CHAPTER 34
THE ADDICOTTS LIVED in a house which, but for a few yards of sea grass, would have been paddling its toes in the ocean. The timber and brick were kept in good order by Ralph, and Hilda coaxed a small garden from the sandy soil at the back: zinnias and dahlias as garish as dancing girls bordered a trail to a little aviary in which finches chirped gaily, to the puzzlement of the native birds.
The smell of marmalade drifted through the windows and met Ralph as he trudged up the front path the day after Lucy had been found. As he took his cap off in the hallway, Hilda rushed to intercept him, the wooden spoon in her hand glistening like an orange lollipop. She put a finger to her lips and led him to the kitchen. ‘In the lounge room!’ she whispered, eyes wide. ‘Isabel Sherbourne! She’s been waiting for you.’
Ralph shook his head. ‘World’s gone bloody haywire.’
‘What does she want?’
‘That’s the trouble, I reckon. She can’t make up her mind what she wants.’
The small, tidy lounge room of the sea captain was decorated not with ships in bottles or scale models of men o’ war, but icons. The Archangels Michael and Raphael, the Madonna and Child, and numerous saints, stared at any visitors with stern calm from their place in eternity.
The glass of water beside Isabel was almost empty. Her eyes were fixed on an angel, his sword and shield in hand, poised over a serpent at his feet. Heavy clouds dimmed the room, so that the paintings seemed faint pools of gold, hovering in darkness.
She didn’t notice Ralph come in, and he watched her for a while before saying, ‘That was the first one I got. I fished a Russian sailor out of the drink, near Sevastopol, forty-odd years ago. Gave it to me as a thank-you.’ He spoke slowly, pausing now and then. ‘I picked up the others along the way in my merchant marine days.’ He gave a chuckle. ‘I’m hardly the Holy Joe sort, and I couldn’t tell you the first thing about painting. But there’s something about this lot that makes them talk back to you. Hilda says they keep her company when I’m away.’
He put his hands in his pockets and nodded towards the picture Isabel was looking at. ‘I’ve bent that fella’s ear in my time, I can tell you. Archangel Michael. There he is with his sword in his hand, but he’s got his shield half raised, too. Like he’s still making up his mind about something.’
The room fell silent, and the wind seemed to rattle the windows more urgently, demanding Isabel’s attention. All the way to the horizon, the waves thrashed in chaos, and the sky began to smudge with another approaching shower. Her mind was thrust back to Janus – back to the vast emptiness, back to Tom. She started to cry, in great sobs like waves, washing her back onto familiar shore at last.
Ralph sat down beside her, and held her hand. She wept and he sat, and nothing at all was said for a good half-hour.
Finally, Isabel ventured, ‘Lucy ran away last night because of me, Ralph – trying to find me. She could have died. Oh, Ralph, it’s all such a mess. I can’t talk to Mum and Dad about it …’
Still the old man stayed silent, holding Isabel’s hand, looking at the fingernails, bitten to the quick. He nodded his head slowly, just a touch. ‘She’s alive. And she’s safe.’
‘I only ever wanted her to be safe, Ralph. From the moment she arrived on Janus, I wanted to do what was best. She needed us. And we needed her.’ She paused. ‘I needed her. When she just appeared – out of nowhere – it was a miracle, Ralph. I was sure she was meant to be with us. It was so crystal clear. A little baby had lost her parents, we’d lost a little baby …
‘I love her so much.’ She blew her nose. ‘Out there … Ralph, you’re one of the only people in the world who knows what it’s like on Janus. One of the only people who can imagine. But even you’ve never waved the boat off: stood on that jetty and heard the sound of the engine die away, watched the boat get smaller and smaller. You don’t know what it’s like to say goodbye to the world for years at a time. Janus was real. Lucy was real. Everything else was just make-believe.
‘By the time we found out about Hannah Roennfeldt – oh, it was too late then, Ralph. I just didn’t have it in me to give Lucy up: I couldn’t do that to her.’
The old man sat, breathing slowly and deeply, nodding now and again. He resisted any urge to question or contradict her. Keeping silent was the best way to help her; to help everyone.
‘We were such a happy family. Then, when the police came to the island – when I heard what Tom had done – nothing felt safe. Nowhere was safe. Not even inside myself was safe. I was so hurt, and so angry. And terrified. Nothing made sense, from the moment the policeman told me about the rattle.’
She looked at him. ‘What have I done?’ The question wasn’t rhetorical. She was searching for a mirror, something to show her what she could not see.
‘Can’t say that concerns me as much as what you’re going to do now.’
‘There’s nothing I can do. Everything’s ruined. There’s no point in anything any more.’
‘That man loves you, you know. That’s got to be worth something.’
‘But what about Lucy? She’s my daughter, Ralph.’ She searched for a way to explain. ‘Can you imagine asking Hilda to give away one of her children?’
‘This isn’t giving away. This is giving back, Isabel.’
‘But wasn’t Lucy given to us? Isn’t that what God was asking of us?’
‘Maybe He was asking you to look after her. And you did. And maybe now He’s asking you to let someone else do that.’ He puffed out a breath. ‘Hell, I’m not a priest. What do I know about God? But I do know that there’s a man about to give up everything – everything – to protect you. Do you think that’s right?’
‘But you saw what happened yesterday. You know how desperate Lucy is. She needs me, Ralph. How could I explain it to her? You can’t expect her to understand, not at her age.’
‘Sometimes life turns out hard, Isabel. Sometimes it just bites right through you. And sometimes, just when you think it’s done its worst, it comes back and takes another chunk.’
‘I thought it had done all it could to me, years ago.’
‘If you think things are bad now, they’ll be a whole lot worse if you don’t speak up for Tom. This is serious, Isabel. Lucy’s young. She’s got people who want to care for her, and give her a good life. Tom’s got no one. I never saw a man who less deserved to suffer than Tom Sherbourne.’
Under the watchful gaze of saints and angels, Ralph continued, ‘God knows what got into the pair of you out there. There’s been lie upon lie, all with the best intentions. But it’s gone far enough. Everything you’ve done to help Lucy has hurt someone else. Good God, of course I understand how hard it must be for you. But that Spragg’s a nasty piece of work and I wouldn’t put anything past him. Tom’s your husband. For better or worse, in sickness and in health. Unless you want to see him in gaol, or—’ He couldn’t finish the sentence. ‘I reckon this is your last chance.’
‘Where are you going?’ An hour later, Violet was alarmed at the state of her daughter. ‘You’ve only just walked in the door.’
‘I’m going out, Ma. There’s something I have to do.’
‘But it’s bucketing down. Wait till it stops, at least.’ She gestured to a pile of clothes on the floor beside her. ‘I’ve decided to go through some of the boys’ things. Some of their old shirts, their boots: they might be some good to someone. I thought I could give them to the church.’ A quiver crept into her voice. ‘But it would be nice to have some company while I sort them.’
‘I have to go to the police station, now.’
‘What on earth for?’
Isabel looked at her mother, and for a moment almost dared tell her. But she said, ‘I need to see Mr Knuckey.
‘I’ll be back later,’ she called behind her, heading down the passageway to the front door.
As she opened it, she was startled by a silhouette in the doorway, about to ring the bell. The figure, soaked with rain, was Hannah Roennfeldt. Isabel stood speechless.
On the doorstep, Hannah spoke quickly, keeping her eyes on a bowl of roses on the table behind Isabel, fearing that to look at her directly would make her change her mind. ‘I’ve come to say something – just to say it and go. Don’t ask me anything, please.’ She thought back to the vow she had made to God just hours ago: there was no reneging. She took a breath, like a run-up. ‘Anything could have happened to Grace last night. She was so desperate to see you. Thank God she was found before she came to any harm.’ She looked up. ‘Can you have any idea what it feels like? To see the daughter you conceived and carried, the daughter you bore and nursed, call someone else her mother?’ Her eyes darted to one side. ‘But I have to accept that, however much it hurts. And I can’t put my happiness above hers.
‘The baby I had – Grace – isn’t coming back. I can see that now. The plain fact is, she can live without me, even if I can’t live without her. I can’t punish her for what happened. And I can’t punish you for your husband’s decisions.’
Isabel began to protest, but Hannah spoke over her. With her eyes fixed again on the roses, she said, ‘I knew Frank to his very soul. Perhaps I only ever knew Grace a very little.’ She looked Isabel in the eye. ‘Grace loves you. Perhaps she belongs to you.’ With great effort, she pushed on to her next words: ‘But I need to know that justice is done. If you swear to me now that this was all your husband’s doing – swear on your life – then I’ll let Grace come to live with you.’
No conscious thought went through Isabel’s mind – it was by sheer reflex that she said, ‘I swear.’
Hannah continued, ‘As long as you give evidence against that man, as soon as he’s safely locked away, Grace can come back to you.’ Suddenly she was in tears. ‘Oh, God help me!’ she said, and rushed away.
Isabel is dazed. She runs over and over what she has just heard, wondering whether she has made it up. But there are the wet footprints on the verandah; the trail of drops from Hannah Roennfeldt’s furled umbrella.
She looks through the fly-wire door so close up that the lightning seems to be divided into tiny squares. Then the thunder rolls in and shakes the roof.
‘I thought you were going to the police station?’ The words crash into Isabel’s thoughts, and for a moment she has no idea where she is. She turns and notices her mother. ‘I thought you’d already gone. What happened?’
‘There’s lightning.’
‘At least Lucy won’t be frightened,’ Isabel catches herself thinking as the sky cracks open with a brilliant flash. From when she was a baby, Tom has taught the girl to respect, but not fear, the forces of nature – the lightning that might strike the light tower on Janus, the oceans that batter the island. She thinks of the reverence Lucy showed in the lantern room: not touching the instruments, keeping her fingers off the glass. She recalls an image of the child in Tom’s arms, waving and laughing from up on the gallery to Isabel at the washing line on the ground. ‘Once upon a time there was a lighthouse …’ How many of Lucy’s stories started that way? ‘And there did be a storm. And the wind blew and blew and the lightkeeper made the light shine, and Lucy did help him. And it was dark but the lightkeeper wasn’t scared because he had the magic light.’
Lucy’s tortured face comes to her mind. She can keep her daughter, keep her safe and happy, and put all this behind them. She can love her and cherish her and watch her grow … In a few years, the tooth fairy will spirit away milk teeth for threepence, then gradually Lucy will get taller and together they will talk about the world and about—
She can keep her daughter. If. Curled in a ball on her bed, she sobs, ‘I want my daughter. Oh, Lucy, I can’t bear it.’
Hannah’s declaration. Ralph’s entreaty. Her own false oath, betraying Tom as surely as he ever betrayed her. Around and around like a merry-go-round of possibilities they whirl and jumble, pulling her with them, first in one direction, then another. She hears the words that have been spoken. But the one voice that is absent is Tom’s. The man who now stands between her and Lucy. Between Lucy and her mother.
Unable to resist its call any longer, she edges to the drawer, and takes out the letter. She opens the envelope slowly.
Izzy, love,
I hope you’re all right, and keeping your strength up. I know your mum and dad will be taking good care of you. Sergeant Knuckey’s been good enough to let me write to you, but he’ll be reading this before you do. I wish we could talk face to face.
I’m not sure if or when I’ll be able to speak to you again. You always imagine you’ll get the chance to say what needs to be said, to put things right. But that’s not always how it goes.
I couldn’t go on the way things were – I couldn’t live with myself. I’m sorrier than I’ll ever be able to say for hurting you.
We each get a little turn at life, and if this ends up being how my turn went, it will still have been worth it. My time should have been up years ago. To have met you, when I thought life was over, and been loved by you – if I lived another hundred years I couldn’t ask for better than that. I’ve loved you as best as I know how, Izz, which isn’t saying much. You’re a wonderful girl, and you deserved someone a lot better than me.
You’re angry and hurt and nothing makes sense, and I know what that feels like. If you decide to wash your hands of me, I won’t blame you.
Perhaps when it comes to it, no one is just the worst thing they ever did. All I can do is to ask God, and to ask you, to forgive me for the harm I’ve caused. And to thank you for every day we spent together.
Whatever you decide to do, I’ll accept it, and I’ll stand by your choice.
I will always be your loving husband,
Tom
As though it is a picture, not a note, Isabel traces her fingertip over the letters, following the steady lean, the graceful loops – as though that is how to make sense of the words. She imagines his long fingers on the pencil as it travelled across the page. Over and over, she traces ‘Tom’, the word somehow both foreign and familiar. Her mind wanders to the game they would play, where she would draw letters with her finger on his naked back for him to guess, then he would do the same on hers. But the recollection is swiftly countered by the memory of Lucy’s touch. Her baby’s skin. She imagines Tom’s hand again, this time as it wrote the notes to Hannah. Like a pendulum, her thoughts swing back and forward, between hatred and regret, between the man and the child.
She lifts her hand from the paper and reads the letter again, this time trying to make out the meaning of the words on the page, hearing Tom’s voice pronounce them. She reads it over and over, feeling as though her body is being rent in two, until finally, shaking with sobs, she makes her decision.