The Lightkeeper's Wife - By Karen Viggers Page 0,48

now with the Adelies gone and their nests a field of scattered stones.

Debbie sounded surprised when I answered the phone, as if she’d expected the answering machine. Her voice was distant, tinged with the sense of dislocation that had entered our conversations over the past months. ‘Tom. I didn’t expect to find you in your room.’

‘I was just about to go down to dinner.’ The smell of food was wafting up the stairs through the LQ.

‘Is it dinner time down there? I keep forgetting the time difference.’

When Debbie and I talked on the phone, we usually chatted about the small things that made up our everyday lives. Debbie would give me a description of the curtains she’d ordered or the new items she’d bought for the kitchen, the colour she’d put in her hair. She’d tell me about the people that were annoying her at work, how her boss was giving her the creeps. And then I’d tell her what was happening on station. The silly things people were doing. The party that had spontaneously erupted on Saturday night while I was reading in my room. The tedium of work in the shed. The complexities of living in a small insular community. But this time, she was strangely quiet. People were passing my room, heading down to dinner. I got off my bed and closed the door.

‘How are you?’ I asked.

‘I’m okay . . . Actually, I’m less than okay, Tom . . .’

Silence spun out, filling with my fear. This was the phone call all winterers dread. Something had happened at home. Maybe Mum or Dad; possibly an accident. I couldn’t breathe.

‘Tom?’

‘I’m still here.’ My soul was whirling with the wind outside, my eyes fixed on white distance. ‘Are Mum and Dad all right?’ I asked.

‘They’re fine. Everyone’s fine except me.’ She sounded mournful. ‘You’re such a long way away.’

Yes. So far away. A world away over ice. ‘We knew it’d be like this,’ I said.

‘Like what, Tom?’ Her voice welled with emotion. ‘Did we know how lonely it would be for me? That I’d be sitting here looking at four walls with only the TV for company while you’re down there with a crowd having a party?’

‘I don’t go to many parties.’ I’ve kept myself separate for her. I’ve thought of her constantly, waiting at home in Hobart. The time passing slowly.

‘. . . I’ve been so lonely, Tom.’

Silence again. I felt myself sinking. What could I do? Nothing could change the fact of my isolation. We sat. The quiet stretched awkwardly. Then I found something that barely resembled my voice. ‘Tell me how it is for you.’

Another awful silence. Then Debbie, tight and hesitant. ‘I just don’t think I can do this anymore. It’s too hard on my own.’

Warning bells in my head. ‘You wanted this—so we could get ahead.’

‘I couldn’t have known it would be this bad,’ she said.

‘Isn’t there anyone you can talk to?’

‘Everyone’s sick of me. Antarctica, Antarctica, Antarctica—it’s all I ever talk about. How do you cope, Tom?’

‘I work.’ Hours in the workshop. Time measuring itself out in the systematic servicing of engines. ‘And I read. And get off station whenever I can. Helping people. I write to you . . .’ Silence. ‘Perhaps you could try talking to the counsellors at the antdiv?’

Debbie’s disgust hammered down the line. ‘It’s no wonder they have counsellors on tap. I bet this happens all the time. Counselling won’t help. All they can tell me is that a bunch of other wives feel just like I do.’

Another silence.

‘I’m sorry, Tom, but I’ve met somebody.’

The slow heavy sound of my breathing. The wind outside. The snow blowing. Everything drifting away.

‘Tom. Are you there? I said I’ve met somebody. Someone who’s here for me.’

A hollow sound. My voice, as if from very far away. ‘I’m here for you.’

Debbie, matter-of-fact: ‘Tom, you’re an impossible distance away. I can’t do this anymore.’

‘How long?’ I asked.

Debbie’s reply was less assured. ‘It’s been a while . . . I didn’t know how to tell you . . .’

She’d met him months ago, apparently. Two, three, four months. She’d waited until the last ship had left for the season before telling me so I had no escape. No recourse. Why hadn’t I felt her pulling away? Or perhaps I had. Maybe I’d ignored the signs.

‘There was nothing I could say, really,’ she continued. ‘I mean, what would I have said? That the distance was getting to me and I could feel myself becoming