The Lightkeeper's Wife - By Karen Viggers Page 0,143

will never see the world as most of us do. Yet he has the security of Laura’s love and support. And she will continue to love him even if he never realises it. In that, he is lucky.

Laura has been watching me closely, and I see surprise sweep across her features. Then she gathers herself together, glances at Mouse who is still murmuring to Jess, and smiles warmly.

‘I’ll just get the cakes,’ she says.

While she’s in the kitchen, I gaze out the window at my house up the hill. It’s strange looking at my place from Laura’s; for a moment I almost expect to see myself leaning against the balcony or passing like a shadow behind the windows. It’s a shock to realise how much of my life can be seen from here. I hadn’t known I was so visible. Laura could sit here and watch me moving in the kitchen, or observe me feeding possums with Jess on the deck. How much does she know about me? How much of my grief has she seen? How much can she tell by watching the movements of a lonely man in his house with his dog?

Then I realise perhaps this is why I am here, in her house for Mouse’s birthday. Maybe this is Laura’s attempt to help, her way of showing she cares. She can’t fix things, but she can offer me company. She understands loneliness.

Then she’s back with a plate bearing four cupcakes with a candle stuck in each. ‘One candle for each decade,’ she says, smiling brightly at Mouse.

He stares at the candles, and the light flickers in his eyes. She sets the plate on a small table in front of him and we sing ‘Happy Birthday’ in tuneless voices. Laura puffs out the candles then hands a cupcake to Mouse.

‘It has pink icing,’ she says. ‘Your favourite.’

Mouse takes the cake, forgetting Jess for a moment, and eats it. The icing sticks to his lip and Laura wipes it gently away. Then she passes a cupcake to me and also puts one on a plate on the floor for Jess. Jess glances up at me for permission then scoffs the cake quickly. It has been a very happy visit for her. Not at all what either of us expected. Jess pants happily at me, and I’m sure it’s because she hopes we’ll be invited again.

When we leave, Laura lingers at the door. ‘Can we go for a walk tomorrow morning?’ she asks. ‘I haven’t gone for a while—I thought you needed to be alone. But with my new job I’m stuck in an office. And I do like to get out.’

I pause too before nodding. ‘What time suits you?’

She smiles. ‘How about seven o’clock?’

37

Leon and I arrange to meet at the Cloudy Corner campground. His four-wheel drive is already there when I arrive. I find him sitting near a patch of blackened soil where there’s obviously been a large campfire fairly recently.

‘She gave a talk to a group of scouts here,’ he says, as I join him in the shifting shade. ‘Did she tell you? She was a hit.’

‘No. She didn’t mention it.’

Guilt sweeps across his face. ‘Perhaps she didn’t tell you because it didn’t end so well.’

‘What happened?’

‘She collapsed. I suppose she fainted.’ He flushes. ‘She didn’t want me to tell anyone. She was worried your sister would take her back to Hobart.’

‘Mum had a passionate hatred of nursing homes.’

Leon nods, still flushed. ‘Awful places. I’m glad she didn’t end up somewhere like that . . . It was quick at the end. There wasn’t much time for nursing . . .’

We pause, each uncertain what to say next. We are two people brought together by circumstance; Mum is our only common denominator.

Leon waves towards East Cloudy Head. ‘Let’s climb the hill before the weather comes in.’

We pull packs and rain gear from our cars. At the trail head, we sign the logbook and begin the climb. Once we’re moving, talk begins to flow. It’s easier without eye contact.

‘I resented your mum at first,’ Leon says, clearly embarrassed. ‘She was prickly, and it was a hassle to have to check on her. I was railroaded into it by my boss. And I didn’t want extra work. I had enough on at home. Your mum wasn’t an easy companion either. She didn’t seem to understand I had work to do. Kept trying to corner me into taking her places. Always wanting to go here or there. Asking me