The Lightkeeper's Wife (4 page)

‘Thank goodness for four-wheel drive,’ Jacinta said, a smile lighting her face. She was struggling to hold the car straight while the sand grabbed at the wheels. They parked on the grass beside the small building.

It was a log cabin, painted brown, with three big windows facing seawards and a grand view over the low coastal scrub to the flat expanse of the beach. Mary could see the tide running in and the hulk of the headland stretching south across the bay. On the front verandah there was a wooden picnic table and an old barbeque collecting rust.

Jacinta turned off the engine. ‘Are you sure it’s okay for us to do this? Someone might be staying here.’

Mary was already opening her car door. ‘I rang ahead to check. They’re expecting us to pop in.’ She slid out hurriedly, awkwardly, knowing she must usher her granddaughter inside before she could ask too many questions. Soon Jacinta would discover that not all had been revealed. She shuffled to the steps, noticing the sound of the sea rising over the dunes and the twitter of fairy wrens in the hushed lull between waves. ‘Could you bring the suitcase, please?’ she flung over her shoulder.

Jacinta was standing by the car, frowning. ‘Why do we need the case?’

‘Bring it inside and I’ll show you.’

Mary opened the door wide. Then she picked up a box of matches and a handwritten note from the kitchen bench.

‘What’s that?’ Jacinta asked from the doorway.

‘A note from the owners.’

‘Oh, good.’ Jacinta sounded relieved. ‘They really were expecting us.’ She set down the suitcase.

‘You didn’t believe me?’

‘I was beginning to have my doubts.’

‘Now you can stop doubting. Let’s turn the heater on. It’s cold in here.’

Jacinta took the matches. ‘Will the gas be on? Or should I go outside and check the bottle?’

‘It should be on.’

Jacinta opened the curtains and then squatted to light the heater. ‘Why don’t you sit on the couch?’ she said. ‘There’s a rug you can put over your knees.’

While Mary arranged the blanket around her legs, Jacinta filled the kettle and set it on the gas stove. She lit the ring and shook the match to extinguish the flame. ‘So this is why you didn’t bring a thermos.’

‘I forgot the thermos.’

‘But you knew we could get a cup of tea here.’

‘Yes.’

Jacinta stared at her for a long moment and Mary could feel her suspicion rising. ‘What’s going on, Nana?’

Ignoring the question, Mary gazed out the window, unsure how to give her granddaughter the truth without making her angry. Conflict was rare between them. It was unfamiliar and uncomfortable. Stalling, she studied the weather. Rain was coming in off the sea and the grey curtains of a squall were closing in. ‘How’s that kettle going?’ she asked.

‘It’ll take ages. The water’s freezing. What about your tablets? Is it time?’

‘They’re in the suitcase.’ They both turned to look at the case standing upright near the door. ‘Would you mind taking it into the bedroom?’ Mary asked, trying to control the quiver in her voice. ‘The furthest one. With the two single beds. Not the bunkroom.’

Jacinta frowned and went to look in the room, leaving the case where it stood. When she came out she sat down on an old armchair by the window and stared at Mary. ‘One of the beds is made up in there.’

‘Is it?’ Mary feigned surprise.

‘What’s going on?’

Over Jacinta’s shoulder, Mary could see the sea rolling in. A Pacific gull flapped slowly up the beach, hanging on the breeze. This was the moment she’d been dreading. ‘I’ve organised to stay here,’ she said. ‘It’s all arranged. I’ve rented this place for a month, and I’ve paid for a Parks ranger to stop in and check on me each day to make sure I’m all right.’

Jacinta looked at her without moving.

‘Everything will be fine,’ Mary went on, trotting out the reassuring spiel she had rehearsed so many times in the past few days. ‘The ranger can get me anything I need. If there are any problems, he can help me . . . if I run out of milk or whatever. And I’ve told them about my health. Everything I need is in the suitcase.’

‘What about your medication? And what if you’re ill? There’s no electricity and no telephone. If you run out of gas, you’ll freeze.’

‘There’s a spare gas bottle outside.’

‘What about food? You won’t feed yourself properly.’

‘I’ve paid to have the place stocked. And I can cook, you know.’

‘But you won’t. You’ll have a tin of baked beans or something ridiculous like that for dinner. Not real food.’

‘I can look after myself.’

‘Not if you get ill. They don’t even have a hospital on the island.’

A taut silence spread between them. In truth, Mary’s failing health was part of the reason for escaping. Part of the reason for being here, away from Jan’s grip.

Jacinta’s eyes brimmed with tears. ‘You could die out here, Nana.’

‘This is where I want to be.’

Tears slid down Jacinta’s cheeks, challenging Mary’s resolve. But she held herself strong. She had known she’d encounter opposition.

‘Mum will be furious,’ Jacinta said.

‘This is my decision.’

‘But it affects other people.’

‘Like who? Your mother?’ Mary’s anger flared. If Jan had her way Mary would have been booked into a home months ago.

‘You know she only wants what’s best for you.’

‘Is that so? Surely I’m the best judge of that.’

Jacinta scrubbed her face with her wrist, wiping away tears. ‘Mum will say you’re not rational.’

‘Of course she’ll say that.’

‘You know she’ll persuade Gary. And she’ll work on Tom too.’

Mary shook her head. Of Tom’s loyalty she was certain. She and Tom knew each other without words. ‘Your mother might influence Gary,’ she said, ‘but Tom won’t listen to her.’

They lapsed to silence again and rain started to patter on the roof. Outside, soft mist wrapped around the cabin. The sea was steely grey and chopped with whitecaps. Mary felt her nerves settling. She would hold strong. There was no argument that would take her back to rot in Hobart. She was here for her own purpose; for Jack. And she would not allow Jan to slot her into a home. That was the nub of it: she was taking action before Jan could make her a captive.

Jacinta tried again. ‘I can’t let you do this, Nana. It isn’t safe.’

‘Life isn’t safe.’

Jacinta pleaded, ‘Can’t I just bring you down here on day trips? I can take time off work and go for walks so you’ll be alone.’

‘It wouldn’t be the same. I need time by myself down here.’

Jacinta stared out the window. ‘Mum’s going to be so angry.’ She sighed and stood up to check the kettle in the kitchen.

Mary regretted having to bring Jacinta into this. And her granddaughter was right. Jan would be furious. Down here, Mary was beyond her sphere of control. In recent times, as Mary deteriorated, it seemed Jan had relished the notion of taking charge. She was always asking about her health, almost swooning with delight each time Mary had an attack of angina. Mary wondered how such animosity had entered their relationship. Over the years she’d tried to appease Jan; taking her to lunch, meeting her for coffee after school, cooking roasts. When Jan’s husband left, Mary had supported her through the anger and grief. She’d even gone to the movies with Jan a few times, despite the pain of her arthritis in those cramped cinema seats. But the rift was too great. Mary had accepted an uneasy truce.

‘Why
here
?’ Jacinta was saying. ‘Why not at the lighthouse? At least there’d be someone around. And a telephone.’

Mary shook her head. ‘It wouldn’t have felt right, staying in my old house. It wouldn’t be the same. And the keepers’ cottages are too cold.’

It was more than that. Too much had happened at the lighthouse. If she stayed there, she couldn’t dodge all that. She had needed to come
here
, where she could remember Jack at his best, before the distance and solitude of the cape seeped into his soul.

‘I’m sure the cottages have better heating these days,’ Jacinta said.

‘No. It’s more peaceful here. And I can see the sea.’ The cottages on the cape hadn’t been built for the view; the kitchen windows faced the light tower on the hill. The lighthouse authorities wanted people to have their minds on the job.

The kettle boiled at last and Jacinta made tea. She grunted when she opened the gas fridge and found it well provisioned— further evidence of Mary’s deception. She placed some biscuits and a cup of tea on the coffee table and sat down again.

‘I don’t like this, Nana,’ she said, taking Mary’s wrinkled hand. ‘But I suppose this hasn’t been easy for you either. And it’s not for me to tell you what to do.’

Now it was Mary’s turn to blink away tears.

Jacinta’s sigh was heavy. ‘Why did you choose
me
to bring you here?’

‘Because I knew you’d understand.’

‘Not Tom?’

‘He’s less able to cope with Jan than you are.’

‘You’ve thought of everything.’

‘I tried to. I don’t want to cause any trouble.’

‘
This
is trouble.’ Jacinta stood up, hands on hips. She laughed a little brokenly and Mary’s heart twisted. ‘You tricked me into bringing you here.’

‘I didn’t want to trick you.’

Jacinta gazed out the window and Mary felt distance swimming between them. ‘I’m sorry, Jacinta.’

Jacinta smiled shakily down at her. ‘It’s okay. I’ll get used to it. But I think I’ll go for a walk, if you don’t mind. The rain’s stopped and I need some fresh air. I’ll get my coat from the car.’

She gave Mary a hug and then went out into the wind. Mary heard the car door bang and saw her stride over the dunes onto the beach. It was good for Jacinta to get out into the weather. Her spirit would be soothed and the wind would settle her; when she came back she’d be calm. It always worked that way. There was space out there for a heart to grow large. Mary had lived her life knowing this secret.

And for life, you needed a large heart.

3

Something’s happening, some sort of storm brewing. I’ve never been intuitive, but today there’s a strange sense of tension and foreboding in the air. I feel it in the wind and the damp cold of the clouds pressing down on the forest. I’m lost in it, suspended in an eerie uncertainty.

From the front verandah of my house in Coningham, thirty minutes south of Hobart, I can see through the trees to the channel where the late afternoon light is pearl-grey. On the calm waters towards Bruny Island, the boats of the Sunday yacht fleet are finishing their picnics and returning home. I sit in my deckchair and watch the green rosellas crunching seeds on the feeder. All flutter and twitter, busy beaks and ruffled feathers, they know nothing of what I feel. They side-step around the edges of the feeder on ridiculously short legs, and bob to scoop up seeds with crooked bills. Then they husk them, twisting the seeds with grey bobble tongues. Their routine doesn’t change. Today, I find this reassuring.

The birds may be oblivious, but the dog at my feet knows something’s happening. Jess is a brown kelpie with triangular prick ears, a bushy tail and bright yellow eyes. She reads my moods exactly. I like it that she knows things without asking. I like it that she doesn’t speak. People have too many words. They’ve fenced themselves in with walls and roofs and entertainment.

Too much indoors, too little sky.

My house is close to nature and clouds and birds. I chose it because it’s peaceful. In this street there are only a few scattered houses, mostly holiday homes. Some days I wave at the old couple next door and they wave back, but that’s as far as it goes. I’ve never been particularly social. Probably it’s because of the lighthouse, growing up surrounded by the wilderness of Cape Bruny. But I’ve been worse in recent years. More reclusive. These days my definition of contentedness is Jess and me, sitting here by ourselves, away from people’s eyes.

Behind us the forest slides down the slope, hugging close to the back fence, and shade comes early in the afternoon. From the lounge room, the view to North Bruny, hunching against the horizon, reminds me where I have come from. It takes me back to the light station. If I close my eyes I can almost feel the wind lashing the cape. I could stand above the cliffs inhaling air with the bite of ice on its breath. I’d stay out as long as I could, waiting to see an albatross skimming over the waves far below or a sea eagle rocketing across the cape with its wings bent in the blast.

As early evening slips over the water, Jess and I remain on the deck watching the last boats trickle home. The light fades and the birds disappear. I hear a possum scraping its way down a tree adjacent to the house. It thuds onto the roof and gallops across like an elephant in army boots. Then it climbs onto the railing, brush tail waving and pink nose sniffing. I can feel Jess holding her breath. One of her front legs is raised as if her foot is listening. She sits and watches, her whole being straining against obedience. She wants to give chase and snap at that furry tail. But obedience wins and she sits tight by my knee.

The phone rings and Jess leaps to her feet, scrabbling on the deck. The scratch of her toenails startles the possum as it extends its nose to sniff the slivers of apple I’ve placed on the railing. As the phone continues to ring, Jess races to the front door and barks. She keeps barking after I go inside to pick up the phone. Even after I shout at her, she follows me into the lounge room, barking at the night, at the possum, at me for the tension I’ve been carrying all day.