The Lightkeeper's Wife

27



Saturday night is Emma’s party, and I don’t think my acceptance was a particularly good idea. I haven’t been to a party in years. I’m useless at small talk. And I don’t want to see Nick again. If Emma gets a chance to line us up side by side in a social setting, I know which man will be found wanting. I’ll be the gangly awkward one who can’t even paste a friendly smile on his face.

I don’t know why I’m going to this party anyway. I should be down at Bruny with Mum. She looked dreadful when I visited with Gary on Wednesday, weak and vague. That cough is killing her. Gary said Dad was the same.

I pull on jeans, a green shirt and a grey fleece top. It’s not even worth looking in the mirror—all I will see is my inadequacy. I grab my keys from the bench before I can convince myself not to go.

Jess is waiting at the front door. I’m not sure if I should take her: I don’t want to leave her in the car for three or four hours, but then again, if I have to check on my dog perhaps it’ll give me an excuse to leave. I open the door and follow Jess to the car. She’s joyous to be going out and I wish I could share a fraction of her excitement. All I feel is dread.

Outside Emma’s house, I sit in the car with the radio on, waiting for eight o’clock. When the ABC news fanfare starts, I stay in the car a few minutes longer to hear out the news and get the weather forecast. Then I get out and shut the car door. I stand awhile in the street. The house is lit like a birthday with fairy lights strung up specially for the party. I jingle the keys in my pocket, open the gate and plod up the steps to the front door to ring the doorbell. There are footsteps and a shadow moving inside and the door finally swings open. It’s Nick.

‘Oh, it’s you,’ he says, his face expressionless. ‘Emma must have asked everyone she knows.’

Now Emma appears behind him and grabs his arm to pull him out of the way. ‘Isn’t that the idea?’ She smiles up at Nick and then at me. ‘Parties are best when there’s a good crowd. Come through to the kitchen.’

Nick stomps off down the hall and I follow Emma through the house. She’s wearing jeans and a purple top glittering with silver sequins.

‘I like your top,’ I say as we come into the kitchen.

‘Borrowed it from a friend,’ she says. ‘I don’t own anything like this. It’s a bit glitzy for me.’

‘I think it suits you.’ I feel like I’m trying too hard.

Emma glances down at my hands and then opens the fridge. ‘Want a drink?’ she asks.

A drink? Oh God, I feel like a complete idiot. She did say it was BYO. ‘I’m sorry,’ I mumble. ‘I forgot to stop at the pub.’

‘No matter,’ she says vaguely. ‘There’s plenty here.’

‘No. No.’ I’m hoarse with embarrassment. ‘I’ll just pop down the street. It won’t take a minute.’

I retreat quickly down the hall to the door. No wonder she was looking at me like that. I’ve committed a major social faux pas. And I’m here too early. Nobody else has arrived. Only a fool is on time to a party. I’ve forgotten how to be a normal human being.

‘Tom,’ Emma calls. ‘Don’t worry about it.’

She appears from the kitchen, while I stand with my hand on the doorknob. Her face is flushed and smiling. She’s not judging, I realise; it’s me who is doing all the flagellation here.

‘There’s plenty of grog.’ She slips her hand over mine on the doorknob. ‘Just stay.’

‘I won’t feel right.’ My heart is beating hard at her proximity. Perhaps she doesn’t mind me being early after all.

‘Let him go.’ Nick comes down the corridor doing up the cuffs of a white shirt. He looks brown-faced, healthy and masculine. ‘It’s going to be a big night. Won’t hurt to have a few reserves.’

‘I’ll come with you.’ Emma is right beside me at the door.

‘We have to light the candles and put out the food,’ Nick says.

‘Emma,’ another voice calls from the kitchen, ‘where’s the hummus?’

‘It’s okay. I’ll be back soon.’ I back out the door, feeling Emma’s hand slip off mine, and then Nick has his arm around her waist and is shepherding her towards the kitchen. She might have said that he doesn’t own her, but he’s acting like he does.

In the street, I can breathe again. The best thing I could do right now is to get in the car and drive home. But Emma is expecting me to return, and, pathetic though I am, I can’t let her down. I shove my hands in my pockets and start walking down the hill. My car is the only one parked in the street. Why didn’t I notice this before? I’m so out of practice, it’s a tragedy. If a party’s happening, there should be cars everywhere.


I manage to take more than an hour buying half a dozen beers and a bottle of wine. When I come back up the hill, cars are parked up and down the street. I’m now fashionably late. I stop by the Subaru and let Jess out to stretch her legs. She squats with some embarrassment on the nature strip then bounds back into the car and snuggles down on my seat. She’s happy that I’m back and that I haven’t deserted her. I guess she’s keeping her eye on me, just in case.

I drum my fingers on the roof of the car and watch people climbing out of another vehicle further up the street. They’re laughing, talking animatedly. How nice it would be to enter a party with the added confidence of being with a friend. But I can’t delay much longer. It’s time to go and face the mob. I sweep my plastic bag of clinking bottles off the top of the car and walk through the gate and up the steps to the front door for the second time tonight.

Through the window I can see the lights have been dimmed and music is now throbbing. I bang on the door. Wait. Knock again. Then I let myself in. Music swells out. Music and smoke. I hear laughter from the kitchen, so I shut the door behind me and walk tentatively towards the sound. Somebody sweeps past me in the semi-dark, and then I have to push past bodies in the doorway to get into the kitchen. Everything is candlelit. Faces glow in the flickering light and the smoke haze softens outlines. The hubbub of conversation is loud as I move towards the fridge, weaving around the overheated bodies of people I’ve never seen before.

‘No room in the fridge,’ someone yells. ‘Go to the laundry. There’s ice in the sink.’

I wave and squeeze through another door and someone points me to the laundry where a candle is shivering on the windowsill. While I’m pulling the beers out of their packaging so I can bury them to keep them cool, a guy leans over me and fishes out a couple of drinks. He’s sweaty and his dark hair hangs around his face. I can smell the smoke on his breath. The party’s only been going an hour and this guy is smashed.

‘Get one into you,’ he says. ‘Bloody good party.’ He stumbles out.

I linger in the gloom of the laundry with an open beer in my hand before I muster the courage to search for Emma. I can’t face going back into the crowded kitchen, so I follow someone through to the lounge room where party lights are strung around the curtains and light fittings as well as the mantelpiece above the gas fire. I see the glow of Nick’s white shirt in one corner; he’s with a group of people. I can’t see if Emma is among them. In another corner, a cluster of guys is laughing loudly and clinking beers.

I slide further into the room and stand against the wall, sipping my beer. On the couch, a couple is deep in conversation. The guy is obviously chatting up the girl—he’s playing with her hair and her hand is on his leg. Even I can interpret the signals.

Nick breaks away from his group and comes towards the door. Of course he notices me standing there like a wallflower.

‘You’re back,’ he says, eyes and voice flat. ‘You haven’t seen Emma, have you?’

I shake my head.

‘She’s got the shits with me tonight. For sending you off.’

‘I took myself off.’

‘Tell her that, will you?’ He puts his empty bottle on the mantelpiece. ‘How are you off for a beer?’

‘Just started one.’

‘Drink up, then. I’ll get you another.’

He shifts by me, through the door. I hope he won’t come back, but he returns quickly with two bottles. The one he passes to me is dripping. It’s straight out of the ice.

‘Where’d you meet Emma?’ he asks. He twists the top off his beer and takes a swig without moving his eyes from my face.

‘She gave a talk at the antdiv.’ I don’t want to get into a conversation with this guy.

‘How’d you hear about it?’

‘Friend.’

‘You got friends at the antdiv?’ Nick looks disbelieving.

‘A few.’

‘Who?’

‘Mostly diesos.’

‘You’re a grease monkey, then?’

‘Mechanic.’

‘Same thing.’

This guy has a knack of making me feel small. I wish I could tell him it isn’t necessary, that I already feel small.

‘Emma seems to have taken a liking to you,’ Nick grunts. ‘She’s always picking up new people.’

‘She’s a nice girl.’

‘You know she’s going south again,’ he says. ‘She won’t be round for long. I’d advise you not to get too involved.’

Just at that moment Emma breezes in through the door, smiling broadly and clearly tipsy. ‘Guys,’ she says. ‘Good to see you getting on.’

Nick looks straight at me and then turns to Emma and rubs his hand up and down her back. ‘Having fun, baby?’

She gives him a kiss on the lips. Obviously she’s forgiven him for any disagreement they may have had earlier this evening.

‘Great party, isn’t it?’ she says to him.

‘The best.’ He’s looking her up and down approvingly. It’s sickening to watch.

‘Your turn for a kiss now,’ she says, smiling at me.

Nick’s smile disappears and then he’s blocked out altogether as Emma leans towards me and touches her lips against mine.

‘You taste nice,’ she giggles. ‘Hey, Nick, have you introduced Tom to anyone?’

‘No,’ he says. ‘We were just having a cosy chat together.’

‘Cosy?’ She narrows her eyes at him. ‘How about you go and get cosy with someone else.’

Nick scowls and reluctantly crosses the room to join a couple of guys near the window. Emma hooks her arm through mine.

‘You were gone a long time,’ she says. ‘I was waiting for you.’

‘It took me a while to find a pub. Plus, I didn’t want to come back too early while you were still getting things ready.’

She giggles again and presses her face against my shoulder. ‘I don’t think I’ve had enough to eat. Can you get me some food?’

I’d prefer to sit with her on the couch. It’s empty now—the couple must have gone elsewhere to grope each other. On the couch she could curl up close to me like a cat. I’d be happy just to snuggle. She wouldn’t have to say anything.

‘Food’s in the kitchen,’ she reminds me. Nick glances up as we leave the room.

The kitchen is still congested. I tug Emma through the tangle of bodies and find a bowl of hummus and some crackers on the bench.

‘Load me up with it, will you?’ she says. ‘You dip and I’ll eat. I’ve lost count of the drinks.’ She stuffs crackers into her mouth and crunches them up as quickly as she can. ‘Water?’ she asks.

I’ll never make it to the sink through this crush. She must read hesitation in my face.

‘Get out of the way,’ she yells at the throng. ‘I’m going to be sick.’ The crowd parts like the Red Sea. ‘Magic, that.’ She finds a used glass on the sink, rinses it and sloshes some water in clumsily. ‘Still not sober,’ she observes. ‘Take me back to the lounge.’

I take her hand and carry the hummus and crackers with the other. The crowd stands clear. I could be leading a celebrity on an opening night. ‘They’re scared of you,’ I murmur.

She smiles.

On the couch, she shovels in more dip and crackers. It should soak up some alcohol, at least. Nick’s back with the group in the corner and there’s a long row of empties lined up along the mantelpiece. I had forgotten that’s how it is down south. Everyone gets very good at drinking. Socially, that’s all there is to look forward to—your quota of grog, supplemented by home brew.

I ask Emma if Nick is her boyfriend, but she’s so busy munching on a cracker that she doesn’t hear me and the moment is gone. My resolve to ask her shrivels like plastic in an open fire. And anyway, if she says yes, what would I do? Get up and leave? Or bat out the evening feeling ill? Maybe it’s better to live in doubt. Emma seems happy to sit in silence. She pulls my arm around her shoulders like a rug and nestles in. It’s a good feeling. If I could just remove everyone else from the picture, it’d be romantic.

Several quiet minutes pass while we watch the other people in the room. I look down at her to pass some comment about the party, but she has slipped into a drunken doze. I hadn’t realised she was so out of it. I thought the hummus would be kicking in by now. Perhaps another glass of water would help.

I make sure she’s comfortable and then head to the kitchen. Somebody has turned on the lights in there and I see Nick by the sink so I grab a plastic cup off the bench and take it to the bathroom to fill. On the way, I pass what must be Nick’s bedroom. A pile of climbing gear lies tossed in the corner, and on top I see the harness I used at Freycinet just over a week ago. I try not to imagine Emma in this room with Nick. I try not to think of him fondling her, touching her, kissing her but I have little success blocking it out. The thought of his hands on her darkens my mind.

Why doesn’t she see it? Even I can tell that Nick’s a womaniser. There’s a reason he knows exactly what to do and say: too much experience.

When I return to the lounge, Emma is up dancing with a group of girls. She skols the cup of water I hand her, strokes my cheek and resumes dancing. I lean against the door with a fresh beer, enjoying watching her. Someone is doing a good job of mixing the music—a tall guy with a mop of dishevelled brown hair, remains for hours by the sound system, squinting at CDs between swigs of beer. I watch him deftly flicking discs into the tray and jabbing buttons to find the right songs. It’d be nice to know your music like that; to be able to keep people dancing and entertained, to seamlessly keep the music flowing.


Sometime after midnight, I slip out to check on Jess. It’s cold outside and the sky is dotted with stars. Jess raises her head from the floor to greet me, and I sit in the car with her for a while. I’m tired and I’ve had enough beer. For a few indulgent moments, I contemplate going home. But Emma might need me.

People keep moving in and out of the house: couples mostly, finding a dark nook to kiss in. Every now and then small groups bundle into cars and weave off down the hill, probably on their way to another party. Occasionally a taxi appears and ferries a load of people away. By the time I go back in, the party is winding down. Emma is still dancing, and I stand beside the door again to watch. Nick is stretched across the couch, half passed out, completely drunk. Perhaps that’s his idea of a good time. His shirt is hanging out and has red wine stains on it.

I find myself watching the candles sinking low on their wicks and the sleepy shadows flickering on the walls. Finally, Emma comes across the room and takes my hand. ‘Come on.’ Her eyes melt in the dim light. ‘Let’s go to bed.’

She leads me out the back door, stopping to kiss me at the bottom of the stairs. She’s hot and sweaty from dancing, and the smell of her excites me.

‘Can I get Jess?’ I ask between kisses.

‘You and your bloody dog.’ She waves me off. ‘Just shut the door behind you when you come in.’

I walk around to the car realising I’ve killed yet another moment of promise. By the time I’ve dug a blanket out of the back of the car and laid it out for Jess in a corner of the bungalow, Emma is asleep in her clothes, spread-eagled across the bed. I shift her limbs gently and tug the doona from beneath her slack weight. Then I tuck it carefully over her sleeping shape. I sit on the edge of the bed watching her, smiling at the soft grating of her snore. Then I undress, switch off the lamp and crawl in beside her.


Emma barely moves during the night, even though I wake several times to the sound of bottles being tossed into the yard and voices from the main house. Once, I slip out from the warmth of Emma’s body to lock the door. I don’t want an early-morning confrontation with an angry and hungover Nick, although I don’t think he’ll be up to much till midday. I hope to be long gone by then.

When sunlight floods in through the windows, I draw the curtains and leave Emma sleeping while I make a cup of tea. Jess clicks around the kitchen, pressing her nose up beneath my hand to remind me she’s there. She doesn’t seem comfortable; perhaps she remembers Nick from last time. I sit at the table and read yesterday’s newspaper, including the jobs and real estate. Then I’m out of reading material.

I notice a black notebook under the newspaper and open it without thinking. The pages are full of dark flowing handwriting. Probably Emma’s. I study the loops and curls of it, wondering what it tells me about her, and then my curiosity surges and, I am reading.

Busy few days with the Adelies. The weighbridge is giving me the shits. It works for a few days and then some connection goes wrong and we’re off the air again. I just can’t work out what’s going on. I need some electronics genius to sort it out for me, but they’re few and far between on station.





Sophie went into station last night to visit her beau. God, it makes me sick. Saturday night and she has to go into town for the party. It’s the same every week—same old music, same old grog. Station leader doesn’t like me being on my own out here, so they sent Nick out to keep me company. A pointed comment. We’ve tried to be discreet, but everybody knows anyway. I suppose it’s hard to disguise body language. And who can blame me. It’s so hard when chemistry takes over, and God, Nick sets me on fire.





I put the book down. It’s none of my business to be reading Emma’s journal. It’s a disgusting intrusion and I’m ashamed. I’m also deflated. Everything I’ve feared has been confirmed.

For ten minutes, I sit looking at the notebook, then reluctantly flick it open again.



Nick’s been staying out at the hut quite a lot lately, and Sophie isn’t complaining. I think she’s just about had it with water offloading, and I have to admit it’s a shitty job. Especially when you can’t even get a shower afterwards. To his credit, Nick doesn’t seem to mind. We boil up a big pot of water at the end of each day and wash ourselves where it matters. Then the evening is ours. It has been quite romantic actually. I guess I didn’t expect it of Nick, but he can be very nice. And he’s bloody good in bed.





I shove the notebook back under the newspaper, furious with myself for spying. Emma would hate it if she knew. I sit for another thirty minutes, staring at the clock, hoping she’ll wake before Nick appears. Eventually, I hear a groan from the bedroom. I stand and walk to the bedside.

‘Oh, Tom,’ she says groggily. ‘You’re still here. That’s nice.’

I sit on the bed.

‘Did you tuck me in?’ She closes her eyes.

‘Yes. You were asleep when I came in.’

‘Oh, and I had hoped for passionate sex.’

Me too.

‘I’m too wasted this morning,’ she says. ‘Can you get me a coffee?’

I go to the kitchen and make her coffee, still riddled with guilt for having read her diary. I place the cup on the bedside table, shifting aside her pill packet and a glass of water. ‘I’m really sorry,’ I say. ‘I accidentally looked in your journal.’

‘Oh that,’ she mumbles, her face partly concealed by her pillow. ‘It’s full of bullshit about Nick. Amazing the rubbish you can write sometimes.’

‘Aren’t you cross with me?’

‘Yes, of course I’m cross,’ she says sleepily. ‘But it doesn’t matter.’

I’m surprised she isn’t more upset. I want it to matter. Reading someone’s private journal goes against all my values. Perhaps she’s too bleary to fully realise what I’ve done.

‘Do you think it’d make a good book?’ Emma asks, rolling to look up at me.

‘What?’

‘My life in Antarctica? Perhaps I should call it that. God, I think I’m still drunk.’

‘Do you want some breakfast?’

She turns away from me again. ‘Just a slice of toast and butter. Then I’m getting dressed and coming over to your place. I can’t face any of the others today. I think I need a holiday.’

I return to the kitchen to make the toast.

‘You don’t mind if I come over to yours, do you?’ she calls.

‘No, that’s fine.’

Of course I don’t mind. I don’t mind at all. But when I go back in with the toast she has fallen asleep again.

I wait at the table just sitting and thinking for another hour, and then leave. This might be the best thing I can do.