Page 14 of Leafpoint Lighthouse

“And just what have I done since arriving here, other than confront people about their rudeness? Case in point,” I replied calmly.

The woman looked offended. “You little—”

“Enough. All I did was accept an inheritance. I’ve not harmed this town or anyone in it. However, you’ve all been, quite frankly—rude, ignorant, and downright nasty. If standing up for myself and asking for common courtesy makes me public enemy number one, God help you all!” I interrupted.

“Well, I never!”

“Exactly, you never!”

“After two hundred years of being inactive, those four lighthouses are functioning!” a gentleman remarked.

“And why is that my fault? Was I here when they did? I assure you I wasn’t. Nope, I was being screwed over back in Dagenham, both professionally and personally. Not here playing with a lighthouse. I came here to start fresh and walk into this crapfest.

“What none of you seem to realise is this: I don’t need your approval. I don’t need you to like me. There’s nothing you can do because I own Leafpoint. So, keep spewing your hate, but all you’ll do is stop me spending money here. And as I pointed out yesterday, with today’s economics, can anyone refuse a sale?” With that, I continued to the supermarket. This town needed to get over itself.

“Why is the lighthouse suddenly functioning?” another woman demanded.

“How the hell would I know?” I hissed, turning back. “I arrived two days ago, yet it’s been working since Christmas. Maybe ask amongst yourselves who is messing with it!”

“She’s got a point,” an old man stated begrudgingly.

“Don’t knock yourself out,” I snapped.

“Now who’s being rude?” he chided.

Guilt flooded me. He wasn’t wrong. “You are right. I apologise for my disrespect.”

My apology took him by surprise, and his eyes warmed. He’d not expected that.

“I’m the new owner, but clearly you all know more than me. If you don’t mind, I’m tired of the constant hate.” With that, I collected a trolley and set off into the supermarket. Screw everyone.

The cashier from yesterday was on again, but she treated me differently this time. She was polite, and while it was clear she didn’t like me, I couldn’t fault her. What a miserable person she was. I grabbed my bags and headed back to the car. This was meant to be my fresh start, and instead it was being ruined.

Amused, I popped the pizzas into the microwave and leant against the worktop. Upstairs came the noise of banging and crashing, as the four teenagers broke down the rotten settee to bring it downstairs. They had been brilliant today. None of them were rude or nasty, and they were keen to see inside. They’d confessed to trying to get into the lighthouse when younger, but hadn’t managed to. The door had held.

I gave them a tour, and they decided to start at the top and work their way down. I told them to leave the oil room alone. Emptying that would be a mistake. They’d already cleaned out the items from the two floors below it. Old, rusty bedframes had been thrown alongside mouldy mattresses and empty trunks, although I’d kept some in good condition. The two bedroom levels were now clear. The teens were presently clearing out the main bedroom, which I guessed would be mine.

“Hey, Miss Jasper. My dad, Benny, is a carpenter,” Tom called as he came back in from where he’d been dumping a headboard.

“Yes?”

“What are your plans for the smaller bedrooms?”

“None really. I’ve only been here three days,” I replied.

“Why don’t you have some custom-made cabin beds?” Tom suggested. The microwave pinged, and I took the pizzas out and handed them to him. I put the next lot in to cook and turned back thoughtfully.

“That’s not a bad idea. Could he design something?”

Tom chuckled and pulled out his phone. “Here,” he replied, bringing up some pictures. I gazed at what was a beautifully made cabin bed. There was a double wardrobe, workspace, shelves, drawers, and a single wardrobe.

“Now that is pretty sweet,” I said with a smile, and Tom grinned.

“The room wouldn’t be so cramped,” he stated.

“No. Although one room needs a double bed at least,” I mused.

“Dad can make bedframes that curve with the walls,” Tom insisted.