The Lightkeeper's Wife - By Karen Viggers Page 0,65

whose darkness brought Jack to her had evaporated. Dear God, she was cold. She pushed herself up, the blood whirling in her head. Her breathing was wet and gurgly. Had she had a heart attack or had she just fainted?

Slowly she turned herself onto hands and knees. With effort she forced herself up in the wind. But it was such a long way back to the cabin. And Jack was gone.

She hoped she could make it back alone.

Leon’s voice woke her from a restless doze.

Daylight was washing through the window. She was in bed with her face pressed into the pillow. She’d slept in. The pillow was damp—she’d been drooling again. She tried to move but her body was stiff.

Leon called again.

She realised she was still wearing her coat, and her bed was full of sand. She could barely recall staggering in here last night and slotting herself under the covers. In the dark she had climbed the hill on hands and knees, dragging herself over the grass. It wouldn’t do, she had told herself, for Leon to find her dead out there.

She had no idea how long it had taken, that painfully slow journey over the dunes and up the hill. She remembered seeing the cabin at last. The coughing had punctuated her every move, slowing her when she needed to be inside and out of the wind. She remembered the cold. She remembered Jack sitting in the corner of the bedroom watching her, shadowy and silent.

Now her body felt as if it had been hit by a truck. And Leon was calling again. ‘Mrs Mason.’

She heard the cabin door opening. ‘I’m here,’ she croaked. ‘In bed.’

He came in, face puckered with concern.

‘Why are you here so early?’ she asked querulously. A cough halted her, deep and racking, and her body bent in half with the force of it.

Watching her, his face darkened. ‘I was on my way to the campground, but I had a feeling I should come here first. What happened?’

She struggled up, moisture gurgling in her throat, and spat quietly into the cup by her bed. ‘I was cold last night and I put on my coat.’

‘You’ve been out.’ His face was expressionless.

‘No. I was here in bed.’ She didn’t want him to know how desperate it had all been. How nearly she didn’t return.

He glared at her. ‘The door was ajar. And the floor is covered in sand.’

‘Has someone been here?’ she asked, feigning innocence. ‘Don’t tell me the scouts have arrived already?’

‘It’s not the weekend,’ he said. ‘And anyway, they’re not coming till the weekend after.’ He turned away.

She heard water running in the kitchen and the sound of the kettle being set on the stove. Then he was back at the door. He wasn’t going to let her get away with it. ‘There’s no point having the heater on if you’re going to leave the door open.’

‘The wind must have blown it open.’

‘There are footprints on the floor and they lead to your room. Get up and have some tea.’

She heaved herself out of bed and limped into the lounge room, leaning heavily on her stick. He pushed a cup of tea across the kitchen bench.

‘What am I supposed to tell your family?’

She should have guessed this question was coming. ‘You don’t need to tell them.’

‘I’m supposed to be watching out for you.’

She stifled a cough, unable to respond.

He watched her splutter into her hands. ‘Look at you. If I tell them you’ve been wandering at night, they’ll come and take you home.’

‘Over my dead body.’

‘Highly likely.’ His voice was getting louder. ‘You’re supposed to be able to look after yourself. What about your tablets? You need a full-time carer.’

This prompted a rally. She would not go back into the hands of Jan and end up in one of those awful nursing homes. ‘Don’t tell me what I need,’ she barked. ‘I get enough of that from my family.’

He scoffed at her and started wiping the kitchen bench furiously. ‘Your family? What do they care? Where are they? Someone should be here looking after you.’

She tried to hold back tears. ‘They’re coming tomorrow. They know I don’t want them here all the time.’

He threw the cloth in the kitchen sink. ‘Have you eaten?’ he asked. ‘Of course not. Look at you. You’ve lost weight since you came here. And it’s been less than a week.’

‘It’s the coughing.’

‘Perhaps you’d cough less if you remembered to take your tablets.’ He dragged her pill bottles into