The Lightkeeper's Wife (40 page)

She poured tea—thick black stuff that oozed from the kettle like treacle. His large hands encircled the cup. Hands that had touched her skin in intimacy, the long brown fingers toughened by wind and work.

She placed her hand on his arm. It was hard as wood. She had to draw him from the window, away from Rose’s magnetic silhouette by the tower.

In the lounge room, flames danced in the heater, green and orange, licking at the briquettes. He leaned against the mantelpiece, staring at nothing, eyes wild. ‘Rose stays till you can climb the stairs.’ His voice was gravelly, harsh. Then he walked out through the wall, his body melting through stone.

Up the hill, Rose was still standing by the tower, her outline flickering like the flames.

Mary raced to the kitchen, clattering her cup into the sink. She grabbed two tea towels from the drying rack, and tucked them in her pocket. At the front door, she tugged on her coat. Her heart was thudding.

Outside, boiling cloud dissolved to a rare day of blue. She could feel the chill freshness of the air. The silvery ripple of the wind. Smell the close-clipped grass. To the west, across the channel, the mountains dimpled up and down in a cloak of purplish-blue. And now she could see the cliffs of Cape Bruny, hunched in shadow. Her heart racketed as she turned the handle of the lighthouse door and pushed it open.

Inside, the air was still and cold. Above, the staircase rose in a spiral of seventy-eight steps. She could hear murmuring voices. They were up there together, Jack and Rose. Talking. What were they doing? Access was restricted; only keepers on duty. Jack knew the rules. So did Rose. Mary only came up here when Jack was ill.

She tied the tea towels over her shoes in rough knots. Her coat was on the floor like a great black bear sleeping. Then she started up the staircase, measuring each step with her breaths. Breathing in. Breathing out. The air rasping in her lungs. Such slow breaths. Each inhalation an effort.

The stairwell darkened. Clouds were scudding outside again. The dim light shivered. Was it dusk now? Or the darkness of a storm? The wind was scraping, rustling, gurgling. The effort of climbing was too hard. There was no air.

Rose’s face melted across her vision, swimming in and out of focus. She struggled to concentrate on the climb. To breathe. She was making progress up the stairs. The platform must be coming.

One slow revolution of the snail shell. Two.

The stairs spiralled up and away. She tried to steady her breathing so as not to warn them. They had underestimated her. She would confront them. And Rose would have to go home.

The spiral narrowed at last.

Above, a dome of stars—the pinprick silver lights of the Milky Way. There was darkness outside the tower. Night black. Then suddenly the light ignited, a bright flare of whiteness slashing the night.

Up on the platform, two figures. Tall. Enmeshed.

The light revolved and flashed. There they were, Jack and Rose, gripped in an embrace.

Then there was darkness. The light extinguished. Everything collapsing. Her scaffolding was gone. A cry, the whoosh of air escaping.

She had fallen from the cliffs again. Only this time there was no ledge to stop her fall.

29

At midday, Emma is on my doorstep. As I open the door I hear the rough sound of a poorly tuned engine and see an old crimson Commodore rumbling down the hill.

Emma looks messy, red-eyed and pale. Probably not feeling particularly good after last night. ‘You left,’ she says.

‘Yes. I waited, but you needed to rest.’

‘You didn’t look after me properly last night then, did you?’

I shrug.

‘Can I come in?’

I stand back and she scuffs inside and collapses on the couch. Jess jumps up and lays her head in Emma’s lap. They lie there together, limp and lifeless, while I fill the kettle. There is a long silence as I wait for it to boil.

‘You said you’d been reading my journal,’ Emma says eventually.

‘I’m sorry.’ I place the teapot and two mugs on the coffee table. ‘I didn’t mean to.’

‘So why did you do it?’ She’s prickly and hungover.

‘I don’t know. It was lying there and I just picked it up. I wasn’t thinking.’

‘That was an invasion of privacy.’

‘Yes. I’m sorry. As soon as I realised I put it down.’

‘What did you read?’

‘Just a few references to Nick.’

‘A
few
references? I thought you put it down straightaway.’

‘I did.’

‘Anyway,’ she says flippantly, ‘don’t believe everything you read.’

I wonder what that’s supposed to mean.

‘Everyone has a few lapses down south.’ She flicks at Jess’s ears. ‘Did you enjoy the party?’ she asks.

‘I’m not much of a party person.’

She laughs, disbelieving. ‘I don’t know how you survived on station then.’

I pour the tea.

‘Nick wasn’t very happy about bringing me down here,’ she says. ‘But you know I don’t have a car.’

So the Commodore was Nick’s. I hedge carefully. ‘I told you I’m happy to help find a car for you.’

She ignores this. ‘He was pretty cranky about it, actually. I don’t think he likes you very much. I think he’s jealous of you.’

I pass her a mug, but she sets it aside and pulls me down to her and kisses me. We make love on the couch, our bodies pressed together, her mouth still tasting faintly of beer. It leaves me breathless and confused.

‘I’m sorry I wasn’t up to that last night.’ She wipes her mouth absently.

I roll onto my back among the cushions and stare at the ceiling. What does this woman want from me? Without speaking, she gets up and puts on her clothes. Her mood has changed in the blink of an eye. ‘Can you take me home now?’ she asks.

I reach forward to stroke her knee, but she pushes my hand away.

‘I want to go
right now
.’ She walks out onto the front verandah while I dress.

‘Can you tell me what’s wrong?’ I ask, coming outside, keys in my hand.

‘You ought to know,’ she snaps.

I follow her down to the car and open the door for her. She’s hostile, not looking at me. ‘It’d help if you’d tell me,’ I say. ‘I’m not good at these things.’

She gets inside and slams the door and we drive back to Hobart in silence. She stares out the side window, her face tight and closed.

When we pull up outside her house, I try again. ‘Are you all right?’ I attempt to place my hand on her leg, but she pushes me away. Then I realise she’s crying. Her whole body is shaking with it, tears running down her face like water. ‘I’m sorry,’ I say, not knowing why I’m sorry or what I’ve done.

She bursts out of the car then comes around to my door and yells, ‘You just don’t get it, do you?’

I wind down the window.

‘You can’t set boundaries for me, can you? You can’t tell me to keep away from Nick. I need a man who will fight for me.’ She begins crying again and turns away, covering her eyes with her arm, and staggers up the path alongside the house.

I sit in the car with my head against the steering wheel, mind spinning with emotions.

I wonder what to do. Should I go in after her? Try to find her? Talk to her? I’ve been sitting here for some time already, and Nick’s car is parked just in front of mine. What if she has already gone to him?

I start the car and sit with it idling for a while. Then I turn it off again, and sit some more. Eventually I get out and walk along the side of the house, knock on the door of the bungalow. There’s no answer. Maybe she’s gone up to the main house.

I knock again. This time, I hear a noise. Tentatively, I let myself in, and walk through to the bedroom. Emma is curled up on the bed, turned away from me, quivering with sobs. For a long moment, I stand awkwardly at the door, then sit beside her and stroke her hair. She doesn’t turn around.

‘I’m sorry,’ I say. ‘I’m sorry.’ And I wish I could stop saying it. Not all of this is my fault. She’s hungover and miserable and irrational. There’s nothing I can do to console her.

She rolls over, finally, her face tear-streaked, and looks up at me. ‘I’m ruining everything,’ she sniffs. ‘I’m messing up everything between us.’

At least she’s acknowledging she has a role in this warped sequence of events. I help her sit up and she leans against me heavily, burying her face against my chest. Her cheeks are wet on my shirt.

‘Are you all right?’ I ask.

She shakes her head against my shirt. ‘No. I’m a mess. It’s so damned hard coming back. I forget each time how awful it is.’

‘You’ll get there.’

‘Oh God, I hope so. I can’t cope with being like this for long.’ She lifts her head and snorts into a handkerchief stashed under her pillow. ‘Can we try again?’

I nod helplessly, but my heart is churning with doubt.

She kisses me on the lips and pads into the bathroom, leaving me sitting on the bed. I glance at the picture of her at Béchervaise Island, standing outside the field hut. She looks so incredibly alive in that photo—so wild and released and open. She’s wrapped in layers of thick windproof gear and her face is alight and vibrant. That’s the Emma I want. The girl that grasps life. Not the one who shies from it and creates complications where there don’t need to be any; a bit like me.

When she comes back, I offer to make tea, but she smiles tiredly and says she needs sleep. She’ll be more rational tomorrow, she promises.

I watch as she undresses and tugs on pyjamas. Then she turns to me forlornly, like a child. I wrap her in my arms and she snuggles against my shoulder briefly before wriggling under the doona. I tuck it around her, and after I kiss her on the forehead, she rolls away, cosily drifting towards sleep.

I feel more like her father than a lover.

When I get home the answering machine light is blinking. I play the message; it’s Jacinta, and she sounds distressed. My mouth goes dry with fear as I listen.

‘Tom, I’ve been trying to call you, but you’re not answering . . . It’s bad news. We took Nana to the lighthouse today and she had a turn. We wanted to get her to hospital, but she won’t have it, so we’ve brought her back to the cabin and now she’s recovered a bit. Unfortunately, we can’t stay here tonight because we have a commitment back in Hobart. Nana keeps insisting she’s all right, but I don’t want to leave her on her own. Given that I can’t get onto you, I’m going to ring Leon now and see if he can keep an eye on her till you get here. Hopefully, you’ll get this message and make it across before the last ferry.

I’m ringing from the carpark at the end of the beach because this is the only place you can get reception without climbing a mountain or driving for miles. Ring me as soon as you get this message, will you? We’ll probably be on our way back to Hobart by then.’

I look at the time. Four o’clock. I ring Jacinta’s number.

‘Tom, thank God it’s you.’

‘What’s happening?’

‘We’re on the ferry.’

‘What about Mum?’

‘Leon’s down there with her, and he says he doesn’t mind staying the night, which might be just as well, because the wind has really come up and they’re talking about shutting down the ferry.’

‘I need to get down there.’

‘Tom, I think she’ll be okay. It was pretty scary when she had the turn, but she brightened up at the cabin, and we left her tucked in bed with a hot cup of tea. She should be better after a rest.’

‘I feel like I need to do something.’

‘Maybe you could make some phone calls.’

‘Gary and Judy are away at some hospitality conference in Melbourne. Should I leave a message on their mobile? Or will that just panic them?’

‘Gary will be fine. Leave a message. We should let him know.’

‘Do you want me to ring Jan?’

‘Could you? I don’t feel up to it.’

She gives me Leon’s mobile number in case I need it. Then I hang up and call Gary. He doesn’t answer, so I leave a tactful message explaining what has happened to Mum. Next, I ring Jan. She answers the phone quickly. She must have been sitting on top of it.

‘Hello.’

‘Jan. It’s Tom.’

‘Have you heard anything? I’ve been waiting all day for Jacinta to call. She and Alex were going down to see Mum today.’

‘Jan, I’ve just spoken to Jacinta. Apparently Mum had a turn at the lighthouse, but she’s okay.’

‘What do you mean
okay
? I told them not to take her there, but of course they wouldn’t listen to me.’

‘They say she’s perked up now.’

‘They’re still down there?’

‘No, they’ve had to come home.’

‘Who’s with her then?’

‘Leon. The ranger.’

‘Why aren’t
you
down there?’

‘I’m just about to leave, but I’m not sure if I’ll be able to get over the channel. Jacinta said the ferry might not be running because of the wind.’

‘Well, if you can’t get across you should come here.’ Jan doesn’t want to be alone. She’s worried about Mum and she wants me to distract her. She wants to use me to salve her guilty conscience. I try to think of an excuse, but I’m not quick enough. ‘I’ll cook for you,’ she says.