The Lightkeeper's Wife

36



The following morning, I’m in the kitchen chopping zucchini for soup when there’s a knock at the door. I open it, and Laura stands there shyly, arms folded, eyes flicking from my face to Jess and back to me.

‘Just thought I’d pop by and see how you were going,’ she says.

I shrug. ‘Thanks, I’ll be okay.’

She gives a small smile. ‘It’s a hard time. But things will improve. I lost both my parents a few years ago.’

She’s stating fact, not looking for sympathy. And her eyes are kind. I suppose her parents’ death explains why she looks after Mouse. There’s no-one else.

‘Mouse is coming home for the afternoon,’ she continues. ‘Today’s his birthday and they’re letting him out for a few hours. I was hoping you might come round with Jess. To help celebrate. Mouse loves dogs.’

I draw breath, wondering how to tactfully say no. In my current frame of mind, I’d rather not face company. The agony of stilted conversation. And Jess will be terrified of Mouse after that awful trip to the hospital. I look down at Jess as she pants up at me. ‘I don’t know. I’m not sure if Jess will let him pat her.’

Laura glances at Jess. ‘Mouse is different now,’ she says. ‘He’s on medication. It makes him calmer. I don’t think he’ll frighten her.’

I hesitate. Laura clearly does not understand the memory of a dog. ‘I suppose we can see how it goes . . . If she’s frightened, I’ll bring her back home.’

Laura’s face splits open with delight. ‘That’ll be wonderful. It’ll make Mouse’s day. Could you come at four? He should be settled in by then.’


During the afternoon, I try not to watch the clock, but the hands keep moving, and soon it’s four o’clock and we wander down the hill and across the road to Laura’s house. She flings open the door with frightening exuberance and my anxiety increases. She’s excited to see us, desperate to make a success of this occasion for Mouse. Jess and I step tentatively through the door and down the hallway to the lounge.

Mouse is sitting on the couch, his face shadowy. He appears dull and unresponsive, his body large and slack.

‘Mouse. Our visitors are here.’

Laura’s brightness seems forced, and when Mouse swings his eyes towards us, all I feel from him is disinterest.

‘This is Tom, our neighbour.’ Laura’s voice is high with enthusiasm. ‘And this is his dog, Jess.’

Mouse’s blank gaze takes me in without reaction, but when he glances down at Jess, sitting very close to my legs, something flickers across his face and I notice the fingers of one of his hands twitching where it lies open, palm up, on the couch.

Jess presses against me and watches Mouse carefully. She isn’t entirely at ease, but she’s not afraid either.

‘Happy Birthday, Mouse,’ I say.

Mouse ignores me. I hear him humming to himself and his lips are moving, but I can’t make out any words. The fingers of his hand continue to twitch, and I watch them, mesmerised, unsure what to say or do. Then Jess stands up and pads softly across the carpet, sniffs at Mouse’s fingers and lowers her head onto his hand. A sigh passes through both of them: Jess and Mouse. I hear it and so does Laura. She stands rapt, watching Mouse’s mouth as he mumbles incoherently to Jess, the spark of something in his eyes, the feathery twitching of his fingers beneath Jess’s chin.

My dog stands very still, her yellow eyes watching him. Her tail is waving very slightly, and she hasn’t shifted her head from his hand.

‘He hasn’t spoken in weeks,’ Laura whispers.

Mouse’s muttering doesn’t seem to equate with speech, but to Laura it’s obviously progress.

‘He’s been heavily sedated,’ she says. Her face is sad. ‘They’ve only just started to back off his dose. I thought Jess might help. Thank you so much for coming.’

She looks at me with tears shimmering in her eyes, and I feel sorry for her. For both of them. My grief is overwhelming, but it’s a temporary state, a loss and readjustment that is difficult, but not impossible. This poor man is so lost and so disconnected that he will never see the world as most of us do. Yet he has the security of Laura’s love and support. And she will continue to love him even if he never realises it. In that, he is lucky.

Laura has been watching me closely, and I see surprise sweep across her features. Then she gathers herself together, glances at Mouse who is still murmuring to Jess, and smiles warmly.

‘I’ll just get the cakes,’ she says.

While she’s in the kitchen, I gaze out the window at my house up the hill. It’s strange looking at my place from Laura’s; for a moment I almost expect to see myself leaning against the balcony or passing like a shadow behind the windows. It’s a shock to realise how much of my life can be seen from here. I hadn’t known I was so visible. Laura could sit here and watch me moving in the kitchen, or observe me feeding possums with Jess on the deck. How much does she know about me? How much of my grief has she seen? How much can she tell by watching the movements of a lonely man in his house with his dog?

Then I realise perhaps this is why I am here, in her house for Mouse’s birthday. Maybe this is Laura’s attempt to help, her way of showing she cares. She can’t fix things, but she can offer me company. She understands loneliness.

Then she’s back with a plate bearing four cupcakes with a candle stuck in each. ‘One candle for each decade,’ she says, smiling brightly at Mouse.

He stares at the candles, and the light flickers in his eyes. She sets the plate on a small table in front of him and we sing ‘Happy Birthday’ in tuneless voices. Laura puffs out the candles then hands a cupcake to Mouse.

‘It has pink icing,’ she says. ‘Your favourite.’

Mouse takes the cake, forgetting Jess for a moment, and eats it. The icing sticks to his lip and Laura wipes it gently away. Then she passes a cupcake to me and also puts one on a plate on the floor for Jess. Jess glances up at me for permission then scoffs the cake quickly. It has been a very happy visit for her. Not at all what either of us expected. Jess pants happily at me, and I’m sure it’s because she hopes we’ll be invited again.

When we leave, Laura lingers at the door. ‘Can we go for a walk tomorrow morning?’ she asks. ‘I haven’t gone for a while—I thought you needed to be alone. But with my new job I’m stuck in an office. And I do like to get out.’

I pause too before nodding. ‘What time suits you?’

She smiles. ‘How about seven o’clock?’