The Lightkeeper's Wife - By Karen Viggers Page 0,67

lips. She’s thin and small. Plain. Probably somewhere in her thirties.

‘I’m Laura,’ she says. ‘I wanted to introduce myself. My brother and I have just moved in across the road.’ She peers at the trees down the side of my house. ‘Quiet place, isn’t it? And the trees make it dark. A bit spooky, don’t you think?’

‘The trees are good,’ I say. ‘They bring the birds.’

She glances around uncertainly. ‘I suppose so. I know nothing about birds.’ She flashes a tight smile. ‘Lots of possums, aren’t there? They were all over my roof last night. Do they eat your roses?’

‘I don’t have any roses.’ My new neighbour obviously isn’t into trees or wildlife, which means we have less than nothing in common. This might be a good thing, because then there’s little excuse for contact.

‘You’ll probably see me round a bit,’ she continues. ‘And you might see my brother too, although he won’t be out much. He’s not well. His name’s Michael. I just call him Mouse.’

She’s clearly keen to talk, but I pull my keys out of my pocket and jingle them. ‘Sorry, I’m just heading off to work.’

‘Oh.’ She seems disappointed. ‘You’re leaving.’ She looks down and notices Jess at last. ‘What’s your dog’s name?’

‘Jess.’

‘Is she friendly?’

Jess’s tail is beating slowly against the deck. This woman clearly does not know animals.

‘Yes.’

Laura bends to pat Jess on the head. ‘I didn’t grow up with dogs,’ she says. ‘But I like them.’ She strokes Jess cautiously.

‘Mouse likes dogs too. Perhaps you could bring Jess down sometime to meet him.’

I shrug. ‘Maybe.’

She smiles. ‘I’d like that. It’d give Mouse a lift.’

I wait for her to leave, but she lingers on the deck, watching the light glinting on the water. I wonder what I can say to usher her down the path. ‘Sorry, but I do have to go. I need to be on time for work.’

‘Yes, of course.’ Her thin face is almost ghostly. ‘Do you mind if I ask your name?’

‘I’m Tom.’

‘Well, it was nice meeting you.’ She stretches out a hand and I’m forced to shake it. It’s thin, soft and cool. Then, she turns and starts down the steps to the path. Her shape fades quickly among the bushes until she appears again crossing the road, moving like mist skimming over the ground. She’s a strange one, shy and uncertain. Damaged in some way; needy. I hope she doesn’t expect me to be neighbourly.

I scoop an apple from the fruit bowl and lock the door, unable to shake Laura from my thoughts. There’s something uncomfortably familiar about her. As I climb into the car and watch Jess drop onto the floor, I realise Laura reminds me of myself.

At lunchtime I go down to Salamanca to see if the Aurora is in yet from her last voyage. I should keep away from things Antarctic, but Emma’s photos are still haunting me and I feel the stirrings of craving. It’s an addiction that’s hard to break when you return from down south—the sensation of excitement and freedom you experience down there. I want to feel it again, even though it’s no good for me.

Looking for a parking spot along the waterfront, I pass the wharf, and there she is, the Aurora, an orange giant, docked behind the smaller L’Astrolabe, another Antarctic research vessel. I park along the esplanade and wander into the shadows cast by the Aurora.

She always seems bigger than I remember: not in the league of bulk carriers, but loomingly large and loudly orange. In a chopper over ice you can spot her from miles away. Large ropes as thick as my arms hook her to bollards along the dock, and she shifts and rises against the tyres that buffer the wharf. Her hull is marked by gouges and scuffs where she has encountered ice, and even from here I can detect that familiar stench of diesel. I think of going south again and a worm of anticipation wriggles in my stomach. Up on the helideck, two crew members are sucking on cigarettes. They see me and wave. I nod and slip quietly away, feeling strange and dislocated. I should quit dreaming, buy some lunch at Salamanca and head back to work.

As I wait at an auto-teller to withdraw some cash, Emma walks past with another girl. She’s the last person I expected to see and something in me backflips. I see her pause to look in a shop window, chatting to her friend. A man behind me