The Lightkeeper's Wife - By Karen Viggers Page 0,69

I can’t focus on the job. The strength of my imagination is frightening. It seems my Antarctic vault has reopened and I’m bogged in a thick sludge of memory.

On my journey south, one of the girls left her sunglasses in her cabin so she could fully experience Antarctica on her face—the wind and the searing light. She burned her retinas and lived in the shadow and pain of snow blindness for two days. When I think of Emma, a strange foolishness arrests me. I feel as reckless and as stupid as that girl on the ship, as though I could easily leave my protective layers behind and dive into something brighter than I can handle.

During the afternoon an idea starts brewing in my mind. Perhaps I should ring Emma and ask her out. But I haven’t taken anyone out since Debbie and it feels risky. What if Emma says no? Jess is onto me, of course. She’s been watching me from her rug against the garage wall, her yellow eyes steady and unblinking. She knows I’m feeling unsettled, and she’s afraid to take her eyes off me in case I disappear without her. I stop tinkering with the undercarriage of the car and go to make coffee and gather more tools. Then I’m back under the hoist again, tighening a few parts and wondering what I should do. Finally, I go into the garage office and ring the antdiv number. I ask for Emma and the operator puts me through to her office. The phone rings several times and I’m just about to hang up when she answers.

‘Hello. Emma here.’

‘Hello. This is Tom Mason.’

She pauses. Of course she doesn’t remember me.

‘I came to your talk the other night, and I gave you my number . . . in case there was a job.’

‘Oh yes,’ she says, discouragingly.

I plunge on anyway. ‘I wondered if you’d like to have a drink tonight. After work. We could just talk . . . about Antarctica.’

She pauses for a long time.

‘It’s not about getting a job,’ I say. ‘I just want to talk about going south. About what it’s like being at Mawson Station. I haven’t talked about Antarctica for so long.’

‘Okay,’ she says, a little hesitantly. ‘Where would we go?’

‘Somewhere down at Salamanca?’

‘All right. Name a pub and a time.’

She’s already at the bar when I arrive; I see her at the counter leaning on her elbows. Her face is blank and she looks slightly masculine. To survive down south she probably had to neutralise her femininity. I move up alongside, trying not to touch her. It’s busy and she hasn’t yet managed to attract the attention of a barman.

‘Hello,’ I say.

She looks at me. ‘Hi.’

‘I’ll buy the drinks,’ I offer. ‘What’ll you have?’

She steps back from the bar. ‘A Cascade. They have it on tap here. And could you get me some water too? I just need to duck into the ladies’.’

I watch her thread her way among the tables; when she moves there’s no denying she’s a woman, something about her hips. I smile to myself, happy she came to meet me. Then I lapse to nervousness; when it comes to conversation, I’m sure to stuff it up.

She’s gone quite a while. I fidget at the counter and finally the barman notices me and I order three beers and a glass of water. The first beer I drink quickly, leaving the empty glass on the counter. I don’t drink often, but tonight I need steadying, and Emma won’t know I’m on my second glass.

I find a table near the window and sit down. It’s almost dark outside. Autumn is fading into winter even though it’s only May. I think of Mum down at Cloudy Bay, the long grey light down there. I wonder if she’s managing and I feel a pang of guilt. I should be down there cooking for her, and here I am at a pub.

Emma finds me and sits down opposite, thanking me for the beer. Sitting close to her like this, my heart thuds with excitement. She has a frank and friendly face.

‘How did you like my talk?’ she says. A good opener. I wish I had thought of something suitable to say.

‘It was great. You’ve got some nice photos.’ My response sounds so bland I almost wince.

She takes a long sip of beer and glances around the room. ‘I’m still finding crowds difficult,’ she says. ‘Usually I’m just beginning to adjust and it’s time to pack up