The Boathouse

Alan rushed to his only option, the near finished boat in the back of the boathouse. It wouldn’t last long in this storm but it was Tom’s only hope for rescue.

He launched the boat and fought the ferocious water, battling out to the point where Toms boat had been. He struggles against the storm for what seems like hours, surprised at how long the half complete boat stays afloat. Eventually he has to give up. There was absolutely no sign of Tom. He couldn’t even find the boat, nothing, just gone, all gone.

That was fifteen years ago. Although the pain of living in the lighthouse is more than he can bear, he comes to this quay, this boathouse, this sea, every year. Every year on this same date; and he’s always seen Tom here. He’s always been given one more glimpse of his boy before another year of emptiness and regrets. A father shouldn’t outlive his son, it’s not right, shouldn’t happen. Each and every day of the last fifteen years Alan has punished himself for not being quick enough, for not looking long enough, for being too weak.

This night is a good one. Not too dark. A full moon lights the water. Water lying still. This is a good night to see the ghost of his dead son.

He stands on the quays edge for hours until, one moment, he feels a chill and Tom is stood at his side. Just stood, gazing into the murderous depths. Alan turns to look at Tom and feels a swell of pride he’s not known before. It had never seemed so obvious as it was now, Tom had proved for once and for all that he wasn’t scared of his fathers beloved sea. He’s fought it at it’s more fierce and done it bravely. But who could have ever hoped to beat it. Why had it taken him so long to see it?

As he looked at the face of his son, just inches from his own, he notices something else he’s never seen before. A woman, in her late twenties, stood at Tom’s side. She spoke.

"He’s here, isn’t he Tom. I can feel him too."

Then for the first time in these past fifteen years, he hears his sons’ voice.

"He’s here. He’s always been here. Every year on this day, on this spot he’s here. This last piece of land he ever felt under his feet. I saw him just before I was flung into the water. The look of disbelief, of desperate shock. He must have moved so fast. I was only in the water for a moment before the waves tossed the boat and me over these rocks to the sand behind. By the time I knew where I was, he’d launched his boat to come out to me. But I wasn’t there, and he must have known that the boat he was in wouldn’t last long. They found him the next morning, amongst the rocks a mile to the south. If only he’d realised, the sea he loved so much had saved me from itself, spat me out."

"Why do you come out here every year love?" she asked.

"I want him to know. To know that I understand how much he loved this place. That I was only trying to show him I could love it too. That now, I can love it too. Even though hit took him from me."

She reaches out, takes Tom’s hand, they turn to leave. "He knows Tom, he knows."