The Lightkeeper's Wife

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.’

‘Bit of a shock, isn’t it?’ His laugh is short and strained. ‘Trust the old lady to hit us with something like this.’

‘She really didn’t want to upset everyone,’ Jacinta says quietly.

We all sit awkwardly, trying not to meet each other’s eyes. Jan’s shoulders are rigid: she’s fit to burst. The rest of us breathe carefully into the silence, preparing for what’s to come. Nobody seems to know what to say, but Gary’s the first to find his tongue.

‘You’ve had one heck of a day then, Jacinta, haven’t you?’ Ever the pacifist.

Jacinta nods. ‘It hasn’t been the easiest day.’

‘Jacinta had no idea . . .’ Jan leaps in quickly and then turns on Jacinta, ‘although it amazes me you didn’t ask her about the suitcase before you left Hobart.’ I’m sure Jan has been berating Jacinta since she first heard the news, and now she’s going to rehash it for my benefit.

Gary sets down his cup and leans back in his chair, hands folded behind his thick neck. ‘How did she get you to take her to the cabin?’

‘She was cold and she said she’d arranged with the owners to have a cup of tea there. It was out of the wind . . .’

‘I suppose you carried the case in for her?’ Jan rolls her eyes.

‘She couldn’t carry it herself,’ Jacinta explains patiently. ‘It was too heavy.’

‘Surely you were suspicious by then. You should have left it in the car.’

Jacinta doesn’t try to defend herself. She looks at her mother and waits.

‘Did you try to talk her out of it?’ Jan asks.

‘Yes, of course. I was quite direct.’

‘Did you tell her to just stop the rubbish and get back in the car? I bet you didn’t put it like that.’

‘Not quite like that. But I did press her.’

Jan clenches her fists on the table. ‘Pity Mum didn’t ask me to take her down there.’

At that moment, the kettle boils and the whistle shrieks. Alex jumps up to turn it off and waves a mug at me. ‘What’ll you have, Tom?’

‘Tea, thanks. Black.’

There’s an uneasy lull while Alex pours tea and passes it to me. Jan continues to sit tall and straight in her chair. She’s like a river about to breach its banks. Once she starts, nothing will stop the flood.

‘Are you set now, Tom?’ she asks.

I nod into my cup.

‘All right, then,’ she says. ‘What are we going to do about this?’ She stares at each of us in turn, as if we are somehow to blame. Nobody responds. ‘Come on,’ she says. ‘We need to work it out. I’m not going to have Mum dying down there on her own.’

‘We could each go and visit her,’ Jacinta suggests. ‘I know she’d like that. Alex and I can go down on weekends.’

Jan shakes her head firmly. ‘She can’t stay there. We have to bring her back and make some arrangements.’

‘What sort of arrangements?’ Gary asks.

‘We need to find her a room in a nursing home. So she can’t pull this sort of stunt again.’

Jacinta interjects, ‘She doesn’t want to be in a home.’

‘She’s seventy-seven and obviously not in her right mind, Jacinta.’ Jan sweeps her argument along quickly, like she’s clearing the floor of crumbs. ‘A home is the safest place for her.’

‘Perhaps she doesn’t want to be safe.’ My voice echoes across the room and everyone looks at me, shocked that I’ve spoken. Nobody expects me to have an opinion, or if I have one, to voice it.

Jan’s lips curl in a derisive smile. ‘So you’re happy to let our mother die down there alone, are you, Tom?’

‘That’s not what he’s saying,’ Gary says.

‘No? Then what is he saying?’

‘He’s saying that Mum has a right to choose not to go to a home.’

Jacinta places a hand gently on her mother’s arm. ‘Nana was very clear about what she wanted.’

‘But it’s not acceptable,’ Jan says. ‘If she dies, it could be days before anyone finds her.’

‘The ranger will check on her daily.’

Jan won’t be appeased. ‘It’s not enough. She’s going to need full-time care.’

‘She’s been living on her own back here,’ Gary points out. ‘Why the sudden need for constant care?’

‘It’s different down there,’ Jan says, affronted. ‘You know how it is, Gary. It’s cold and windy, and the chill will eat into her. You saw Dad die. Heart failure’s a terrible way to go.’

We sit numbly for a moment. Apart from Alex, the others witnessed Dad’s decline first-hand. But while they clustered around Dad’s bed here in Hobart, saying their farewells, I was stranded on a ship, lurching slowly back from Antarctica across the Southern Ocean. I was three days too late. Three awful days. My goodbyes were said into grey skies and icy winds, leaning off the helideck with the ocean stretching around me. It’s a lonely feeling, losing a parent from afar.

Jan watches us all carefully, assessing the moment. She holds us captive in her pause. ‘For God’s sake,’ she says. ‘Someone has to go down there and bring her back.’

‘You’re not volunteering.’ Gary’s voice is edged with anger. ‘Surely you can find some spare time to go and pick her up.’

‘It’s better that someone else does it,’ Jan says. ‘Then she can’t blame me.’

‘So you want one of us to drop her off to whatever home you decide to check her into?’

‘I’ll make sure it’s somewhere reputable. Somewhere close, so it’s easy to pop in and visit her.’

‘Shame you didn’t visit her more often when she was living right here in this house.’ Gary’s warming up now, feeding off Jan’s self-righteousness.

‘We all have busy lives,’ Jan retorts. ‘How often did you drop by for a chat?’

Gary smoulders into his cup and silence swells again in the kitchen.

‘I’m not sure we have to do anything,’ I say quietly.

Jan stares at me stonily. ‘That’s not a solution,’ she snaps. ‘She needs appropriate care. If worse comes to worst she needs to be in a hospital.’

I dredge up strength from somewhere in my boots. ‘It’s Mum’s solution,’ I say. ‘She doesn’t want to come back.’

Jan is incensed. ‘She’s an old woman who’s lost her mind. It’s up to us to make decisions for her.’

For a few tense moments nobody says anything. Then Jacinta speaks. ‘Nana’s in her right mind. She knows what she wants.’

Jan glares at her. ‘I’m sorry, Jacinta, but if you’d handled this properly in the first place it wouldn’t be an issue. She chose you to take her to Bruny because she knew you’d do as she asked.’

‘Well, Mum wouldn’t choose you.’ Gary folds his arms across his bulging belly. ‘You haven’t been civil to her in years.’

‘That’s not true.’

‘You haven’t exactly had a close relationship with her.’

Jan stiffens. ‘I think I’ve done quite well, given where we’ve come from. What have you done for her in the past six months?’

Things are descending into territory none of us have entered before.

‘At least I haven’t loaded her with grief and guilt trips.’

Jan and Gary face off like bristling dogs about to fight. This is not going well. Somebody has to stop the slide.

‘How about I go down and visit her sometime this week,’ I offer. ‘I can take a day off, maybe Wednesday, and make sure things are set up for her down there.’

‘What are you going to do?’ Jan says. ‘Build a hospital at Lunawanna?’

I shrug, baulking inwardly at the confrontation. ‘I’ll check she has everything she needs.’

‘Like a ventilator? And cylinders of oxygen?’

‘You can go down if you like, Jan,’ Gary says.

‘No. I won’t be going. If Mum chooses to isolate herself like this and you all support her, then I refuse to go and visit.’

‘But she might not come back . . .’ Jacinta’s voice trails off.

Jan stands up. ‘Then that’s her choice. I’m too angry to drop in for a casual visit. And what would I say anyway? How’s it going, Mum? What rubbish! If you’ve all made your decision, I’m going home.’

Jess slinks out from under the table and paces nervously around the room.

‘Can’t you make that dog sit down?’ Jan demands. Then her face crumples. ‘Oh God, this is so awful,’ she says, tears welling.

And she’s done it again; the gathering has become a focus for Jan’s despair. Jacinta hugs her and pats her shoulder while Alex rolls his eyes at me and pours Jan another cup of tea. My continued presence at the table is taken as solidarity. Gary mutters something into his chins and shuffles out to the toilet. When he returns, Jan sits down and wraps her hands around her cup of tea.

‘I still think we should be bringing her home,’ she says.

‘She’ll be all right,’ Gary says.

‘That’s rubbish, Gary. She isn’t capable. We all know she won’t remember her medication. She doesn’t even know what day of the week it is half the time.’

‘It’s her right to decide,’ I say, and the same silence returns that follows everything I say. Jess wriggles against my legs as I pause. ‘It’s her right to decide how she wants to die.’

Jan is outraged. She thumps the table in frustration. ‘This is ridiculous. You’re all trying to put her in the grave. Am I the only one who cares about her?’

I dig deep for boldness. ‘This isn’t about you, Jan. This is about Mum.’ There, I’ve said it, and Jan is turning purple. ‘We’re leaving her there,’ I continue, legs shaking. ‘You can visit if you want. But nobody’s bringing her home. It’s Mum’s choice.’ I stand up and Jess leaps up too. ‘The meeting’s over.’

And, amazingly, it is. Teary, Jan sips her cup of tea. Gary starts talking about his work and the possibility of visiting Mum next week. And Alex clears away the empty cups and squirts dishwashing detergent into the sink.

Over their heads, Jacinta smiles at me wearily. Her quiet nod is affirmation. We’ve won the first battle. For Mum.