharacteristically drove himself into the city centre. He parked by the cathedral and retraced the route to the canal that he’d taken with Ben only a couple of months before. Nothing had changed much. The buildings were still decaying. The weeds were still growing. The graffiti might be slightly more offensive—it was hard to tell. He stopped in to have a brief chat with Sister and slip her some more money she still claimed God wasn’t charging for His tea, and then carried on down until he reached the spot he wanted.
The little campsite was gone. The tent had been packed up and there was no evidence now that this damp corner of the world had ever been home to an ex-soldier and his loyal dog.
He carried on, and a few hundred yards further down came to the glass apartments. They were still glowing with light.
Life went on.
For some people.
He regarded the figure standing in Austin’s apartment in exactly the same spot where the madman had stood planning his genocide, perhaps imagining the entire world turned into the decay and ruin he could see from his window.
Beside this figure was another silhouette. A shorter one, but one just as alert, as an army guard dog, retired or not, always should be.
