Free Sailmaker by Rosanne Hawke Page B

ladder that goes through a square wooden trapdoor in the ceiling. He even latches that. Never knew it was there.
    Olsen looks as scared as Mei. His ears are down; the whites of his eyes showing.
    â€˜When he was younger, he’d always sit in me lap in a storm, didn’t ya, ol’ son?’ The dog moves his tail in agreement. He definitely looks like he wants to be in Vern’s lap now. Poor dog. So I sit with him for a while and he moves the top half of his body across my knees before I can change my mind and stand up. So he can move a little faster when he’s got reason to. Vern is getting his heater out to dry our clothes.
    It’s then that Mei sees the light. ‘Look.’ She sounds breathless. She’s peering through the kitchen window towards the second keeper’s cottage. By the time I get out from under Olsen and join her, it’s gone.
    â€˜I saw a light, like a torch.’ She’s really defensive when I can’t see it. I don’t say anything. It might have been a reflection from the lighthouse flash. She tells Vern. He doesn’t make much of it either. ‘I’ve seen that too lately. Just the ghostie. Don’t worry about it.’
    Don’t worry? Can’t he see what stuff like this does to Mei? And what it’s starting to do to me? ‘What about the windows over there?’ I ask.
    â€˜Done those after the last guests left,’ says Vern. ‘Looks like we just have to sit this out now,’ and he gets his whisky bottle out of the top cupboard. And produces a bottle of Coke from the fridge. ‘I had Steve bring this out for when you came again. It’s what you kids like, eh?’
    It cheers us up a bit; makes me grin because Gran would have a fit. Surely a bit wouldn’t hurt, and I take the glass from Vern. Mei must have imagined that light and to tell you the truth I don’t think Vern means us to take him seriously. He’s full of stories. He most probably doesn’t believe there’s a ghost at all. Look at Olsen. He talks to Olsen; you can’t tell me he believes Olsen talks back. Nah, think I’m starting to catch on to the sailmaker.
    That’s when the clanging starts. Mei can’t help herself – she actually lets out a cry. Vern’s soothing her. ‘Don’t you worry none, girlie,’ he says. ‘That there clanging’s been going on for over a hundred years and no one’s been hurt from it yet.’
    Did he have to say ‘yet’? Mei picks up on little things like that. Of course it’s not the thought of being hurt, it’s the imagining, the unknowing, the waiting, wondering what could happen. That’s what I see in Mei’s pale face right now. She’s all eyes.
    Vern’s got a couple of mattresses and he’s going to put them down in the kitchen but I reckon the lounge would be better. If there are rats we don’t want to be nibbled. Besides there’s always the murmur of the marine radio, set on its special channel. Vern has to leave it on in case some ship in the gulf gets into trouble. This shoal is littered with wrecks from the past hundred and fifty years.
    Mei says she wishes the storm would stop and Vern hears her. ‘There’ll always be storms, girlie. You just have to ride them through.’ He makes it sound like we’re on the wildest wave possible with our boards and when we ride it all the way in to shore we’ll win a gold medal. Mei doesn’t want to be in a room by herself either so we put the mattresses together. Vern produces a blanket.
    â€˜Sorry I’ve only got the one,’ he says. There’s most probably more in the guesthouse next door but I wouldn’t want him to go out in the wind and rain.
    Now I’m lying here, listening to the wind shrieking around outside, trying to get in. We’ve got a lamp on. I’m watching Mei. She doesn’t say what she’s thinking, but I can