The Lightkeeper's Wife (26 page)

‘Why not?’

‘People have commitments.’

‘You mean things that tie them down.’

‘Things that make it hard to go.’ Like Mum. Like fear.

‘Like what? Mortgages? I thought you said you wanted to go south.’

‘I do, but it doesn’t have to be this season.’

‘And not necessarily with me.’

I grip my wineglass tight and try to halt the panic rising in my chest. Am I already ruining things between us? ‘I’d like to go south with you,’ I say. ‘But not if it doesn’t suit you.’

I reach out tentatively and take her hands in mine, but she tries to pull away. I wasn’t expecting this. She seemed so secure in herself up till now. I hold onto her hands. I like her and she likes me. This much I can tell, even if she’s confused right now.

What does she expect? She’s only been back a few weeks. She must have held herself so strongly down there, and now she’s breaking open, like me.

All I can manage is a husky whisper. ‘Emma, I
really
like you. Okay?’

She relaxes her hands, and I kiss her gently trying to communicate my understanding and empathy. I’m sure I fall short, but it’s the best I can do.

She stands up, turns off the lights and sits down with me again. I touch her face in the dark, following her features with my fingertips, running my thumb along the soft line of her lips. Her compliance makes me bold; that, and her earlier momentary lapse in confidence. Her body moving eagerly now beneath my hands makes me feel masculine. She’s so warm, so soft. Somehow she fits perfectly into me, straining against my thigh between her legs.

‘Come to bed,’ she murmurs in my ear. ‘I think we’ll feel more comfortable naked.’

Sometime in the night, Jess clicks into the room and pushes her head under my hand which is lying loosely on top of the covers. I stroke her head and rub my fingers slowly over the dense velvet of her ears.

If only women were as simple as dogs.

In the morning, Emma rolls over and rests her head on my shoulder. She smiles languidly, which is all it takes to set my heart tripping. I run my hand along her arm, observing the glow of her skin in the beige light cast through the curtains. She feels deliciously smooth.

‘How old are you?’ she asks.

‘Old.’

‘How old?’

‘Forty-two.’

‘That’s okay. Nine years’ difference. Age doesn’t really matter.’

She closes her eyes a moment and I ache with the burden of caring. I think I more than like her and that makes me feel afraid. I’m used to owning my own heart.

‘Have you been with many women?’ she asks.

‘Only three, including you.’

She grins, her eyes still closed. ‘I thought so. You feel fresh.’

I wonder what she means. Inexperienced? Awkward?

‘I’m sorry,’ I say.

‘What for? I like being with you. The others feel like they’re working from a recipe.’

Others?

‘Have you been married before?’ she asks.

‘Yes.’ I wait for her to stiffen, try to sense a change, but I detect nothing. ‘It was a while ago.’ My voice is tight in my throat.

She rubs the sparse hair on my chest. ‘Antarctica?’ she asks.

‘Yes.’

‘What happened?’

‘She met another man.’

‘You couldn’t come back?’

‘It was after the last ship.’

‘Of course. It always is.’ She strokes my cheek. ‘No wonder you had a tough winter.’

‘Winter’s tough for everyone.’

Her face is soft with compassion. ‘Stop trying to be so strong. It’s okay to be sad.’ She kisses my forehead, my nose, my chin. ‘That’s why I don’t do it,’ she says. ‘That’s why I don’t mix love with south. It ruins you.’

What’s this, then? I want to ask. What are we doing? But she snuggles into me, and I like the warmth and the softness of her too much to ask any questions.

19

Jacinta and Alex had arrived on Saturday morning, filling the cabin with youthful energetic joy. Mary felt as though she’d been hit by a tornado; in they came, bearing rustling bags of food and radiant smiles. At first, their activity overwhelmed her, and there was a moment of panic when she realised the letter was still sitting on the coffee table. But she managed to conceal it in her blanket before Jacinta rushed over to embrace her.

‘Nana. How are you? Look at you, you’re so thin. We’re here to feed you.’

They dumped more bags on the bench, stocked the fridge, boiled the kettle, stoked the fire. Mary was exhausted just watching them. While she sat sipping tea, they vacuumed the cabin, mopped the floors, cleaned out the bathroom and put on a roast for dinner. And now Alex was out chopping. Mary could hear the dull
thock thock
of axe hitting wood.

‘How’s your mother?’ she asked dutifully. It was better to have the Jan conversation now or it might mar the evening.

‘Oh, you know,’ Jacinta said. ‘The usual. She’s worrying about you and cross that she can’t change things.’ The edge of her smile slipped. ‘Have you given any thought to coming home? If you did, I’d make sure you could stay at Battery Point. I won’t let Mum boss you around.’

Mary shook her head firmly. ‘I want to be here.’

‘You’re not lonely?’

‘No, the ranger comes every day. His name’s Leon. Nice young fellow.’

‘But he’s not here for long, is he? I can’t bear thinking of you sitting here all by yourself.’

‘I’m fine,’ Mary insisted. She wasn’t completely alone. She had Jack.

‘So Mum hasn’t been down to visit?’

‘Not yet. Neither has Gary.’

Jacinta’s face tightened slightly, and Mary saw that she was upset about this. ‘I suppose Gary’s busy with work . . .’

‘And your mother’s just plain angry. She hates not getting her way.’

Jacinta tried to smile, but couldn’t mask her sadness. ‘She’s stubborn,’ Jacinta said. ‘And sometimes a bit hysterical. At the moment, it’s a full-time job calming her down. I wish she’d come here, though.’

Mary flattened her lips. ‘She will when she’s ready.’

She too wished that Jan would visit. It’d be nice to make peace with her daughter before she died—but perhaps she shouldn’t hope for the unachievable. And if Jan did come, she’d arrive with a barrowload of plans and subterfuge. She’d concoct a way of shipping Mary back to Hobart and into a home. Better that she stayed away.

When Alex came in, Mary sat back to enjoy the company of her guests. Alex was full of admiration for Jacinta, and her granddaughter basked in it happily. Theirs was a gentle relationship, and Alex was such an open and affable man. He was dedicated and unswerving; a good choice for a husband. Pity about his domineering mother. But then, you couldn’t have everything in life. Mary was convinced Jacinta and Alex could do well together. They would have their ripples and waves, of course—no relationship could complete its journey without storms. But they had the tools to steer them through. Affection, patience and good communication were an excellent start. Perhaps more marriages might survive if they had such solid foundations.

Apart from the sheer pleasure of fellowship, there were other reasons Mary was glad to have visitors in the cabin. Over the past few days, in all the space and silence, she’d become aware of increasing patches of time when she suspected she might be losing her mind. It didn’t seem unreasonable anymore that Jack might be lurking in the cabin. She knew he’d been there; she’d felt his presence. And she’d talked to him, encouraged him to show his face. Even invited him to take a seat so they could reminisce on their better times.

She knew she shouldn’t indulge in these fantasies about Jack. But it was so reassuring to imagine him here with her. Despite the faults in their relationship, she missed him dreadfully after he died. Those last months of his life, she’d been consumed with caring for him. She wanted him to be safe from the torture of a nursing home and to have the dignity of dying in his own bed. When he passed away, a great emptiness had followed. His illness had given her purpose, and it was an immense wilderness to be without him.

Later, she had gradually found new activities to fill her time. She started helping out in the local opportunity shop. She signed up to deliver Meals on Wheels. It felt good to make her contribution to the community, and reminded her that she was fortunate to be in control of her own situation, for as long as it lasted.

Yes, it was good to have Jacinta and Alex visit for the weekend. And once they were gone she could resume her own agenda. There was information to be chiselled out of Leon—those bruises needed explanation. And next weekend was the scout camp at Cloudy Corner, close to East Cloudy Head. If there was some way she could get up the path to the head, even just a little way, then she could satisfy her commitment to Jack.

Jacinta and Alex left in an affectionate flurry on Sunday. Unexpectedly, two days later, Tom arrived.

Mary was at the window waiting for Leon when Tom’s old car surged over the dunes and pulled up on the grass. She watched her son jump out. He was like a boy, slim and lithe. How had forty-two years passed so quickly? It didn’t seem so long ago that she had folded him on her lap and snuggled him close. He had always been a serious child, and now he was a man, marked by hurt and fear.

But today was different. He swept into the cabin and gripped her in a hug, his face alight. Mary returned his embrace with as much vigour as she could muster. She hadn’t seen him so elated in years, and the blue sky reflected his delight—it was clear and celebratory. Not even Debbie had lit him up this way. Indeed, she couldn’t quite remember him ever looking so radiant and alive.

Jess seemed jubilant too. She bounded into the cabin and onto the couch with a shower of damp sand, panting unashamedly in Mary’s face. Even a fit of coughing didn’t shake her off. Tom was so distracted he failed to remark when Mary hacked up phlegm.

She waited a few minutes for him to divulge his news, but then gave in to her curiosity. ‘What has happened to you?’

He hesitated. ‘I don’t want to get your hopes up,’ he said.

‘Tell me.’

‘I’ve met someone.’ The admission rendered him breathless.

‘Wonderful. Your feet haven’t touched the ground since you walked in.’

‘Is it that obvious?’

‘Yes.’

His joy was tempered by agitation. Happiness tinged with terror. It seemed to Mary that he was having trouble giving in to the thrill of this new relationship, but at the same time he was incapable of holding back.

‘Where did you meet her?’ she asked.

‘At the antdiv. She gave a seminar. She’s a penguin biologist— just returned.’

His face clouded slightly and Mary thought she detected a shadow of doubt. When Tom had come off the ship from Antarctica all those years ago, he’d been like a little boy lost.

His face was blank when he saw her waiting on the wharf. Mary knew she wasn’t the person he was hoping to see, but Debbie had refused to come. And everything was made worse by Jack’s recent passing. Poor Jack had slipped away just days before the ship docked, unable to hold on until Tom’s return.

Mary remembered the phone call she made to the ship; the anxious surprise in Tom’s voice when he was summoned to the bridge to receive her call.

Mum. What is it?

I’m sorry, Tom, to call you like this. I’m sorry for what I
have to tell you . . . But your father died this morning . . . he was
so ill . . . he couldn’t manage any longer . . .

What a thing to have to tell your son over the telephone. What unspeakable pain not to be able to put your arms around him, not to be able to hold him when he needed you most. After the phone call she had rung Debbie to see if she would meet Tom at the wharf. But Debbie was convinced Tom would see it the wrong way. She said he’d take it as a signal that she was there for him.

As he came ashore, Mary watched him searching the crowd. Just in case. Holding onto the possibility that Debbie might surface from the sea of waiting faces. He had staggered off the boat like a drunk. It wasn’t just the ground that was unsteady for him; his life was adrift.

Initially, Mary had thought it was the loss of his wife and father that shut Tom down, but as time went on she realised it was more than that. Tom’s retreat into himself had also been due to the challenges of re-entering normal life after more than a year of Antarctic simplicity. The explosion of return superimposed on loss and grief had almost destroyed him. Somehow, he had continued to carry out the actions of life, but he had disengaged from it, as if it were all happening to someone else. For years now, he’d been moving around the periphery of things, always measuring the edges of life, rather than its volume. But now, in one blow, this new woman had flattened his fences.