The Lightkeeper's Wife - By Karen Viggers Page 0,116
could curl up close to me like a cat. I’d be happy just to snuggle. She wouldn’t have to say anything.
‘Food’s in the kitchen,’ she reminds me. Nick glances up as we leave the room.
The kitchen is still congested. I tug Emma through the tangle of bodies and find a bowl of hummus and some crackers on the bench.
‘Load me up with it, will you?’ she says. ‘You dip and I’ll eat. I’ve lost count of the drinks.’ She stuffs crackers into her mouth and crunches them up as quickly as she can. ‘Water?’ she asks.
I’ll never make it to the sink through this crush. She must read hesitation in my face.
‘Get out of the way,’ she yells at the throng. ‘I’m going to be sick.’ The crowd parts like the Red Sea. ‘Magic, that.’ She finds a used glass on the sink, rinses it and sloshes some water in clumsily. ‘Still not sober,’ she observes. ‘Take me back to the lounge.’
I take her hand and carry the hummus and crackers with the other. The crowd stands clear. I could be leading a celebrity on an opening night. ‘They’re scared of you,’ I murmur.
She smiles.
On the couch, she shovels in more dip and crackers. It should soak up some alcohol, at least. Nick’s back with the group in the corner and there’s a long row of empties lined up along the mantelpiece. I had forgotten that’s how it is down south. Everyone gets very good at drinking. Socially, that’s all there is to look forward to—your quota of grog, supplemented by home brew.
I ask Emma if Nick is her boyfriend, but she’s so busy munching on a cracker that she doesn’t hear me and the moment is gone. My resolve to ask her shrivels like plastic in an open fire. And anyway, if she says yes, what would I do? Get up and leave? Or bat out the evening feeling ill? Maybe it’s better to live in doubt. Emma seems happy to sit in silence. She pulls my arm around her shoulders like a rug and nestles in. It’s a good feeling. If I could just remove everyone else from the picture, it’d be romantic.
Several quiet minutes pass while we watch the other people in the room. I look down at her to pass some comment about the party, but she has slipped into a drunken doze. I hadn’t realised she was so out of it. I thought the hummus would be kicking in by now. Perhaps another glass of water would help.
I make sure she’s comfortable and then head to the kitchen. Somebody has turned on the lights in there and I see Nick by the sink so I grab a plastic cup off the bench and take it to the bathroom to fill. On the way, I pass what must be Nick’s bedroom. A pile of climbing gear lies tossed in the corner, and on top I see the harness I used at Freycinet just over a week ago. I try not to imagine Emma in this room with Nick. I try not to think of him fondling her, touching her, kissing her but I have little success blocking it out. The thought of his hands on her darkens my mind.
Why doesn’t she see it? Even I can tell that Nick’s a womaniser. There’s a reason he knows exactly what to do and say: too much experience.
When I return to the lounge, Emma is up dancing with a group of girls. She skols the cup of water I hand her, strokes my cheek and resumes dancing. I lean against the door with a fresh beer, enjoying watching her. Someone is doing a good job of mixing the music—a tall guy with a mop of dishevelled brown hair, remains for hours by the sound system, squinting at CDs between swigs of beer. I watch him deftly flicking discs into the tray and jabbing buttons to find the right songs. It’d be nice to know your music like that; to be able to keep people dancing and entertained, to seamlessly keep the music flowing.
Sometime after midnight, I slip out to check on Jess. It’s cold outside and the sky is dotted with stars. Jess raises her head from the floor to greet me, and I sit in the car with her for a while. I’m tired and I’ve had enough beer. For a few indulgent moments, I contemplate going home. But Emma might need me.