‘Shopping list.’
This is quite obviously a lie, as he looks so uncomfortable when he says it, that his lip actually starts to twitch. I wonder if he could actually be writing a diary, or a letter. Maybe love notes.
‘Fine. Don’t tell me.’
The wind is up, blowing offshore, and spindrift is flying off the waves in rainbow sprays. If I were on Loor with a boyfriend, we’d go for a walk on the beach now, holding hands and stopping to kiss.
But instead, I’m here with Caleb. Not a silver fox, more of a silver Grinch.
‘Does this island ever feel too remote for you?’ I say, suddenly.
‘No. It’s been determined that I’m built for isolation.’
This seems like a very specific declaration.
‘And you know that how exactly?’
‘Human connection is too… messy.’
I understand this. If he doesn’t connect, he doesn’t have to be vulnerable, he doesn’t have to risk rejection. There’s method in that madness.
‘You said it like it was a fact.’
‘I was tested.’
‘You were tested to see if you could live in the wilderness?’ I say. ‘Are you mates with Bear Grylls?’
‘I’d like to be.’
‘I’m going to need some more information, Caleb.’
‘At school. We all did an aptitude test at the start of our A levels. And it gave me a result that I wasn’t expecting. A vocation.’
‘Which was…?’
‘I can’t tell you, it’s too embarrassing.’
‘You have to tell me now.’
‘Lighthouse keeper.’
‘You’re lying.’
‘I’m not; it’s true. The woman taking the test said they’d never had anybody who’d been given that answer before. She thought it must have been bad computer programming, someone mistakenly inputting shit from a seventies aptitude test.’
‘What did you do? I mean, there are no lighthouse keeper jobs now, right – it’s all automated?’
‘She made me take the test again. I changed one answer and it spat out a completely different occupation.’
‘Which was?’
‘Computer coder. I guess it was an in-joke of the person who did the programming.’
‘Are you good with computers?’ I ask.
‘Terrible.’
‘So maybe your first result should stand.’