The Lightkeeper's Wife - By Karen Viggers Page 0,4
a hunch. You’re developing too much influence. Taking her son away.’
‘Are all mothers like that?’
Mary laughed. ‘Not me. I was relieved when Judy snapped up Gary. I thought he’d never find a wife.’
‘What about Tom?’
Mary hesitated. Yes, Tom. It had been nine years now since he’d returned from Antarctica, and still no sign of healing. ‘He’ll sort things out eventually,’ she said. ‘But how about you and Alex?’
‘I think he needs to experience a bit more of the world before the business takes over his life.’
Mary’s smile was wry. ‘Isn’t that always the way with lawyers? Making money while the sun shines?’
Jacinta’s forehead puckered. ‘I don’t want to be his sacrifice. We need to move in and commit to each other before he sinks into his career.’
‘And is Alex ready for that?’
‘I think so.’
‘Good. A plan.’ Mary liked plans. It meant you were more than halfway to working things out. Alex ought to be ready. Jacinta was a special girl. A bit of nest-making might accelerate things.
As they talked, the ferry had approached the landing, engines grinding, and bumped into position. Deck hands tossed heavy ropes over bollards, then the ramps lowered and the Bruny traffic clunked off and away. Jacinta followed the line of cars onto the ferry. There were few vehicles going across so only the lower deck was loaded. When they were all parked, the ramps were cranked up, and the throb of the engines shuddered through the decks as the ferry pushed away.
They churned out past the headland, swinging slowly south-east. Mary climbed out of the car, donned her coat and hat and walked slowly to the front of the ferry. This was her favourite place, watching the water froth up at the bow and the gulls cruising by on the chill air. She had crossed the channel many times before. Sometimes with the children, attempting to curb their enthusiasm to climb up for a better view. Other times, she’d been alone, with space to dissect her life.
On the surface, happiness seemed little enough to ask for. Mostly, she and Jack had been lucky. They’d managed to sew themselves back together in troubled times. She ought to be proud of what they’d achieved.
Shivering, she gazed towards North Bruny. The water was liquid glass and the cold cut through her like ice. It was a typical late-autumn day. The sort of day that gave the southlands their moodiness. The long, grey, misty light. It made her feel nostalgic.
Jacinta came to stand beside her and they hooked elbows. Warm against cold. Strength against weariness. Eventually, Jacinta led her back to the car. They sat with the engine running and the heaters on, watching the low wooded hills of North Bruny loom closer, widening into pastures with trees and wire fences.
Mary was surprised to find tears again welling in her eyes.
As they drove east over the island, Mary watched the paddocks blur by. Hunched in her seat, she was trying to retain every detail of the scenery. It was different, this trip—knowing she wouldn’t pass this way again. The land was drying out, even here, where it used to be so lush. She remembered a time when rain pounded the whole island and cloaked it in green. These days, the storms that lashed South Bruny wore themselves out by the time they reached the north part of the island, and now it looked as cracked and weathered as her skin.
Her eyes scraped the landscape, seeking the old Bruny, the things she and Jack had loved. She had forgotten the way the road curved over the hills. Black swans were resting on a farm dam. And here were two white geese in a paddock. She was surprised to see piles of weathered grey logs waiting to be burned. With so much of the forest already gone, were people still clearing?
They turned south on the main Bruny road and drove past mudflats where pied oystercatchers waded in the shallows, plucking crabs. In the scrub, yellow wattlebirds clacked. There was a short section of tarred road through Great Bay then they were back on gravel, passing coastal farmland where dirty sheep competed with thickets of bracken.
They came to the Neck; a few cars in the roadside carpark. This was where a wooden walkway crossed the dunes and ascended the hill. Mary knew that path well. Beneath the walkway were the burrows of a thousand mutton birds and little penguins. If you knew where to look, you could see small webbed footprints crisscrossing