Doroteo was under the table with a turnip in each hand. Our lantern had gone out on a wild, windy night, and the cheeky sod insisted he was making a salad. No knife. No plate. His bootlaces were practically shaking.
“If anything comes in, I'm throwing the big turnip. I'll keep the other one in case we need to negotiate.”
We weren't exactly covering ourselves in glory either. One creak had all three of us hugging a table leg. Remigia appeared in the doorway with messy hair and a blanket over her shoulder. She kept shifting from one foot to the other, but whatever her hurry was, she put it aside when she saw us.
“Right, budge up. But if you whack me with a turnip, you'll have something else to worry about.”
Some people help you find your feet
Remigia sat down beside us. She didn't launch into a speech about how silly it was to be scared. She tucked the blanket round us and waited for Doroteo to loosen his grip. Sometimes someone helps before they've said a word, simply by staying.
The night was still making noises. The roof creaked and shadows moved across the window. But now we had someone to look at. Remigia explained that she'd heard the same sounds at home and had come to check on us. Even knowing the path hadn't stopped her jumping out of her skin when she trod on a pine cone.
She told us she'd apologised to the pine cone. Only polite, apparently. A small giggle escaped us. Doroteo put one turnip down. He was still frightened, but there was finally room in his head for something besides the fright.
“Do you know what's going to happen?” he asked her.
“Not a bloody clue. But we're getting through this bit together. We'll work out the rest afterwards.”
Even a lighthouse friend gets tired
We Brownies love those people who help you see without shining a torch in your face. The ones who come along when you're dreading something, save you a plate or ask a question and stay to hear the answer. They don't need the perfect words. They remember to come back.
Remigia isn't a walking supply of cheerfulness. Some days she's had enough and just wants to eat her breakfast in peace. We've seen her cry with a piece of toast in her hand. That morning we were the ones who sat beside her. Looking after someone includes noticing when they need a rest.
If you expect your lighthouse friend to cope with absolutely everything, you're asking them to burn themselves out so you can see better. What a shit sort of friendship that would be. We'd rather lend a hand, share the blanket and take turns pretending to be brave.
Between the four of us, we got the lantern lit again. Doroteo crawled out very slowly, in case his courage changed its mind halfway. Then he put some water on. Making something for everyone did him the world of good. He still had a turnip, but now he was peeling it.
We stayed until the wind eased. The chairs were back around the table, the soup smelled gorgeous and Remigia's knees had started bobbing with suspicious urgency. Eventually she asked us to walk her home.
“Are you scared of the dark too?” Doroteo asked, ready to return the favour.
“Not the dark. There's a spider in my loo and I haven't had a wee since five.”
Off we went, all four of us, huddled together. Doroteo carried the lantern. We took a glass and some card to move the spider. Remigia led the way, concentrating very hard on both walking and not doing something else.
“Keep that light steady, darlings. This lighthouse desperately needs a sit-down.”
