The Lightkeeper's Wife - By Karen Viggers Page 0,106

top of the car with the flat of his hand. He bends down to stare in the side window at Emma, his eyes possessive.

‘See you for morning coffee,’ he says. ‘The usual. In the café. Nine o’clock.’ He mouths something else, but Emma is already looking away from him. She’s looking at me, it makes my skin tingle.

‘Rescued,’ she says with a laugh. ‘He’s persistent, isn’t he?’

As we drive home, unspoken questions are thick between us. I want Emma to negate Nick. But she keeps her thoughts hugged close and prattles on instead about tidying her office and a trip she’s planning up north to visit her family. She’d like to see them again before she goes back south, and now’s the time to do it, before the frenetic pre-expedition rush begins. Her sister has two kids and she’s only seen them once or twice. Perhaps she should take a gift for them, but she doesn’t know what to buy. She doesn’t know much about kids, she says. In fact, she knows more about penguins.

I tell her we have something in common—I know more about birds than about people too. The look she casts my way is tinged with annoyance. She was only joking, she says. Of course she knows more about people than penguins. She was just speaking figuratively.

I don’t know what to say after that. All I can think of is Nick, and yet I can’t bring myself to say his name aloud. I can’t make myself ask her what’s going on between them. I’m afraid she’ll admit everything and then ask me to turn around and take her back to the antdiv. I couldn’t bear it. Last night after the hospital, I lay awake in bed thinking of her. Remembering the feel of her skin against mine. Trying to recall the smell of her hair and the curve of her smile. Trying to convince myself that Nick doesn’t exist for her.

At home, I light the fire and boil the kettle.

Emma doesn’t give me a chance to pour tea. She descends on me with a look of fierce determination. I wanted to allow room for discussion, but with her hands and eyes on me, it’s impossible to resist, and I submit willingly. This is what I’ve been wanting, after all—Emma’s lips on mine, her body against me, tight with need, her hands gripping me close.

It’s desperate love-making. All my unasked questions slip away, knocked aside like vases of flowers spilled in our wake. We grasp each other in the kitchen, tumble into the lounge room then make our way slowly to the bedroom, peeling off clothes, sliding shivery beneath the doona, feeding off the combined warmth of our bodies.

After a makeshift dinner, Emma pulls a bottle of whisky from her backpack with feigned stealth and a provocative smile. ‘Leftover duty-free,’ she says. ‘I brought it back from down south.’

I shake my head. ‘I’m no good at whisky.’

She strokes the stem of the bottle with a finger. ‘Let’s see if we can help you to become friends.’ She finds ice in the back of my freezer, cracks several cubes into a couple of tumblers and pours a generous shot into each, then passes me a tumbler. ‘Cheers. And hey, we’re having a party on Saturday night. Eight o’clock start. Will you come?’

‘I’m not good at parties either.’

‘You’ll be fine. Bring your own grog.’

We sit down together in the lounge room. The fire burbles quietly, the flames licking at the glass, the muffled crackle of burning wood. Jess is curled up in the corner on her rug. It’s dark outside, and here in our circle by the fire, all is cosy.

‘Drink up,’ Emma insists.

I take a reluctant sip and brace myself as the whisky burns down to my chest.

‘Good, isn’t it?’ Emma smiles. ‘Have some more.’ She jiggles the ice around her glass and takes a gulp, sighing with pleasure.

Mincingly, I sip a little more, preparing myself for the shocking burn.

‘Not like that,’ Emma says. ‘That’s pathetic.’ She crawls forward across the couch and takes the glass from me. ‘Tip your head back. I’m going to teach you how to take a proper mouthful.’

She pours a slug of liquor into my mouth then covers my lips with hers and kisses me, forcing me to swallow. I gasp as the whisky scalds its way down. It doesn’t take long to feel a creeping warmth oozing through my body. Emma pours more whisky into my mouth, kisses me again, teases me with