Still, when he looked at Ellie, in her plain dresses and her sturdy brown shoes, and her blueberry-stained aprons that never came clean no matter how much he saw her scrub at them in the sink, she was as lovely as he remembered that first time he’d laid eyes on her at the Samson and Hercules. More lovely, if that were possible. Her figure fuller, but firmed by the physical life on The Rock. Her face slimmer, her hair a deeper blonde that spun threads of gold in the summer months. Her beautiful eyes, as stormy and blue as the north Atlantic. How did he deserve this woman? How could he show her how much he loved her? How much he hated himself for giving her such a hard life, so far away from her family.
He shakes his head. One day he’d get her a proper diamond ring. He would have done, if he could have. But, the diamond rings he could afford had been so small. Not right at all for Ellie. He was lucky to have found that old pawn shop down on Elm Hill. Maybe it was only a cheap zircon, but it had the right look. One of these days, he’d get her a proper diamond ring, that’s for sure. She’d like that. He’d put her through a lot; it was the least he could do.
His mother had never taken to her, no matter how much he’d seen Ellie try with her. ‘That English wife of yours,’ Agnes would call her, not to Ellie’s face, of course. ‘Fancies herself an artist, like that’ll do a fat lot of good gettin’ food on the table out here.’ The two of them existed in an uneasy truce, he could see that, like two prisoners forced to share a cell. His mam was a hard case. He knew it’d been hard for Ellie, all these years.
Still, he’d given Ellie two beautiful children. Well, Winny, at least. But Emmy was his son, no matter how he’d come into the world. Even if George was Emmy’s real father, no matter what Ellie said. He had to let go of his jealousy. It was a small man who’d take such a thing out on a child. The war was a different world. Who was he to judge Ellie, when she hadn’t heard from him in months. When she’d thought he’d been killed in North Africa?
The boat lurches over a large swell and Thomas staggers against the wheel. His crutch and the beer bottle crash to the floor. Thomas grabs for the wheel, blinking hard as the cabin spins.
‘What was that, Da’?’
‘Nothing, son,’ Thomas calls over his shoulder. ‘How’s it holding out back there, Emmy? Any leaks?’
‘Nothing inside.’
‘That’s good. We’ll turn back at the lighthouse. We’ll be home before the sun sets. That’ll please your mam.’
‘Okay.’
Thomas picks up his crutch and secures it under his armpit as he steadies himself in front of the wheel. Focusing on the horizon, the spinning eases. He begins humming, and the random notes form into an old song he’d learned as a boy.
‘Jack was every inch a sailor,
Five and twenty years a whaler,
Jack was every inch a sailor,
He was born upon the bright blue sea.’
He shouts over his shoulder. ‘How was that, Emmy? Shall I teach you the words? Emmy?’
‘I’m checkin’ the outside for leaks, Da’.’
Thomas glances to the stern, his heart leaping into his throat. The boy teeters on his stomach over the side of the boat. Forward and back with each dip and swell of the sea. Forward and back. Forward and back.
‘Emmy! Get off there, b’y! My God! Get your life jacket back on!’
A large wave slams the boat. The boy teeters forward, hovering like a baby bird on the edge of a nest.
‘Emmy!’ Thomas lurches towards his son, hobbling over the fishing net and coiled ropes with his crutch.
Too late.
The next minutes last hours, days, years. The sea, which had looked so benign in its bakeapple colours just moments before, has turned black, its glistening inkiness broken only by the whitecaps of the swelling waves and the small dark head bobbing in the water.
Thomas staggers back into the bridge and shuts off the ignition. Grabbing the life preserver, he heads starboard and launches the orange ring out to the flailing boy. ‘Grab it, Emmy! Swim to it son. It’s just a stroke away.’ Thomas gathers up the fishing net and throws it over the side so that it hangs from its fastenings down the side of the boat.
‘Da’!’ Emmett takes a mouthful of water. ‘Da’!’ He coughs just as another wave splashes over his head.
Throwing the crutch aside, Thomas plunges into the water. It sucks him down into a deathly quiet until he can no longer sense where the surface is. A large dark body slides past him, its belly gleaming white, and the barnacles on its huge mouth glowing an iridescent green in the murky water. The creature’s black eye watches him as it glides past. Its body rises in a graceful arc to the surface to breathe through its blowhole.
Following the humpback’s lead, Thomas musters every iota of strength as he breaks through the surface and crashes through the water towards his son.
Emmett raises his hand out towards his father. Then he’s hit by another wave, and he’s gone.
Thomas dives into the freezing black water. His hand brushes the hood of Emmett’s yellow jacket. Grabbing it, he twists the fabric into his grasp and pulls his son up to the surface. Emmett gasps and grapples for Thomas’s arm.
‘Calm down, Emmy. Breathe, son. Just calm down.’ He reaches around Emmett’s shoulders and swims towards the orange life preserver, thrusting it over his son’s head. ‘Grab hold of this, son. You won’t goes anywhere. You’re fine now.’
The fishing boat is about sixty feet away, bobbing like a dull white cork on the black ocean, the fishing net draped like a web over the side. The lighthouse has awakened,
