The Lightkeeper's Wife - By Karen Viggers Page 0,78

with our bowls resting on our knees. The food is good with the red wine and by the end of the first glass I can feel myself relaxing.

‘Do you have family in Hobart?’ Emma asks, sipping wine.

‘Mother, sister, brother, niece.’

‘Father?’

‘He died a a few years ago.’

‘Were you close?’

‘Not particularly.’

I think of Dad at the lighthouse, his thin shoulders and long serious face. I can hardly remember a conversation with him; certainly no conversations on topics of importance. What I recall is his hurried, jerky gait as he headed up the hill to the lighthouse, his quiet presence at the kitchen table, my yearning for his approval. He wore so little of himself on his exterior; I used to think he must be full of secrets and that there had to be some trigger to release them which I couldn’t find. When I was a teenager my relationship with him frustrated me. Later, I gave up and turned inwards to my own world. It was from him that I learned silence.

Emma is watching me.

‘How about your family?’ I ask.

‘They all live on the north coast of New South Wales. I’m the only one with polar tendencies.’ She takes another mouthful of stew and chews thoughtfully. ‘I don’t have a father either. He left when I was ten. Took up with the next-door neighbour, who was divorced. How convenient to have an affair with the woman next door! They bought a house in another suburb and Dad erased us from his life. His new wife didn’t want to compete with us so she made him cut us out. Pathetic, isn’t it? He didn’t even come to my sister’s wedding.’

Emma sloshes more wine into our glasses and raises hers high. ‘To families,’ she says with a twisted smile. ‘To non-existent relationships with fathers.’

I clink my glass against hers and drink, watching her.

‘What else can we drink to?’ she asks.

‘To going south?’

‘You’re obsessed with that, aren’t you?’

‘Only since I met you.’

She snorts. ‘I don’t believe you.’

I duck my head to avoid the knowing look in her eyes. ‘Over the past few years I’ve only thought about it remotely,’ I say. ‘It hasn’t been a possibility.’

‘And now it is?’

‘I don’t know.’

She looks at me incredulously. ‘Is that why you’re here?’

‘No. I’m here because I like you.’

She drinks her wine quickly. ‘You like me. What does that mean?’

I wonder what she wants me to say. That I love her? That I lust after her madly? Sure, I’m swept up in all of this. But I don’t really want to say I love you. What would it mean after only a couple of days?

‘I don’t mix relationships with going south.’ She’s issuing a warning.

I shrug. What am I supposed to say?

She presses harder. ‘You said you wanted to go south.’

‘Yes, I think I’d like to.’

‘You think you’d like to?’ She’s making this very difficult.

‘It’s not always easy to just get up and go.’

‘Why not?’

‘People have commitments.’

‘You mean things that tie them down.’

‘Things that make it hard to go.’ Like Mum. Like fear.

‘Like what? Mortgages? I thought you said you wanted to go south.’

‘I do, but it doesn’t have to be this season.’

‘And not necessarily with me.’

I grip my wineglass tight and try to halt the panic rising in my chest. Am I already ruining things between us? ‘I’d like to go south with you,’ I say. ‘But not if it doesn’t suit you.’

I reach out tentatively and take her hands in mine, but she tries to pull away. I wasn’t expecting this. She seemed so secure in herself up till now. I hold onto her hands. I like her and she likes me. This much I can tell, even if she’s confused right now.

What does she expect? She’s only been back a few weeks. She must have held herself so strongly down there, and now she’s breaking open, like me.

All I can manage is a husky whisper. ‘Emma, I really like you. Okay?’

She relaxes her hands, and I kiss her gently trying to communicate my understanding and empathy. I’m sure I fall short, but it’s the best I can do.

She stands up, turns off the lights and sits down with me again. I touch her face in the dark, following her features with my fingertips, running my thumb along the soft line of her lips. Her compliance makes me bold; that, and her earlier momentary lapse in confidence. Her body moving eagerly now beneath my hands makes me feel masculine. She’s so warm, so soft. Somehow she