The Lightkeeper's Wife - By Karen Viggers Page 0,148
out on the bed. The coat hangers. The musty smell. ‘How’s Jan coping?’ I ask.
‘Better than expected.’ A brief smile flickers on Jacinta’s lips. ‘We’ve decided to give everything to the Salvos. Mum thought Nana would want someone to use her things rather than throwing them all away.’
I pick up a shell from the sand and toss it into the water. Far out across the channel the small boat is still thrumming.
‘Tom, I wanted to bring this to you.’ Jacinta bends forward and takes an envelope from the back pocket of her jeans. ‘I found it in Nana’s suitcase. The one she took to Cloudy Bay. It has your name on it.’ She hands the envelope to me and I look at it with vague interest.
‘I don’t recognise the handwriting,’ I say.
‘Perhaps you should read it. It might be important.’
I stare at the unfamiliar spidery scrawl. I can’t imagine what the letter could be about. The will’s been dealt with. I turn the envelope over a couple of times before opening it. Inside is a piece of folded paper. I unfold it, flattening it against my leg. Then I read the uneven writing looping from line to line down the page.
Dear Tom,
I suspect if you are reading this letter, your mother is dead. Mary was a grand lady in her time, but she was very strong and opinionated. To deliver this letter to you while she was alive would have been too difficult for her. I forgive her for that, even though it means more time lost for me.
You see, Mary carried a secret that was important not only to her, but also to me. I met your mother in a park in Hobart when she was sixteen, and over ten days we became close friends. Ten days doesn’t seem like long enough to fall in love, but your mother was a passionate person, as you probably know. Our lives were bound together in those few short days in ways neither of us could ever foresee.
When your mother’s parents found out about me, they sent her to Bruny Island. There she met Jack. I didn’t see her for many years. But time does not weaken the strongest of bonds.
There was an occasion, when your mother was living with her parents in Hobart, that I met her alone. Her parents and two children were out. Jack was on Bruny Island. And you were not yet born. I heard from other people in Hobart that Mary stayed another six weeks before going back to Jack. The records of your birthdate indicate that you must have been conceived during this period when Mary was away from Bruny Island. This is how I know you are my son.
I don’t know what a man should say to a son he has never met, but I do know this. If you are willing, after you have come to terms with this revelation, I would like to meet you. I will not be offended if you choose not to contact me. However, you must know that I start each day with the hope that it will be the day you call me.
Yours sincerely,
Adam Singer
By the time I arrive at the signature I’m shaking. Who is this Adam Singer? My eyes skim blindly over the phone number written at the bottom. I fold the letter and put it away, then pull it out again with quivering hands and read it once more before handing it to Jacinta.
‘Read it,’ I say, looking out across the water, wondering if the thunder I am hearing is in my ears or my heart.
Presently, I feel Jacinta’s hand gripping my arm. ‘Perhaps it isn’t true.’ I turn to look at her. She’s pale and stunned. ‘Maybe it’s some sort of prank,’ she says helplessly. She looks so worried and I feel like I’m floating, ethereal and formless.
‘I don’t know who I am,’ I say.
‘Yes, you do.’ She clutches my arm tighter. ‘You’re Tom Mason. Nothing changes that. You’re the same person you’ve always been.’
I look at her, blank. ‘My roots are gone.’ That’s how I feel. Like a tree with no roots. A puff of wind could blow me down.
‘Perhaps this could be a good thing,’ Jacinta says.
‘What do you mean?’
‘Being without roots,’ she says. ‘It could be liberating.’
I stare at her, unconvinced. ‘How can this man be my father?’
Jacinta frowns. ‘Perhaps he isn’t.’
I shake my head. ‘He must have been. Mum must have known what this letter was about.’