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Anne Brooke has twice been the winner of the DSJT Charitable Trust Open Poetry Competition. She has also been shortlisted for the Harry Bowling Novel Award, the Royal Literary Fund Awards, and the Asham Award for Women Writers. More information can be found at annebrooke.com.
Anne Brooke
A Lonely Place
It was dark over the sea; there was still much of the night to endure. Shivering in the east wind that cut through the lining of my all-weather jacket as if it were cotton, I grasped the mug in my hands and willed the heat to flow from the steaming coffee into my bloodstream. Dear God, I prayed, let no one be alone out there tonight. Not again.
Sitting hunched on the wooden chair nailed down to the outer balcony, I sipped my drink, the liquid scalding my lower lip, and stared out at the waves. The wind tousled my hair and reminded me that winter would soon be here. I didn't like the thought; it brought too much of remembrance with it.
"Jack? Are you there?"
I jumped at the sound of my colleague's voice and glanced round at the now open door behind me. Against the thin moon, I could see his comforting bulk, as strong and calm as a bear. "Sure I'm here. Where else?"
Mike said nothing, but took a chair from the galley kitchen and set it next to mine. Not too close. For a while we rested in easy silence with the great light above us pulsing in regular swoops over the blue-black waves. I enjoyed the undeserved lack of demand; Mike was always as gentle as the breezes that caressed this bleak stretch of coastland in the height of summer. Warm and free, both asked for nothing. I'd been here for a year now. In hiding from those around me, in hiding from myself, I'd thought it was my penance. But now it was as familiar as the wild sands and the piercing shriek of seagulls, which sometimes woke me at dawn crying their passions away into the lightening sky. If I let myself, perhaps I'd even come to love it.
"Smoke?" Mike asked, the red glow of the flame as he drew on his cigarette brightening his face.
"Sure."
He took another drag and then passed it to me, his fingers touching mine in the cold.
"Thanks." After a few moments, I handed it back to him.
He took a last drag, then stubbed out the butt on his chair. He got up, sighed, leant on the rail, and threw the remainder away onto the sea. When he faced me, I saw the spark echoed in his eyes. "Another letter today then?" he asked.
"I threw it away,” I replied, looking at the floor. Even as I spoke, I wondered why I'd tried to hide it from Mike. When he knew everything. "How did you find it?"
"I saw it in the bin."
"You were searching?" I ran one hand through my hair and shivered. Soon we would have to go inside.
"Yes."
"Why?"
"I thought you might need me to."
Not registering his words, I sat up straighter, a hint of accusation in my voice. "You checked up on me?"
He paused and I could hear his breath: shallow, controlled. Gazing out to sea, I waited for his answer. When it came, it was not what I'd expected.
"Yes. I'm sorry for that," he said. "But I had to.”
Closing my eyes, I remembered that night, in my early days here, when I'd woken up sweating and shaking from a bad dream about my brother. I'd dreamt he was alive and falling, falling away from me into the blackness. And I was running towards him, hands outstretched, trying to shout but nothing would come out of my mouth. Nothing that could warn him. And still he fell away. I begged him to stop, stretching, stretching out to save him. But I was too late. Already too late. It was always too late. I'd let him go. Out into the sea that had never given him up. I'd failed him, I knew it. I'd—
And thrashing around in the thin woolen blankets had back then brought me half-awake, half-asleep, sitting upright in bed. And Mike was somehow there, probably alerted by my shouts, his voice soothing, saying nothing but meaning everything. And his hands stroking my head, letting me cling to him before the shock of need took me in its snare and wrapped both of us in the heavy cloak of night. A necessary comforting, at least for me. Then, as later.
When I opened my eyes, I saw Mike still watching me, his face curious but not demanding. Not knowing what to say, I shrugged.
"Have you decided to go?” he asked. "They're keen, aren't they?"
"Who?"
"Oh come on, Jack, you know. The Marine Biology unit. Your employers. Don't mess with me."
In the silence that followed, I heard the waves breaking, breaking, breaking on the rocks below, the rhythm of them harmonised with the lamp's regular sweep. The ebb and flow of it echoed my own indecision. Yes. No. Yes. No.
"I don't know," I said.
"It's a good offer. Maybe their last."
"Just because it's good doesn't mean I have to take it. I . . . I like it here."
As the beam of light brushed through Mike's hair again and out to sea, I sensed the beginnings of his smile. "Thank you. But here you're not what you could be. You know it too. You shouldn't—"
"You want me to leave?" Even as I spoke, I knew how petty I sounded. Like a child clinging on to the chance of love. Of any kind. But we'd never been like that, Mike and I. Some things were to be savoured for a while and not possessed.
"That's not true," he said, touching my arm, and I realised he was sitting beside me again. His fingers warmed me as only a little while ago the coffee had done.
"You can't blame yourself," he said, after a few moments.
"I don't. I just—"
"Yes, you do. But it was never your fault."
"That's what you think."
"No. It's what I know."
I tried to answer him, but the wind took my words away.
"Jack," he said. "Your brother died and . . ."
This time I flinched and he caressed my arm, moving his fingers down until he was holding my hand. But even that was too much. Leaping up from my chair, I headed to the warmth. At the door, I glanced back to see Mike's startled expression caught for a moment in the piercing light before the night came again.
Once inside, I realised I was shaking. My mug of coffee, cooling now, was still in my hand, so I washed it up in the cramped sink. When I'd finished, Mike came in, bringing with him the scent of darkened sea.
"Anything out there?" I asked him.
He shook his head. "No, it's fine, very calm. There'll be no trouble tonight." Then he continued his argument from before, "You're not responsible for your brother's death."
"You don't know—"
"For God’s sake, Jack, let me finish this time."
I was silent. I didn't even face him, and after a heartbeat's space, he went on, his voice harsh, "I do know. I read the papers and listen to your dreams. When you let me. But most of all, I know the sea and what she can do to you. Bad things happen, even to someone as lucky as you."
I snorted.
"Yes, lucky. Lucky in the lifestyle you had before, lucky to survive what happened, and lucky to have colleagues on the mainland who still want you back. Even now."
He came up close and I felt the warmth of his breath on my neck, keeping away the night's cold fears. But he didn’t touch me.
"Besides, you don't belong here, not really. This is a lonely place," he said, and his voice was nothing but a whisper floating out into the infinitesimal space between us.
"But what about my work here? What about—"
"Look, I'm your friend, no matter what. You've done a good job. You know that. For your own sake, read this. Read it and go back to them. Go back to your life."
As he was speaking, he smoothed out the crumpled letter onto the worktop in front of us. Then he kissed me lightly on the hair, opened the door to his living quarters, and was gone.
I didn't know. I still didn't know. How could he ask me to do this? What did he want from me?
Bringing my harsh breath under control, I knew my questions had no meaning. Not here. Not where the sea lent us its treasures for only a short time before taking them away. Each breaking wave a part of the whole, each tide a turning point.
Picking up the paper he'd salvaged for me, I read it again, as he'd asked me. And closed my eyes. Outside I heard the wind rising. Soon it would bring the dawn and another day would begin. The sea would touch the sand below the lighthouse where for a while I'd found refuge. It would touch the sand with each beat of its waves and depart. And then another wave would come. And another. All of them different. But none of them lost. Not when I could remember each one so well.
I folded the paper into half, a perfect symmetry. Then, and only then, I made my decision.
