‘The originality of their naming is shameful. They need us on this island.’
‘I don’t think they want us on any of their islands.’
‘Only me, Ben. You are always welcome wherever you go in the world.’
‘My balls beg to differ.’
Aleksey nudged him with his shoulder and they pushed open the large gate to the facility. Expecting a dour old building with sad circles of chairs inside, they were both pleasantly surprised to discover a number of little bungalows set in manicured lawns around a central structure that appeared to be a restaurant. They enquired at reception and were directed to Oily’s residence. It was the first time Aleksey could ever recall Ben not being greeted by anyone with a broad smile. It was amusing being the more attractive of the pair for once. He spotted a tiny eyeball nestled in the usually glossy locks, but didn’t mention it. Maybe an extra observer in this situation would be useful.
They strode across the grass and knocked on the door, which was opened by a young woman wearing oven mitts. She was Oily’s carer, apparently. Yes, he was in. The way she said this with a wry smile told Aleksey the old man rarelywasn’tat home.
After a dubious glance at Ben, which made both of them clench their jaws but for different reasons, she led them into the sitting room of the tiny bungalow. An old man was sitting by a gas fire, doing a jigsaw. He glanced up, completely caught unawares, and Aleksey suspected he didn’t have many visitors. And possibly none who were both well over six feet, carrying a sword and a teddy bear, with one of them covered in fish guts.
The young woman, who introduced herself as Sienna, offered to make them all a cup of tea and then hesitantly asked Ben if he would like to use the bathroom. He accepted gratefully, and with a quick, shared glance, left him with the old man. Aleksey nodded to a second armchair and Oily Penrose recovered himself enough to say, ‘Oh, yes, please do.’ He was staring at the bear dangling from Aleksey’s hand. ‘MacArthur?’
‘I’m sorry?’
‘That’s MacArthur. I’d recognise him anywhere—Plymouth Argyle Football Club scarf, I always said. Haven’t thought about him in, what is it? Fifty years? More. He were named after that song. What were it now…? MacArthur’s park is… Drowning? Crying? Ack, it’s all so long ago now. Doing summit, anyway.’ The old man leaned back in his seat, staring at nothing, deep in his memories.
Sienna brought in tea on a tray and there was an excellent selection of homemade biscuits. She held onto Oily’s arm affectionately as she poured the tea. ‘You need me, you just call me. I’ll be in the kitchen. Your friend’s having a shower. I’m sponging off his coat. Hundred percent wool that jacket is; it’ll come up right nice.’ She gave Oily’s head an affectionate pat and left.
‘You worked the light on La Luz? 1965?’
‘Oh, aye, that were me. It’s all up here if I get a bit of time to think. I started with Trinity House in 1964, so I were eighteen. First posting, and my mum was so proud she were fit to bust.’
‘Do you remember a girl called Jenna Tregenza? She worked as a housemaid in the big house on the island. She was friendly with William and came into the lighthouse to visit with you a couple of times.’
‘William! Old Maister William. And Jenna! I remember Jenna. She were hard to forget. She were younger than me. She was the loveliest lass you could ever hope to see. Long red hair—not that dark red like some lassies, but golden red. Too bloody thin, but that was the fashion back then. Oh, aye, I remember Jenna.’ He glanced at the fire for a moment and added sadly, ‘And the wee babe she brought with ‘er. Billy were his name.’
Aleksey leaned forwards. ‘Billywasher son? She didn’t die in childbirth?’
‘No! What makes you think that? They was with us for a good spell. The Maister went to fetch ‘em, and he brought them both to the lighthouse, good as gold, she and ‘er baby. She had no one, see, and she was no trouble.’ He turned down his fire a little, presumably warmed by the tea. ‘Fact, she didn’t speak at all—not to us, anyways. Cooed over ‘er baby in the old tongue. Different times then, son. If my old mum had known I was livin’ with afallen woman, she’d have had me out a there and off to the senior service before my feet would’a touched the ground.’
‘So Jenna and Billy lived with you in the lighthouse? For how long?’
‘Oh, for Jenna it weren’t that long, but we had Billy till The Maister passed on and the light were decommissioned.’
Aleksey sat back. ‘Are you sure?’ He did a quick calculation. ‘You’re telling me that Billy was there with you forthirteen years? Until 1978?’
Oily smiled a crooked grin. ‘He were the sweetest kiddie you could imagine. Always happy, and he just wanted to hug us all the time. We didn’t have many hugs—being lighthouse keepers. Against the rules, if you get my drift. Oh, but he was a stubborn one. Never learnt to read, but he picked things up by watching us. Had to be careful what we said and did around our wee Billy we did. He kept us on our toes, I can tell you. He couldn’t speak very well either, dunno why, but he loved his music. He’d listen to the same songs over and over again. Had his mum’s little record player we all bought ‘er that first Christmas we met ‘er. And Maister brought him back records when he came off rotation. MacArthur’s Park, see? Jenna brought ‘er baby, ‘is bear and—’
‘Jenna brought the bear to the lighthouse?’
‘Aye, that and ‘er Christmas record player, and that were about it. They didn’t have much else. Wish I could remember what it were doing—that park. Running? That don’t seem right, do it? Parks don’t run. His music drove us all barmy to tell you the truth. Over and over and over, same song.’
‘You said Jenna wasn’t with you for long. Did she abandon Billy with you? She’s buried on Benhar. Did she go home?’
The old man’s face stilled. He poured himself some more tea and waved the pot at him. As these necessities of life were being sorted, Ben came in. His hair was wet and Aleksey could only smell his clothes when he got close and sat down on another chair by the little table. Oily politely offered him the plate of biscuits. Aleksey would have warned the old man, but then it was too late.
‘Jenna?’ The name, repeated so, kicked off the clarinet in his head once more.
‘Nice tunes though.’ It was as if the old man was reading his mind.
‘I’m sorry?’
‘Billy. I were just remembering that old place full of music all day. He only liked nice tunes. Things he could hum along to. Didn’t like all that new-fangled horrible stuff.’
‘Jenna?’ Jenna, Jenna, Jenna, the stranger on the shore.
