The only reason why I owned a cell phone was to callRebecca in case of an emergency.Since my picnic with Abigail I spent half the night with her using up myminutes discussing what we did during the day. It was nothing earthshattering, no great revelations just plain old human interaction that Ifound I was missing. Being busy at her Aunt's store limited our timetogether but I was able to set up another picnic 'date' over the weekendbut this time I would do the cooking.My relationship with Rebecca had not changed. She barely acknowledged mypresence other than to explain she already ate with some of her coworkersand quickly retreated into her bedroom. She wasn't a bad person just herparental skills left a lot to be desired. It was so much easier to hide inbooks then to face reality but I knew that if I wanted to have some sortof real relationship with my adoptive mother I would need to take thefirst step. Mulling over the problem I spent the evening channel surfing.I awoke with a start. There had to be something reborn in her out of the ages, some ancient power of domination which would awaken in me the ancestral response to her call.After lunch my barrack-hut buddy Rob collected me in his car for our return from leave. Curfew was not until ten and so we had plenty of time for tea and scones in Worthingthorpe, and a visit to the local lighthouse.The Worthingthorpe lighthouse stood on a high cliff above marshes. The sea never came there now, for big dykes had been erected to keep it out. The three former lighthouse keepers inhabited the cottages alongside it at a peppercorn rent and eked out an existence on their pensions and money gifts from tourists.It was a pleasant sunny afternoon and we lingered. When I asked our guide if we might see the interior of his cottage he was quite amenable. It was a charming and neat little place with gilt-framed oleographs of ships in storms with inky-black clouds.A portrait which interested me more stood above the mantlepiece and.
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