The Lightkeeper's Wife - By Karen Viggers Page 0,53

of her parents and her cat. I didn’t ask about her home life and she didn’t ask about mine. In the soothing comfort of rebound, I allowed myself to think our relationship could grow into something more. On station, I stayed quiet with my head bowed and my heart closed. In the field, Sarah was my cocoon.

But eventually the Aurora Australis appeared in Prydz Bay to deliver more supplies and to collect departing winterers, including me. When I told Sarah I’d like to meet her in Hobart when her ship returned, her eyes became cool and her face shuttered. She laughed a tight little laugh. ‘But you knew I had a boyfriend. I thought you understood.’

The ground rocked beneath me.

‘I’m sorry, Tom. It’s been fun. But I’m engaged,’ she said.

‘Engaged?’

‘You know how it is,’ she said. ‘It’s not convenient to wear a ring down here.’

A ring was not convenient and yet I had been convenient. She kissed me blithely on the lips. ‘Come to my cabin tonight.

It’s our last time.’

So why did I go to her that night? What was it that took me unhesitatingly to her door? Why did I lace my boots in the foyer of the living quarters, don my coat and walk down the dirty melted-out path to her donga where candles and soft music waited for me?

She let me in and undressed me, and in the space of that one night I was splintered again, smashed apart. There had been no healing from Debbie, only avoidance, replacement and self-delusion. But I let Sarah take me. I lay beside her that last night, clinging to the warmth of her body, feeling myself blowing away like dust in the wind.

The next morning, the helicopter took the husk of me to the ship and I returned to Tasmania.

13

Mary had imagined that returning to Cloudy Bay would restore the peace she had known here when she was young. But anxiety overcame the solace of solitude. And sleeplessness was dulling her short moments of pleasure. The insomnia derived from many sources: the wind, her cough, mulling on what to do with the wretched letter, fear that Jan might materialise and insist on taking her home. On top of that, she was aware of time passing, and her duty to Jack was far from complete. Of her list of promised destinations, she had only visited one, Cloudy Corner. There was still much work to do.

Her health was deteriorating, there was no denying it. At night she could hardly breathe and the tablets seemed to make little difference. True rest had become rare; much of her waking time was spent dithering over the letter. This was the irony of it all. She was here to disperse her guilt at last and the letter was a constant reminder of what she had done.

Jack was with her in this place, she knew it. She could feel him in the vast measure of silence. He was watching her, waiting. Sometimes he came riding on the wind, and other times he seemed to pass, invisible, through the cabin. Knowing he was present reassured her. The long ache of her loneliness was subsiding.

Whenever Leon came, she strived to enjoy his company— there was little enough of human companionship in her days. But his visits had become a drama of tension. Could she persuade him to take her out? How might she shift the conversation her way? Would she stir his pity or his anger?

He came every day as arranged, stopping for a quick cup of tea and a short discussion of the weather. She tried to ease him into longer conversations, looking for opportunities that might allow her to tag along with him on his duties. But he remained quiet and reserved. The only thing that interested him was the lighthouse, but his attention was fickle; often he was focused elsewhere, and he left again too quickly.

Today, though, he arrived like a thunderstorm, banging into the cabin without saying hello, and marching to the kitchen to put the kettle on. Mary offered a polite good morning, and he glared at her beneath knitted brows.

‘What do you mean, good morning?’ he said.

‘It’s not raining,’ she pointed out. ‘That’s good for Cloudy Bay.’

He scowled at her. ‘The weather’s not the only way to judge a day.’ He slapped the Hobart Mercury on the bench. ‘Here’s a newspaper. It’s yesterday’s, but I thought you might want to see what’s going on in the world. And here’s some milk.’ He put