The Lightkeeper's Wife - By Karen Viggers Page 0,117
of the house: couples mostly, finding a dark nook to kiss in. Every now and then small groups bundle into cars and weave off down the hill, probably on their way to another party. Occasionally a taxi appears and ferries a load of people away. By the time I go back in, the party is winding down. Emma is still dancing, and I stand beside the door again to watch. Nick is stretched across the couch, half passed out, completely drunk. Perhaps that’s his idea of a good time. His shirt is hanging out and has red wine stains on it.
I find myself watching the candles sinking low on their wicks and the sleepy shadows flickering on the walls. Finally, Emma comes across the room and takes my hand. ‘Come on.’ Her eyes melt in the dim light. ‘Let’s go to bed.’
She leads me out the back door, stopping to kiss me at the bottom of the stairs. She’s hot and sweaty from dancing, and the smell of her excites me.
‘Can I get Jess?’ I ask between kisses.
‘You and your bloody dog.’ She waves me off. ‘Just shut the door behind you when you come in.’
I walk around to the car realising I’ve killed yet another moment of promise. By the time I’ve dug a blanket out of the back of the car and laid it out for Jess in a corner of the bungalow, Emma is asleep in her clothes, spread-eagled across the bed. I shift her limbs gently and tug the doona from beneath her slack weight. Then I tuck it carefully over her sleeping shape. I sit on the edge of the bed watching her, smiling at the soft grating of her snore. Then I undress, switch off the lamp and crawl in beside her.
Emma barely moves during the night, even though I wake several times to the sound of bottles being tossed into the yard and voices from the main house. Once, I slip out from the warmth of Emma’s body to lock the door. I don’t want an early-morning confrontation with an angry and hungover Nick, although I don’t think he’ll be up to much till midday. I hope to be long gone by then.
When sunlight floods in through the windows, I draw the curtains and leave Emma sleeping while I make a cup of tea. Jess clicks around the kitchen, pressing her nose up beneath my hand to remind me she’s there. She doesn’t seem comfortable; perhaps she remembers Nick from last time. I sit at the table and read yesterday’s newspaper, including the jobs and real estate. Then I’m out of reading material.
I notice a black notebook under the newspaper and open it without thinking. The pages are full of dark flowing handwriting. Probably Emma’s. I study the loops and curls of it, wondering what it tells me about her, and then my curiosity surges and, I am reading.
Busy few days with the Adelies. The weighbridge is giving me the shits. It works for a few days and then some connection goes wrong and we’re off the air again. I just can’t work out what’s going on. I need some electronics genius to sort it out for me, but they’re few and far between on station.
Sophie went into station last night to visit her beau. God, it makes me sick. Saturday night and she has to go into town for the party. It’s the same every week—same old music, same old grog. Station leader doesn’t like me being on my own out here, so they sent Nick out to keep me company. A pointed comment. We’ve tried to be discreet, but everybody knows anyway. I suppose it’s hard to disguise body language. And who can blame me. It’s so hard when chemistry takes over, and God, Nick sets me on fire.
I put the book down. It’s none of my business to be reading Emma’s journal. It’s a disgusting intrusion and I’m ashamed. I’m also deflated. Everything I’ve feared has been confirmed.
For ten minutes, I sit looking at the notebook, then reluctantly flick it open again.
Nick’s been staying out at the hut quite a lot lately, and Sophie isn’t complaining. I think she’s just about had it with water offloading, and I have to admit it’s a shitty job. Especially when you can’t even get a shower afterwards. To his credit, Nick doesn’t seem to mind. We boil up a big pot of water at the end of each day and wash ourselves where