The Lightkeeper's Wife by Karen Viggers

Author:Karen Viggers [Viggers, Karen]
Language: eng
Format: epub, mobi
Publisher: Allen & Unwin Pty Ltd
Published: 2011-01-26T23:00:00+00:00

18

Jess is sitting by the side gate when I get home from work. She doesn’t smile and she doesn’t stand up. Her eyes are forlorn and my rising guilt is dense. I open the gate and she skulks out and cringes round my legs. She thinks she’s done something wrong.

I sit on the path and she crawls onto my lap, curling up in a tight ball. When I pull on her ears, the sigh that shudders through her is almost human. She feels betrayed; this is the first time I’ve left her overnight without coming home. I’d like to tell her how happy I was with Emma, but now with my sad dog on my lap, all I can do is cry big wet tears that well out and drip onto her head. Where is this coming from? I haven’t cried in years. One night with Emma and I’m breaking apart. How can I have a relationship with another person when I can’t get it right with my dog?

Jess and I sit on the footpath for a long time in the mellow afternoon light. Soon we are sitting in shadows and even with my hot-water-bottle dog still coiled on my lap the cold is eating into me through the concrete path.

‘Come on, Jess,’ I say finally. ‘We have to go inside.’

She leaps up and, follows me closely into the house like she’s glued to my legs. I put on some music and shake food into her dish. Then I set down a bowl of milk as well. She looks up at me and beats her tail against the floor. I think she knows I’m saying sorry. For a dog, milk is like a bag of lollies.

I shower and change and then stuff some clean clothes into a bag. I suppose this means I’m expecting to stay the night at Emma’s again. This may be a presumption, but if I buy two bottles of wine it’ll be a necessity. I roll up Jess’s rug and place it by the door. Still at her bowl, she lifts her head and wags her tail. She knows she won’t be left behind this time.

As the light fades over the water, I sip tea in the kitchen and struggle to compose myself. Something is skipping and tumbling in my chest and my palms are sweaty with excitement. It’s as if life is reawakening in me. The hope of a future very different from the past nine years.

A knock at the door checks me. It’s Laura, with a hesitant smile on her face.

‘Sorry to come banging on your door again . . . It’s just that I need some matches for the stove, and I wondered if you had some. I’m a bit reluctant to drag Mouse down to the shops. He gets carsick.’

I wonder what sort of person gets carsick on a five-minute drive—or why she can’t leave her brother at home—but I go to the pantry to see if I have a spare box. The phone rings and I take the call still ferreting around on the top shelf.

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