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.
‘Hold on,’ I yell into the phone. I shoo Jess outside and she dashes down the stairs and runs quickly around the house. ‘Sorry,’ I say into the phone. ‘Who is it?’
‘Jacinta.’
I can tell by the angst in her voice that this phone call relates to the sense of expectation I’ve felt all day.
‘Tom,’ she says. ‘I took Nana down to Bruny Island today. She made me leave her there. She’s staying in a cabin at Cloudy Bay.’
I know the cabin at the far end of Cloudy Bay, tucked behind the dunes, hiding from the wind. Jess and I have often walked ourselves into emptiness on that beach, and I’ve peeped through the window of the cabin. It looks homely and snug. I think of Mum sitting on the couch, remembering the past.
‘Did I do the right thing leaving her there?’ Jacinta asks. ‘I’m concerned about her health.’
I hear the ticking of a motorboat out on the channel.
‘She says it’s what she wants,’ Jacinta continues. ‘To be down there by herself.’
I find my voice. ‘Jan and Gary won’t agree.’
‘What should we do?’
‘I’m not sure.’
‘Alex says I should call a family meeting.’
Dread creeps beneath my skin.
‘What if I arrange for everyone to come here to Nana’s house tonight?’ Jacinta says. ‘Can you make it?’
‘You’re at Battery Point?’
‘Yes, I came straight here. Tom, she’s left it perfect . . . I don’t think she’s planning on coming back.’
So, Mum’s expecting to die out at Bruny. I knew she didn’t want to fade away in a nursing home, and I know she hasn’t been well lately, but this Bruny escapade seems a bit extreme. And I’m surprised she didn’t discuss it with me. I’m not like Jan and Gary, both loud and uncompromising in their opinions; I would have listened to her. Now I can’t think what to say. Mum’s death isn’t something I’m prepared for. I can’t imagine her not being around.
‘I’ll organise the meeting for seven thirty,’ Jacinta says. She pauses and I stare blankly into silence. ‘Are you okay, Tom?’
‘I think so.’
‘Drive carefully, won’t you? And be on time. I don’t want to be worrying about you if you’re late.’
‘No. I don’t want to worry you.’
When I turn off the house lights and step out into darkness, Jess is there beneath my hand, pushing up at me with her wet nose. She snuffles under my palm and I run my hand over the velvet of her ears and the dome of her head. She’s warm and soft and solid in a night that has somehow dissolved into air. I can hear her panting beside me as we walk down the steps and then down the steep concrete path to the car. The possum scrambles up a tree trunk as we pass.
I open the front door of the Subaru and Jess bounds in and dives to the floor on the passenger side. She knows where she belongs and she always obeys the rules. Tonight, she’s as uptight as I am. She’s panting so hard, I’m not sure which is louder—Jess or the old car engine.
‘Hey, girl.’ I slide my hand past the gear stick and ruffle her head. By the glow of the streetlight I see her yellow eyes staring at me. ‘We’re off to a party.’
The car rolls quickly down the driveway and I brake and put it into gear before we reach the bottom of the hill. We turn left onto the road towards the highway, passing
shadowy houses brooding in the bush. The road descends to the water’s edge, curving narrow and close to the shore. As I take one of the corners too fast, Jess sits up, whines and rests her chin on the front seat. Then she turns a tight circle and curls up on the floor again.
What was it Jacinta said about driving carefully?
But I can’t concentrate. If Mum dies, I don’t know what I’ll do.
As usual, the street outside Mum’s house in Battery Point is choked with cars. When they built the houses here, they didn’t know this area was destined to become expensive real estate. It takes time to find a parking space. Then Jess and I walk back along the footpath, dodging vehicles with their wheels on the pavement. Jess decides to relieve herself on a small square of grass and I wait while she hunches in embarrassment and then tries not to notice me swiping up her droppings in a plastic bag. I tuck the bag in Mum’s rubbish bin before approaching the front door.
I’m late and they’re all in the kitchen waiting for me. I hear the drone of their voices when I open the door and step into the hall. Jess’s toenails click on the wooden floor. We’re almost through the sliding doors before I realise I haven’t taken a breath.
‘Here he is.’ Jacinta rises to take my arm and guide me to a seat.
Jan and Gary are already at the table frowning into cups of tea. Gary has left his wife, Judy, at home, and perhaps that’s a good thing tonight. Alex is at the sink setting out extra mugs. No doubt he’s here to provide moral support for Jacinta. And she’s going to need it, judging by the way Jan glares at me as I drag out my chair. She glances down at Jess with distaste.
‘Couldn’t you leave the dog at home?’
Jan doesn’t understand dogs. She doesn’t understand people either, even though she thinks she’s an expert. I sit down and Jess curls under my feet.
‘The dog’s all right,’ Gary grunts. He’s spread on his chair like a Buddha. Over the past years his body has ballooned— too much time spent pressing buttons on his computer and remote controls instead of exercise. He nods his chins at me. ‘How’s things?’
I shrug. ‘Not sure.’
The Lightkeeper's Wife Page 3