A Light Between Oceans Episode 14
Hattie tiptoed down the narrow staircase, avoiding the places that creaked.
It had just gone seven, and Sandy would still be sleeping. It was no wonder, with all that had been going on.
She switched on the kitchen light and filled the kettle, then saw a note on the counter.
Decided to go for an early walk. I should be back by lunchtime.
It was signed with Sandy’s characteristic heart, with squiggles round the edges.
It certainly was early, Hattie thought, but it would do her good.
Still, she felt a twinge of disappointment, wishing they were together.
With the bombshell of the lighthouse, Hattie had known that Sandy’s visit was going to be different from other reunions – though heaven knows they hadn’t always been carefree ones.
There was the time a few years ago when she’d practically fallen into Hattie’s arms, weeping over a break-up with her boyfriend of two years, and other times when she’d just been a bit low, and had needed a break.
Then there had been the cherished visits, including Christmases when they’d filled the cottage with decorations, baked gingerbread, treated themselves to an enormous Christmas tree, and sung their hearts out at the carol service in the little church.
In all that time, had there ever been anything but openness between them?
If only that infuriating American had never seen the advertisement, she and Sandy would have grieved together over the lighthouse, then life would have gone on as before.
The past would have remained safely buried, with Sandy’s memories – already challenging enough, having lost both of her parents – intact.
Time was flying. Sandy would be going back to London at the end of the week, and Hattie would need to plan for the guests who were booked into her guesthouse for the following week.
A follow-up letter from one of them had arrived yesterday, alerting her to the fact that he was a vegan, and enclosing a list of what he could and couldn’t eat.
Hattie took it from the top of the fridge. No meat, poultry, eggs or butter.
Once again, uneasy memories seemed determined to elbow their way into the present.
It was all too reminiscent of those long years of rationing.
Belmouth, 1941.
“Good morning, Mrs Townsend,” Hattie chirped as she finished setting the tables for breakfast. “Would you like tea?”
She adjusted the faded checked curtains, making sure that the blackout material she’d lined them with was well hidden in the folds.
The curtains had been hanging there since Hattie could remember, and when her parents died and she’d inherited the cottage, she couldn’t bear to change them.
The fabric had thinned, having been washed so many times, but the checks still looked cheerful in the little dining-room.
“Yes, please. My husband will be down shortly.”
The thin, pale woman answered with enough of a smile to indicate politeness, but without any warmth.
She and her husband had arrived the day before, having written to Hattie requesting a room for two or three weeks.
Our family doctor spent part of a summer in Belmouth some years ago, and found it quiet and agreeable. He showed me your advertisement in a magazine, and suggested I contact you.
Hattie had quite forgotten that she’d once placed an advertisement at the insistence of an enthusiastic guest.
“Thank you for your coupons, Mrs Townsend.
“Perhaps when your husband arrives you’d like some bacon with your egg this morning.
“I’ve put some by, so I won’t have to use your ration.”
“No bacon, thank you, but my husband might like to have an egg. Just toast for me, please.”
“Would you like the morning paper –”
The words were out of Hattie’s mouth and it was too late.
Mrs Townsend had told her that their sons had been killed in France, and she hadn’t been well. Perhaps the morning news was not what she wanted to see.
It seemed that wasn’t the case.
“Yes, thank you. That’s very kind of you.”