The Lighthouse

Bishop Rock

1979- Meanwhile at Bishop Rock

Thompson shielded his face from the rain as he jogged across the helipad atop Bishop Rock lighthouse, introduced three years before, to ensure that the keepers could access the lighthouse on nights like these. The sea was far too violent and treacherous to reach the rocks safely by boat, forcing Thompson and his new partner David Wells to be airlifted in.

Thompson gave the pilot the thumbs up, before clambering down the ladder as fast as he could. The rungs were slippery and frighteningly cold, but he'd done this a thousand times.

"Watch ya step!" he screamed up to Wells, battling to be heard over the hammering and clattering of the helicopter taking off.

Thompson hopped confidently from the ladder once he was a yard or so from the platform, landing with a soft splatter of his boots against metal. He ducked inside into the top floor of the lighthouse to get some rest bite from the unrelenting weather. Wells followed close behind.

Thompson was in his late fifties, but could easily be mistaken for a lot older. His thick grey beard was unkempt and his shaggy hair wasn't much better. He wore his age on his face, with wrinkles and folds from top to bottom, like an un-ironed sheet.

He was a bulky man, standing well over six feet, and with a naturally broad and muscular body. He towered over his latest partner.

Wells was 24, and new to the island. This had been the only job he could get his hands on, after looking just about everywhere else. He was good looking, with a chiselled face, flowing blonde locks and bright blue eyes. Compared to Thompson, he was a very slight, short man, and his nerves made him sink even lower still.

They had barely had time to introduce themselves back on dry land, and shared a somewhat awkward and silent ride over, but Thompson now reluctantly instigated pleasantries.

"I guess we better get to know each other, if we're going to be stuck out here for God-knows how long," Thompson grumbled, unable to force a sense of pleasure into his sullen tones. "It was Wells, wasn't it?"

His brown eyes were unwelcoming and, teamed up with his harsh eyebrows, always seemed so full of anger.

"David Wells, yes, looking forward to working with you! Hell of a lighthouse this, isn't it?" Wells replied, extending his hand to shake.

"They don't call her the 'King of the Lighthouses' for nothing kid," Thompson said, shaking his new colleagues hand eventually.

He wasn't a fan of new people; hell, he wasn't a fan of people in general, but he prided himself on being professional and getting the job done.

"Sorry, I didn't catch your first name," Wells smiled.

"Thompson'll do just fine," the older man mumbled in reply. "I spose I should give you a tour of the place then. Keep up please."

The smiled drifted from Well's face, but he shrugged his shoulders and followed Thompson down a set of stairs to their right.

"The last crew would have been flown out about half an hour before we got here, so all the systems should be working fine but it's best to check. Our job is basically to keep the bastard place running and report any wrecks or activity out there," Thompson explained, casually throwing a thumb out in the vague direction of the sea.

"Are there not meant to be three of us?" Wells enquired.

"Aye, Murphy should have been here, but I guess he's been caught up in some drama at home. His little son is very ill you see. Poor kid," Thompson explained. "So, it should be just you and me for the time being."