The Lightkeeper's Wife - By Karen Viggers Page 0,122

here?’ he was saying. ‘A doctor? A hospital? Is there anything on this island?’

And then, Jacinta’s voice: ‘I don’t know. We can ask the caretaker’s wife.’

‘She should be in hospital where they can look after her.’

Mary struggled to form words. ‘No hospitals. Take me to the cabin.’

Jacinta climbed in beside her, face pale and lined with tears. ‘What was that, Nana? Can you hear me?’

‘Yes, I can hear you.’ Her vision was stabilising. The flashing had stopped. The humming dissipated.

‘What happened? Are you all right?’

‘I had a turn.’ Her voice was quavering. ‘But I’ll be fine. Take me back to Cloudy Bay.’

‘We should go to hospital,’ Jacinta suggested. ‘It’s for the best.’

‘I don’t want to die in hospital.’

Jacinta was torn. She looked to Alex.

He shrugged. ‘I think we should go to Hobart.’

‘No. Not Hobart.’ Mary clutched Jacinta anxiously. ‘I know what I want.’

Alex looked at her. ‘Well then.’ His voice was heavy. ‘I suppose we go to Cloudy Bay . . .’

He started the car and they eased slowly down the hill, stopping by the cottages while Jacinta returned the keys. Then she was back in the car, leaning forward to talk to Alex.

‘There’s no doctor on the island,’ she said quietly. ‘We’d have to drive to Hobart, or have her airlifted out. They can land a helicopter here.’

‘No hospitals,’ Mary asserted again. She was still shaking with after-reaction.

Jacinta took her hand and stroked her with gentle fingers. ‘It’s all right, Nana. We’ll take you to Cloudy Bay. I promise we’ll do what you say. Now, you rest while we drive home. Alex and I will take care of you.’

Mary sagged against her granddaughter, weak and exhausted. They drove through the gate and up the road. The thrum of the wheels on the gravel lulled her; the soothing shift and sway as they took the corners. She fought to keep her eyes open as the car crossed the heath. Then they were climbing the hill. Soon they’d be at the viewpoint—her last glimpse of the cape, her last view of the lighthouse. But fatigue washed over her and her eyelids slid down. She was riding on a tide that was carrying her elsewhere, back into memory, returning to Jack . . .

It was dark now and she couldn’t see. She was on the cape and everything was black, even the tower. Why wasn’t the light flashing? Jack had never forgotten it. The sea was roaring too. She could hear it. The cliffs must be nearer than she’d thought. Or was it rain on the roof? Another storm coming in? Storms came so quickly here, rushing across the sea from the south. If the light wasn’t stone buried in stone, it’d be blown across the cape, shattered into pieces. Such winds they had on the cape. The children would be frightened in such a storm. There was thunder, and flashes of light. Mary hoped she could get the pony in the shed before the storm came. She didn’t want to live through another storm like the last one.

And finally Rose was there. Yes. Mary had known she would come.

She was waiting in the doorway of the keeper’s cottage, claiming Mary’s territory, her face smug. Mary felt a twinge of anger. Now she was home from hospital, Rose would have to pack and be gone. She’d have to go back to the farm, back to her selfish, sedentary life.

But Rose’s face was sliding inwards, rippling like smoke. Oh, how Mary wanted to wipe that smile away—that sly, self-aware smile, slightly mocking. Rose had seen the limp, despite Mary’s struggle to hide it. Ten weeks of recovery and rehabilitation and now Mary’s homecoming was flattened. Rose’s smile was triumphant—she thought she could prolong her stay.

‘Jack’s up at the lighthouse.’ Rose’s voice warped and flexed. ‘We didn’t know when to expect you.’

We, as if she was the mistress of the house.

Mary felt an ache at the site of the fracture. Her leg was heavy with the memory of plaster. She’d been so hopeful when they cut the cast away, but what they gave her back was not her leg. It was a shrivelled pale thing, useless without a crutch. She thought she’d be going home immediately, but it was another four weeks before they’d let her go.

‘Where are my children?’ Her voice echoed down the empty hallway. The worn lino of the keeper’s cottage. Her house.

‘Doing their lessons.’ Rose’s face contorted with derision. ‘Their schoolwork is important.’ Rose was sneering at the leg as