The Lightkeeper's Wife - By Karen Viggers Page 0,31

supposed to do, sit there and have a nice chat with her? What would he say, anyway? How was it back in the time of the ark? When are you booked in for your next blue rinse? But that was a bit harsh. He didn’t really know anything about her.

He swung the car up the mountain road and fanged around the curves. This was the benefit of knowing the roads so well; he could drive this route almost in his sleep. Not that he’d boast about that to his mother. Christ! Still living at home at his age. What an embarrassment. If only there was a resolution in sight—then he could apply for a job somewhere else. He’d tried to hint to his mother that she should seriously consider moving out, but he already knew she wouldn’t do it. The old man was a bastard. God knows why she stayed.

Up on the mountain, he pulled over for some fresh air, stomping up the Mount Mangana trail. The track was always wet underfoot and he found the smell of the damp bush soothing. It reminded him of compost, of the forest recycling itself. He liked that about nature, the cycle of things. It was a pity none of the big old trees were left. He’d have to get back over to mainland Tasmania for forests like that—where the trees had diameters larger than the distance around his four-wheel drive. Well, not his four-wheel drive. The Parks vehicle.

He often came here when things weren’t good at home. It was only about a twenty-minute drive from Adventure Bay. Few people came through on weekdays, especially at this time of year, and he could yell satisfyingly at the trees and the sky without worrying about disturbing anyone. Yelling was good for releasing tension, he’d discovered. And it was best done alone.

He figured he’d be doing a bit of yelling about Mary Mason up here over the next few weeks. Then he snorted. Truly, the old dame didn’t look too good. And that cough of hers was a shocker. It made him think of a death rattle. Maybe she wouldn’t be around too long anyway. The thought made him feel guilty; he shouldn’t wish her dead. And besides, guess who’d be the lucky sucker to find her if she did cark it? Living on Bruny, he’d sometimes imagined he might come across a body washed ashore—the coast was so remote around here. But this was different. Every time he went into that cabin at Cloudy Bay he’d be wondering if Mrs Mason was dead.

Well, the first hurdle was this cup of tea tomorrow. He’d hoped wearing his uniform today might discourage her, remind her of his numerous other responsibilities. But then again, he was being paid to check on her. And there was no such thing as a free lunch.

He climbed back into the car and drove down off the mountain to see what mess might be waiting for him at home.

9

Morning had always been Mary’s favourite time of day. It was when she was freshest and most positive, and somehow everything seemed cleanest. In this corner of the world, it was also generally the part of the day before the wind came up and the rain closed in. This morning was surprisingly clear. The sea was calm—barely a ripple—and the odd wavelet collapsed noisily in the stillness. Across the bay, the features of the cliffs were emerging—brown and grey and deeply lined with shadows—and the sea reflected silver.

She was standing by the window watching fairy wrens bopping and twittering on the lawn. And she was thinking of her favourite son, Tom.

On peaceful days like this, he used to say the ocean was resting. That it was waiting for the weather to change, preparing to receive a battering when the wind returned. It couldn’t always be quiet, he said, or the cape would become complacent and forget what it was there for; to be torn by wind and weather. He was right, of course. Periods of calm had a purpose. They were times for storing energy. And energy was essential to fuel a soul to deal with life’s challenges.

Sometimes Tom seemed wise, but he did worry her. All that awkwardness and that sad inability to move on with life. Forty-two and on his own. She hadn’t envisaged it that way. She hoped there was someone out there for him, some nice girl who’d understand and nurture him. She’d been relieved when he married Debbie, despite