Meet Me at the Lighthouse: This summer’s best laugh-out-loud romantic comedy

“How d’you mean?”

“Well, you’re not about to pop your clogs or something?”

The old man shrugged. “Not that I know of. Might last a few more years if I keep eating my greens.”

“So you really want to do this then? You, Charles Mason, being of sound mind and body and all that jazz?”

“Yep.” He sighed as he took a match to his old Dublin pipe, wreathing the room in brown-blue wisps that tickled our eyeballs. He inhaled a deep draw before he spoke again. “All right, if you really want to know, there is another thing. The bloody council.”

“They written to you again, have they?” Ross said.

“It’s worse than that. Bastards are threatening to sue me.”

“What?” Ross shook his head in disbelief. “On what grounds?”

“Reckon they can make a case based on me letting the old place fall into disrepair, affecting the tourism industry. Some jumped-up little bureaucrat at the town hall sent me an ultimatum. Sort it out, sell it on or face the music.”

“Bastards!” Ross’s brow knit dangerously. “Who threatens to sue an old man? I’ll bloody well go down there.”

“Oi. Less of the O word.” Charlie’s papery face broke into a smile. “But ta, lad. Nice to know someone in the family gives enough of a monkeys to watch my back.”

Ross sent an affectionate smile back. “Well, you’re not a bad old sod. You know I’ll look after you. So is that why you’re selling then?”

“That and I just want rid. Anyway, it’s worked out well, this young lady convincing you to take an interest.” He bobbed his silver head in my direction. “Lighthouse would’ve gone to you in the end anyway. Was going to leave it you in my will.”

“Me? What for?”

“Piss your dad off, mainly. And to see your face from the great beyond when you realised I’d saddled you with a lighthouse.”

“Ha. Yeah, I bet.”

“I still don’t know, Charlie,” I said. “Not sure we should take it if the council have bullied you into it like that.”

“Trust me, you’re doing me a favour.” His expression softened. “Look, she’d want you to have it. My Annie. Seems right it should go to our Ross, keep it in the family.”

“What was the lighthouse like when Aunty Annie was young?” Ross asked. “Don’t remember her ever talking about it.”

“Well she did, all the time. Still, you were only a nipper when she passed, doubt you’d remember.” Charlie took another long draw on his pipe, his crinkled eyes unfocused. “It were an impressive sight in its heyday. There was still a keeper back in the thirties, Annie’s grandad Wilf. Lived there with his wife. Proper old-fashioned battleaxe her Granny Peggy was, scary as the Old bloody Gentleman. And by, but she were houseproud. Every day she’d be out there topping up the paint, scrubbing the front step with sand. The floor were bare stone – they’d no brass for carpet – but she’d have you take your shoes off and walk round in your socks like she had ruddy shag-pile down.” He smiled wistfully. “Pride of the town, our lighthouse, in them days.”

“So how did it end up like it is now?” I asked.

“Oh, the war came. Light had to go off, Peggy and Wilf moved out. When peace broke out they decided they didn’t want to go back and leased it to other keepers, offcumdens who didn’t take the same pride in it. By the time Annie inherited it, the day of the lighthouse was over. Ours were a husk of what it had been by then.”

“So it’s just been left to rot?”

“No, when Annie were here she did what she could with it. The paint always shone when she were alive. She wanted everyone to see it, pride of the town, same as when Peggy had it.” He blinked, and I thought I saw the hint of a tear in the already watery eyes. “And then my Annie were gone, and no amount of paintwork could bring her back. It’s been years since I could bear to look at the thing.” He summoned a gap-toothed smile. “Ah well, no good getting weepy now, I’ll see her soon enough. You kids take the lighthouse. Make your aunty proud, eh, our Ross?”

I glanced at Ross, and was surprised to see tears in his eyes too.

“I’ll do my best for her, Uncle Charlie.”

“Ross, can I have a word?” I said. “I mean, in private.”

Charlie grinned. “I can take a hint. I’ll brew us up a pot.”

“He’s grieving,” I whispered when Charlie had tottered off to the kitchen.

“I know. He misses her.”

“Then we can’t take it, can we? We’d be taking advantage of a lonely old man.”

“We wouldn’t though. She’s been dead 18 years, he’s not exactly rushing into it.” He shuffled on his cushion to face me. “Look, the lighthouse makes him miserable. Every time he hears about it, it reminds him the love of his life is gone and that bastard’s still standing.”

“Yeah, but… well, it isn’t right.”

“You heard him, Bobbie. My Aunty Annie loved the thing.” His brow gathered into a determined frown. “Well, you make your choice, you’re entitled to back out. Me… I never thought about it till he told me all that. But I’m doing this. For Annie.”

“Hey. If you’re doing it I’m doing it, partner.” I leaned round to look into his eyes. “Don’t be angry, Ross. I care about the lighthouse too.”

His face softened. “Sorry, got a bit carried away. Anyway, it’s your lighthouse.”

“No, it’s your lighthouse, I think that’s clear now. But if you want me… well, maybe it’s our lighthouse.”

He shot me a smile. “I do want you, Bobbie. I want it to be our lighthouse.”

He was looking at me with that keen expression in his eyes, the one that was so often the prelude to a kiss, and I stiffened. But before things could go any further, there was a loud rap at the door.

“That’ll be the lawyer lady,” Charlie called from the kitchen. “Can you get it, lad?”

I sent a silent prayer of thanks to the invisible solicitor for getting me off the hook. Kiss awkwardness averted.

Ross jumped up, coming back in a few seconds later closely followed by an official-looking solicitor in a black pencil suit. And in what felt like no time at all, Charlie had an extra pound in his pocket – and Ross and I were the proud owners of a pair of cheesy grins and our very own lighthouse.

Chapter 6 (#u63a381f1-0bfb-5cd3-a738-aec7dc9436e8)

“Don’t be nervous.” The kind-faced receptionist who manned the front desk at Cragport Town Hall smiled encouragingly.

Ross was clutching a folder of notes against his chest, moving his lips silently, while I tried to distract myself with an old Elle I’d found. We’d been there half an hour, waiting to make a pitch to the town council for funding to get the lighthouse cleaned up.

“That obvious, is it?” I said to the receptionist.

She nodded at the magazine on my lap. “Well you’ve been staring at that feature on what to wear to hide a lopsided bosom for 15 minutes.” She lowered her voice. “Honestly, there’s nothing to worry about. Those pompous old duffers are desperate to see something done about the lighthouse. You’ve got the winning hand here.”

Ross looked doubtful. “You really think? We’re asking for a hell of a lot.”

“Absolutely. Stand your ground, that’s all. The chairman can be a bit of a bully.”

“Thanks for the heads-up,” I said. “Let’s just hope we catch him in a good mood.”