The Lightkeeper's Wife - By Karen Viggers Page 0,28
terrifyingly large.
At the kitchen bench, she dutifully shook tablets from various vials and gulped them down with icy water. It was essential that she maintain her health as long as possible and not succumb to the absent-mindedness which hovered so close about her. A stream of recollections had stolen chunks of her morning, and she’d forgotten her ten o’clock medication.
She sat on the couch, a sandwich and a mug of tea before her on the coffee table, and stared vacantly out the window, fighting a surge of agitation. If only she could relax and absorb the view. She looked down at the sandwich with apathetic distaste.
Finally, she heard a dull bang outside that could have been a car door closing. Then there were rapid footsteps on the verandah and a shadow passing the window. It must be him, the ranger. A loud knock battered the door. He sounded in a hurry.
‘Come in,’ she called.
The door swung open and a young man stood there in the Parks uniform: khaki shirt and trousers with a green jumper. He was stocky with red hair parted in the middle and pale skin dotted with freckles. His hand was tight on the door handle and his face wore the bland lack of interest of a schoolboy. He frowned at her, saying nothing. Mary’s turmoil increased. Obviously, he didn’t want to be here: this was going to be challenging. She reached for her walking stick and heaved herself up, offering her hand. ‘I’m Mary Mason. Come in and take a seat.’
He released the door handle reluctantly and stepped across the room to shake her hand. She returned his grip as vigorously as she could manage, wanting him to think she was sprightly and interesting, even though she was, in truth, a withered scrap of womanhood. In her enthusiasm, she clutched his hand too long. His eye was already set on the door, but she must not let him leave yet.
‘I’m pleased to meet you,’ she said. ‘Perhaps you’d like a cup of tea.’
He recoiled, tugging his hand loose. ‘Sorry. Not today, Mrs Mason. I’m just making a quick visit to check on you.’
‘Yes. Well, I’m still alive.’
‘You don’t need anything?’
‘Nothing beyond a bit of human company.’
‘That’s good to hear.’ He was already backing towards the door. ‘I’ll look in on you tomorrow.’
‘You won’t stay?’
‘I’ve got other jobs to do.’ His hand was on the door handle again.
‘And your name?’ she asked.
‘Leon.’ His reply was a mumble, almost incoherent. ‘Leon Walker.’
‘How about tomorrow then, Leon?’ she suggested. ‘I’ll have the kettle warm.’
Her persistence finally paid off. ‘All right then,’ he said grudgingly. ‘Tomorrow.’
He left before she could say anything more, and she was piqued. Perhaps he was irritated by old people. Perhaps he was determined not to like her. What could she do? She needed to secure his assistance somehow. She decided to walk out over the dunes—likely he’d gone to check the campground, and he’d probably make a quick circuit of the campsites and return. There should just be enough time for her to get out on the beach, and when he came driving back along the sand, he’d think: There goes that old lady, Mary Mason. She’s a game one, out here in this weather. It would elevate her in his estimation and he would no longer look at her like a bothersome fly around the barbeque.
She shuffled to the bedroom and dug for her coat amid the clothes draped over a chair. Tugging on the coat, she grasped her cane and hurried out the door. There was a fearsome wind outside, laden with salt and blasting through the scrub on the dunes. It was just as well she was wearing trousers. It wouldn’t do to be out in a dress. Pulling up the collar of her coat, she leaned into the wind and stumbled down the hill. Her cough startled a scarlet robin from a fence post, and Mary paused to watch the bird dip away over the grass.
The track descended into sand. She followed Leon’s tyre marks over the crest of the dunes where the wind seemed to accelerate, gushing up from the beach. With effort, she climbed down the dune, sliding in the loose sand. She was beginning to wonder if she was being sensible. But sensible or not, having come this far, she needed to go on. He had to see her out there. He had to engage with her.
On the beach, she turned her back to the wind and made