The Lightkeeper's Wife E-Book

Karen Viggers

• Herausgeber: Allen & Unwin
• Kategorie: Gesellschafts- und Liebesromane
• Sprache: Englisch

Seitenzahl: 589

Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2017

Beschreibung

Elderly and in poor health, Mary has lived in Hobart a long time. But when a letter is delivered to her house by someone she hoped never to see again, she knows she must return to Bruny Island to live out her last days with only her regrets and memories for company. Years before, her husband was the lighthouse keeper on Bruny and she raised her family on the windswept island, until terrible circumstances forced them back to civilisation. Now, the secret that has haunted her for decades threatens to break free and she is desperate to banish it before her time is up. But secrets have a life of their own and, as Mary relives the events of her life, she realises her power over the future may be limited. Back in Hobart, Mary's adult children are respectively outraged, non-committal and sympathetic about her escape from their care. But no amount of coaxing will shake her resolve. Her youngest son Tom loves Bruny, and can understand her connection to that wild island, a place of solitude, healing and redemption for them both. As Mary's secret threatens to tear her apart, both she and Tom must face their pasts in ways they couldn't even begin to imagine. Mary finds that the script she's written to the end of her life has taken a few twists of its own.

Leseprobe

TheLightkeeper’s Wife

KAREN VIGGERS

Published by Allen & Unwin in 2011

Copyright © Karen Viggers 2011

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording or by any information storage and retrieval system, without prior permission in writing from the publisher. The Australian Copyright Act 1968 (the Act) allows a maximum of one chapter or 10 per cent of this book, whichever is the greater, to be photocopied by any educational institution for its educational purposes provided that the educational institution (or body that administers it) has given a remuneration notice to Copyright Agency Limited (CAL) under the Act.

Allen & Unwin 83 Alexander Street Crows Nest NSW 2065

Australia

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(61 2) 8425 0100

Fax:

(61 2) 9906 2218

Email:

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Web:

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Cataloguing-in-Publication details are available from the National Library of Australiawww.librariesaustralia.nla.gov.au

ISBN 978 1 74175 914 3

E-book ISBN 978 1 92557 605 4

Judith Wright extract from ‘The Sitter’s from A Human Pattern: Selected Poems (ETT Imprint, Sydney, 2010).

Text design by Emily O’Neill Set in 12/16 pt Adobe Garamond Pro by Bookhouse, Sydney Printed and bound in Australia by Griffin Press

10 9 8 7 6 5 4 3 2 1

For my grandma Rhoda Emmy Vera Viggers1912–2009

an inspirational and compassionate woman

My life was wide and wild, and who can know my heart? There in that golden jungle I walk alone.

JUDITH WRIGHTFrom A Human Pattern: Selected Poems

Contents

Prologue

PART I: Origins

1

2

3

4

5

6

7

8

9

10

PART II: Evolution

11

12

13

14

15

16

17

18

19

20

21

PART III: Disintegration

22

23

24

25

26

27

28

29

30

31

PART IV: Resurrection

32

33

34

35

36

37

38

39

Acknowledgements

Prologue

She was in the kitchen when it came—a loud rap on the door that bounced down the hallway, off the floorboards, the hat stand, and ricocheted through the sliding doors into the kitchen. Wiping the table, she was in another world, remembering how it was to walk the wild beaches of Bruny Island.

The knock jolted her back to the present. It added fifty years to her body, reminded her she was old. She jerked in the middle of a circular sweep, sending a shower of crumbs to the floor. These days few people came to her house unexpected.

She retrieved her walking stick and shuffled down the hall. Through the frosted window she could see a silhouette—someone looking for a donation, no doubt. She twisted the locks and opened the door.

It was a hunched old man in a dark blue suit with a crooked tie. He had a craggy face and for a moment, she thought she knew him—from the bowls club, perhaps. Or Jan’s church. Or maybe the opportunity shop. But at their age, everyone seemed similar. Only the details of their problems differed.

‘Can I help you?’ she asked.

He shifted, and something about the way he tilted his head and pawed at his hair halted her. She grasped the door and leaned there breathless, heart battering in her chest.

What was he doing, turning up where he wasn’t welcome? And why had he come? Staring at her with those washed-out blue eyes that hadn’t lost their intensity over the years. She dropped her stick and swung away.

‘Mary.’ His voice was a rasp. Old and worn out, like the rest of him. He extended a hand, and she was too shocked to push him away. Did he really think he could help her? One old spindle trying to prop up another. She glared at him and was once again aware of the panicked fluttering of her heart. It had never been this bad before. The doctor had said she must avoid shocks like this. Death was supposed to be the last surprise.

Uninvited, he put his hand on her shoulder and turned her into the house. She was too overwhelmed and appalled to protest. His proximity frightened her. He smelled of old age. Sour. The stale odour of clothes washed too infrequently. Pungent breath. He hadn’t smelled like that the last time she saw him—then he had about him an aroma of nutmeg and cloves.

Following the direction of her nod, he guided her down the hallway. In the kitchen, he scraped out a chair and lowered her into it. Then he sat down opposite and studied her.

She wouldn’t have recognised him if they had passed in the street. But then, who would look at her now and know she was Mary Mason? Of course, she’d never been pretty in the conventional white-skinned, delicate way. But she had been vibrant and colourful. Her body had been strong, firm and muscular. She’d been able to do things other girls couldn’t, like lift hay bales and milk cows. She’d been alive in her skin. It was a feeling she missed every day. She slumped against the table, remembering her younger self. This man knew her from that time.

He was still watching her, his eyes trying to reach into her mind. But she held him out. Her thoughts were no longer his to inspect. Looking back, she cursed the past weakness that had led her to this moment. She, who had prided herself on being so strong.

‘What do you want?’ she asked, her mouth flattening.

He regarded her with expressionless eyes and brushed again at his thin grey hair—a gesture that took her back to the day she first met him. Now he unbuttoned his jacket, took out a white envelope and laid it on the table. Mary’s heart began to tumble.

‘What is it?’ There was panic in her fingers, a tingling in her chest.

They both looked at the envelope, still partly covered by his leathery hand.

‘You know what it is, Mary.’ His voice was little more than a whisper. He leaned forward and stared at her. ‘I want you to give it to him.’

She clawed at the edges of the table, trying to stand. ‘I won’t do it. It’s best he doesn’t know.’

The old man laughed hollowly. ‘You choose the time, Mary. But you can’t erase me. I exist. I could have made things much more difficult.’

He stood and pushed in his chair. The letter remained on the table.

‘I’ll throw it away,’ she said. ‘I’ll burn it.’

A thin smile split his lips. ‘But you won’t, Mary. You’ve had things your way for so long. Now this is for me. It’s something I need.’

He limped to the sliding doors and then glanced back. In spite of her fear, she was moved: in his look was embedded everything that had not been done, everything that had not been said.

This was it, then. The end of it.

‘Goodbye, Mary.’

She listened to the uneven scrape of his feet moving down the hall.

‘Don’t make me do this,’ she called.

But she heard the front door close with a bang, and she knew that he had gone.

PART I

Origins

1

For three days, the letter stayed on the table untouched. Every time Mary looked at it her heart thrashed like a wild bird in a cage. She bent her life around it, trying to avoid the kitchen, eating in the lounge room with a plate perched awkwardly on her lap, drinking tea hurriedly at the sink, and taking the phone out of the room whenever anyone rang. It was ridiculous and she knew it, but the handwriting on the front of the envelope made her nervous. God knows why she couldn’t dispose of the thing; she ought to toss it in the bin or burn it in the fireplace, but she couldn’t quite bring herself to do it.

She lived with a heightened sense of panic, sleeping fitfully. What if the letter bearer returned? She had to act. But what to do? The letter was a burden—the past and the future rolled into one. She became grumpy and irritable. This ought to be a time of peace, with Jack gone and her own health declining. But the letter was projecting her back into life. It insisted she take control.

On the third night, she found a feasible idea among her restless thoughts, and the next morning she shuffled into the study and riffled through a pile of papers on the desk, seeking the brochure someone had given her months ago. She’d been keeping it, waiting. The letter was the catalyst. It was time to go back. Her hand had been forced and she must address the past before she could decide what to do.

She found the brochure beneath an old electricity bill and called the number printed on it; then she opened the phone book on the kitchen bench and made another call. Afterwards, she pulled out a suitcase, folding into it neat stacks of underwear, poloneck sweaters, jumpers, woollen trousers, a coat, a thick scarf and a hat.

When her clothes were packed she went to fetch the letter. Her hand hovered over it and a wry smile twisted her face: she was behaving as if the letter might explode. And in a sense she supposed this was true. It had erupted into her life and could well blow apart what time she had left. Finally she picked it up, feeling the smooth texture of the paper with her thumb as she carried it to the bedroom and slipped it into a side pocket of the suitcase. Then she turned to the bookshelf and grasped an old photo album which she placed in the case on top of the clothes. Now she was ready.

In the quiet of the room, she gazed at the dark shadows that angled across the bed and lingered in the corners. She had lived here, in this old Hobart house, for twenty-five years, sharing her husband’s retirement and decline—the terrible process of watching someone you love retreating from life.

Twenty-five years: a large portion of their lives together. Much had happened—ageing, a grandchild. Even so, she’d never really thought of Hobart as home. For her, it would always be Bruny Island. The light reflecting on the shifting water. The hollow voice of the wind. The lighthouse. The wide southern stretch of Cloudy Bay . . . It was right she should go there now, to the place she first met Jack, where she first came alive. And more than that; she owed it to Jack. On Bruny, she would remember him more clearly. Somehow, there she would reunite with him, relive the good times—those early days when the foundation of their love was shaped and their commitment was sealed.

She also owed it to herself to return. Time was running out, and there were old emotional wounds she needed to attend to before she died—matters neglected amid the soothing monotony of daily life. She needed to find peace and inner calm. To settle into self-acceptance. To grant herself release from guilt. Only on Bruny Island could she achieve these things.

And she must decide how to deal with the letter.

On Sunday morning, Mary sat on the couch in the lounge room. Half an hour ago, she had finished her final cup of tea then washed and dried the mug and replaced it in the cupboard. Now she was stiff after sitting still for so long, listening to the clock on the mantelpiece ticking into emptiness. Normally she’d be tuned in to ABC radio, the news and current affairs. But this morning she needed to sit quietly. There was too much ahead. Too much to contemplate. The clean air of Bruny was beckoning. The smell of wet trees. Salt on the wind. She wanted to be gone from here.

She heard a car pull up and the dull thud of a door closing. Jacinta at last.

Her granddaughter entered the room with the breeziness of the young, all brown eyes and smiles and long loose limbs. At twenty-five, physically, she was her mother all over again, although she’d hate to hear it. She bent for a hug and Mary clung to her, enjoying the feel of young wiriness, the tautness of unblemished skin. How sadly Mary had mourned the loss of her own youth, the decay to wrinkles and sagginess and waistline spread. Her strong wavy hair reduced to flimsy wisps. Over time, she’d learned to accept it and she’d embraced other things: simple pleasures, like bird calls, a good roast, familiar company, a favourite novel, the comfort of words unspoken but understood.

‘Are you sure you’re up to this, Nana?’ Jacinta was regarding her assessingly. She’d always had an uncanny instinct for gauging Mary’s physical and emotional health. It was part of what made their relationship special, and so different (thank goodness) from Mary’s constant tussle with Jacinta’s mother. With Jan there was always that particular tension belonging to interactions between mothers and daughters.

During her fortnightly visits, Jan had recently stepped up her comments about nursing homes; she’d even offered to organise a tour of suitable places that Mary might consider. But Mary would have none of it. She didn’t want to die in a hospital bed with tubes sticking out of her like spaghetti. Nursing homes were expensive too. And she didn’t want to be a burden on her children. She knew what it was to care for a dying person; she’d done it for Jack. Her family might not like it when they realised what she had chosen, but this option was better. It was her option. Her decision. She was doing this for herself.

‘Of course I’m up to it,’ she said quickly. ‘This is my last chance.’ She reached for her stick. ‘Shall we get going, then?’ She waved an arm towards her luggage near the door, attempting nonchalance, although this was difficult, knowing the letter was tucked inside. ‘There’s my case. And I’ve packed some things in the basket for a picnic.’

‘A suitcase!’ Jacinta laughed. ‘We’re only going for the day.’

They drove south out of Hobart in the sullen early light. The purple shadow of Mount Wellington loomed above them with caterpillars of mist clinging just below the summit. Low clouds sat close over the morning and it seemed the day was already weary. Through the dark cleft of the cutting, ravens picked at possum carcases squashed on the wet road.

At the roundabout in Kingston, Jacinta glanced at her watch. ‘Have you checked the ferry times?’

‘There’s one at nine thirty. We can get a cup of tea while we wait.’

‘What about breakfast? Have you had any?’

‘Yes, of course. I’ve been up since five.’ It had taken her a long time to shower and get ready.

Jacinta groaned. ‘I wish I could bounce out that early.’

Mary recalled the shrill of the alarm and the breathlessness that followed. ‘I certainly didn’t bounce,’ she said.

Jacinta smiled. ‘I didn’t shower. I hope I don’t smell.’

‘Only of vegemite toast.’

‘But vegemite smells awful.’

‘I can think of worse.’

They laughed.

When Jacinta was small, Mary had cared for her while Jan was teaching. They’d had fun together, and she’d taken immense satisfaction in the task: after the lighthouse, it had provided her with a focus without which she’d have withered. Mary knew Jacinta liked her, whereas Jan had always been disapproving. Somehow Mary hadn’t been quite the mother Jan wanted—although Mary wasn’t sure anyone could have lived up to Jan’s expectations. Jan resented the years they’d lived at the light station. She claimed the place had curtailed her childhood and that she’d missed out on opportunities—whatever that meant. Mary couldn’t imagine what great things Jan envisaged would have come her way in suburban Hobart.

It was true their lives hadn’t been easy at the light station. Challenges came with isolation. There’d been no other children on the cape. Dim lighting for schoolwork in the kitchen. Limited fresh food. No visitors in winter. Poor weather. But what they lacked in convenience, they had gained in simplicity and proximity to nature. Skies and sea stretching forever. Fishing. Exploring. Picnics on the beach. Space to roam. Mary’s heart still settled to think of it. Even so, Jan was convinced she’d been denied the important things, society and friendships and culture. Ever since, she’d run herself ragged trying to create this life she believed she’d been deprived of. It had driven her husband away; of that Mary was sure.

And yet, Mary could still remember how Jan loved to ride the pony along Lighthouse Beach. How she and Gary had run across the hills with bed sheets over their heads pretending to be ghosts. The bonfires, and the glorious Christmases, making decorations and presents. Then, it was just the four of them— Mary, Jack and the two children—wandering on moonlit nights with the flash of the light slicing the dark. Mary remembered those jewels of Jan’s childhood, even if Jan chose to forget them.

She remembered less of Gary, her second child. He was more often with his father working in the shed, or kicking a ball among the tussocks, chasing chickens, sprinting to the beach. Not long after the youngest child, Tom, came along, Jan and Gary went to boarding school in Hobart. Tom grew up on the cape alone, roaming wild. He was the only one who spoke of the light station with affection. By the time they went to school, Gary and Jan couldn’t wait to escape it.

Parents weren’t supposed to have favourites, but Mary had always felt protective of Tom. He was her sensitive child, the one susceptible to deep passion and grinding hurt. She loved them all, of course she did. But Tom was special. He needed her more than the others. Or was it that she needed him?

Now she thought of the letter and shuddered. It could ruin everything. Her family life. Her children’s beliefs. She must make sure it wasn’t discovered. Ridiculous that she hadn’t destroyed it already. What was holding her back?

She sighed and struggled to suppress tears. Soon she would be on Bruny. With Jack. And everything would be clearer.

At Kettering, they waited in line with a small number of cars and an empty cattle truck. Jacinta disappeared into the ferry terminal while Mary stayed in the car watching ruffles of wind skip over the water. The skies had lifted a little but still reflected the steely grey of the sea. Across the D’Entrecasteaux Channel, Mary could see the gentle hills of North Bruny. Not far out, the ferry had rounded the headland and was coming towards them.

It had been many years since she first crossed to Bruny Island, taking the ferry from further south at Middleton to the southern part of the island. She had made that unhappy passage alone, leaving her parents behind in Hobart and coming to live on her uncle’s farm. Remaking her life—and not by choice—at the grand age of sixteen. Not for the first time, she wondered what shape her life might have taken if she had never been sent to Bruny.

Jacinta returned with hot drinks, and Mary accepted the cup of tea with relief. Thinking of the past made her feel cold, and yet what else was there to think of? She’d come on this journey to remember the best of it, but recollection could not be without pain. She sipped her tea too quickly and burned her tongue.

‘How’s Alex?’ she asked, shifting her thoughts away from the past. Alex was Jacinta’s boyfriend, the son of a lawyer. He was a quiet lad, positive and affable; Mary liked him.

‘He’s okay.’ Jacinta paused. ‘He’s under pressure at the moment. From his family. Especially his mum.’

‘Isn’t that always so?’

Jacinta’s lips compressed. ‘They want him to take up a partnership in the firm. But it’s too soon. He’s only been out of uni a couple of years.’

‘And what does Alex want?’

‘That’s a good question. I wish his mother would ask him. But she’s hell-focused on getting what she wants.’

‘Alex in the family business and you sidelined.’

‘How did you know?’ Jacinta glanced at her.

‘Just a hunch. You’re developing too much influence. Taking her son away.’

‘Are all mothers like that?’

Mary laughed. ‘Not me. I was relieved when Judy snapped up Gary. I thought he’d never find a wife.’

‘What about Tom?’

Mary hesitated. Yes, Tom. It had been nine years now since he’d returned from Antarctica, and still no sign of healing. ‘He’ll sort things out eventually,’ she said. ‘But how about you and Alex?’

‘I think he needs to experience a bit more of the world before the business takes over his life.’

Mary’s smile was wry. ‘Isn’t that always the way with lawyers? Making money while the sun shines?’

Jacinta’s forehead puckered. ‘I don’t want to be his sacrifice. We need to move in and commit to each other before he sinks into his career.’

‘And is Alex ready for that?’

‘I think so.’

‘Good. A plan.’ Mary liked plans. It meant you were more than halfway to working things out. Alex ought to be ready. Jacinta was a special girl. A bit of nest-making might accelerate things.

As they talked, the ferry had approached the landing, engines grinding, and bumped into position. Deck hands tossed heavy ropes over bollards, then the ramps lowered and the Bruny traffic clunked off and away. Jacinta followed the line of cars onto the ferry. There were few vehicles going across so only the lower deck was loaded. When they were all parked, the ramps were cranked up, and the throb of the engines shuddered through the decks as the ferry pushed away.

They churned out past the headland, swinging slowly south-east. Mary climbed out of the car, donned her coat and hat and walked slowly to the front of the ferry. This was her favourite place, watching the water froth up at the bow and the gulls cruising by on the chill air. She had crossed the channel many times before. Sometimes with the children, attempting to curb their enthusiasm to climb up for a better view. Other times, she’d been alone, with space to dissect her life.

On the surface, happiness seemed little enough to ask for. Mostly, she and Jack had been lucky. They’d managed to sew themselves back together in troubled times. She ought to be proud of what they’d achieved.

Shivering, she gazed towards North Bruny. The water was liquid glass and the cold cut through her like ice. It was a typical late-autumn day. The sort of day that gave the southlands their moodiness. The long, grey, misty light. It made her feel nostalgic.

Jacinta came to stand beside her and they hooked elbows. Warm against cold. Strength against weariness. Eventually, Jacinta led her back to the car. They sat with the engine running and the heaters on, watching the low wooded hills of North Bruny loom closer, widening into pastures with trees and wire fences.

Mary was surprised to find tears again welling in her eyes.

As they drove east over the island, Mary watched the paddocks blur by. Hunched in her seat, she was trying to retain every detail of the scenery. It was different, this trip—knowing she wouldn’t pass this way again. The land was drying out, even here, where it used to be so lush. She remembered a time when rain pounded the whole island and cloaked it in green. These days, the storms that lashed South Bruny wore themselves out by the time they reached the north part of the island, and now it looked as cracked and weathered as her skin.

Her eyes scraped the landscape, seeking the old Bruny, the things she and Jack had loved. She had forgotten the way the road curved over the hills. Black swans were resting on a farm dam. And here were two white geese in a paddock. She was surprised to see piles of weathered grey logs waiting to be burned. With so much of the forest already gone, were people still clearing?

They turned south on the main Bruny road and drove past mudflats where pied oystercatchers waded in the shallows, plucking crabs. In the scrub, yellow wattlebirds clacked. There was a short section of tarred road through Great Bay then they were back on gravel, passing coastal farmland where dirty sheep competed with thickets of bracken.

They came to the Neck; a few cars in the roadside carpark. This was where a wooden walkway crossed the dunes and ascended the hill. Mary knew that path well. Beneath the walkway were the burrows of a thousand mutton birds and little penguins. If you knew where to look, you could see small webbed footprints crisscrossing among the waving grasses.

The road along the isthmus had only been open a few years when she first visited this place with Jack—before that people used to drive on the channel-side sand at low tide. She and Jack sat holding hands on the vast wild ocean beach, watching slick black penguins waddling ashore, moonlight glinting white on their plump bellies. The colony would be empty now. The last fat mutton-bird chicks would have left in late April, labouring on their migration to Siberia.

As the car whizzed low along the narrow passage of the Neck, Mary leaned back and closed her eyes, remembering the climb up the hill. Long ago, the walkway was just a rough track along the ridge. She used to puff her way up there with Jack and the children to marvel at the view—that wide expanse of sky and coast spreading south-east along the isthmus to Adventure Bay and Fluted Cape. There was the hummocky mass of South Bruny, the long lines of breaking surf clawing the beach. To the west, the silhouettes of black swans drifting on the channel. She could remember the heat of the climb. The delicious bite of the wind. The rain sheeting across South Bruny.

Now, the walkway claimed the ridge for tourists. The island had become a destination. And the word isolation no longer applied here. Bruny was still the place Mary loved, but it wasn’t the same. She had to accept that. Change was the future. She smiled to herself. They called it progress. But she knew better. The island was her past. Her life with Jack. Her everything.

2

When the car mounted the rise over the dunes and the silver waters of Cloudy Bay spread out before her, Mary felt a sigh rise from deep within. The great flat stretch of yellow sand was just as it had always been. Quiet. Moody. The epitome of solitude. This place marked her beginnings with Jack. The two of them young and unscathed. They had grown wild in the wild air. Jack still lingered here with the sea mist; she could feel him. He was waiting for her.

As they drove down past the landlocked lagoon onto the sand, a white-faced heron startled from the shore, trailing gangly legs as it lifted into lilting flight. Pacific gulls rose chortling into the air. On the beach, Jacinta stopped the car, and Mary soaked up the ambience.

She opened the door and Jacinta helped her out. Then she patted her granddaughter’s arm and Jacinta stepped away, leaving her to shuffle down the beach on her own. At the high edge of the tide, she bent stiffly to take a handful of sand. It was fine and grey, slightly muddy. Kneading the soggy graininess of it in her palm, she gazed into the distance where the beach arced east to the far headland: Cloudy Corner and East Cloudy Head.

Down by the water, the Pacific gulls had gathered again in loose flocks, facing seawards. Mary knew that if she could run and scare them, they’d lift as a unit into the air and then congregate once more further along the beach. They needed each other’s company to stare so steadfastly south in this lonely light. Everything here was dense with latitude. If you headed south from this beach, there was nothing until Antarctica.

‘Nana, let’s get out of the wind. I don’t want you to get cold.’ Jacinta came up behind her, taking her hand.

Mary pulled gently away. ‘I’ll be all right. I’d like to walk a little more.’

She wandered slowly east, focusing on the distant dark shadow of East Cloudy Head where it humped against the sky. She used to go up there with Jack, pressing through the untracked scrub, scratching herself on bushes. They used to forge a route up towards the southern aspect of the head so they could climb nearer to the sky. They’d stand there, close and exhilarated, with the sea pounding over the rocks below, and the Southern Ocean all around, stretching east, south, west.

She paused to draw breath, taking in the cold stiff air. The hint of seaweed. The thick scent of salt. This place renewed her. It was life itself. She smiled and closed her eyes against the chill. She was right to come here.

‘Nana. Please hop in. It’s cold.’

The car pulled up beside her, and Mary realised she’d forgotten her granddaughter. There was so much within and around her that was not of this time. She glanced into the car, her features flushed, high on memory.

‘Please, Nana. The wind is freezing.’

Jacinta helped her back in and they drove slowly along the sand, windows down so Mary could feel the air. The beach slid smoothly beneath the wheels of the four-wheel drive.

‘Can you take me right down to the end?’ Mary asked. ‘I want to show you Cloudy Corner. There’s a campground just short of the headland. You and Alex might like to camp there sometime.’

When she’d first come to this part of the island—on a camping trip with Jack’s family—there was nobody else around. It was wilderness. They’d camped in the bush. At night they sat on the beach in the dark feeling the waves come in, soothed by the rhythm. And that view south; the arc of the bay, the dramatic cliffs etched with shadows.

‘Does Alex like to camp?’ she asked Jacinta, dragging herself back to the present.

Jacinta sighed. ‘He does. But we don’t seem to fit it in very often. Life’s so busy.’

‘You should bring him here. It might help you slow down. Give you some time for making decisions.’

‘Yes. We need to get out of Hobart more. It hems you in, doesn’t it? City life. Even in a small city. It’s been months since we got away.’

Mary wanted to tell her that it was important to remember how to live. The young thought life was forever. And then, there you were, on the brink of decline, regretting time not used well. Yet if you lived with that knowledge of time passing—driven by intensity—perhaps meaning would evade you in your very quest to find it. Perhaps it was all right to live as Mary had done, letting life’s tide drop experiences in her lap. She’d made the best she could of everything that had washed up over the decades.

‘Thank you for coming here with me,’ Mary said.

Jacinta smiled at her. ‘I wouldn’t have missed it.’

At the far end of the beach, Jacinta faced the car to the water and they sat quietly absorbing the atmosphere; the gush of the waves riding in, the buffeting of the wind at the windows, the scrub shifting and sighing behind them.

‘I was five when you first brought me here,’ Jacinta said, staring out over the rocks of Cloudy Reef where cormorants sat in a cluster, drying their wings. ‘I thought this must be the end of the earth. You told me that if I sailed directly south for seven days I’d come to the ice. The edge of the land of penguins. That was magic for me.’

‘Just like Tom.’ Mary knew about the draw of Antarctica. She’d almost lost her younger son to its mysterious magnetism.

‘Do you think he’ll go back?’ Jacinta asked.

Mary shook her head. ‘I think he dreams of it. But he lost so much last time. I don’t think he could go through that again.’

‘Perhaps it’d be different if he went now.’

‘And maybe not.’

‘Poor Tom.’

Yes. Poor Tom. He still bore the wounds of his time south.

‘Mum doesn’t come here anymore, does she?’ Jacinta said, looking out to the constant rush of waves. ‘I’ve never understood it.’

‘Maybe you can spend too much time in a place like this.’

‘You don’t feel that way, do you?’

‘No. I miss it every day. But I’m not your mother. Not everyone feels at home in the wind.’

‘It suited you and Grandpa,’ Jacinta said. Then she laughed. ‘Mum says you two were a good match.’

Mary hesitated. ‘Your grandfather and I . . . complemented each other.’ She thought of Jack’s silences, and of her own fortitude. No-one else could have survived those years at the lighthouse with him.

‘I didn’t know Grandpa very well,’ Jacinta said.

‘He was a hard man to know.’

‘Why was that?’

‘He was probably born that way. His childhood wasn’t easy. He worked hard on the farm from a young age. I suppose the lighthouse didn’t help.’

‘I thought he loved it.’

‘Yes, but you can lose yourself in all that space and time.’

Mary often wondered what would have happened if she’d realised this earlier. Maybe she could have done more to help him. Perhaps she could have pulled him back. Stopped the drift. Softened his moods. But that would have required her to be a different person; someone without housewifely duties and children and their lessons. She had done all she could at the time: cooked his favourite meals, kept him warm, deflected the children from his impatience, massaged those poor arthritic fingers, so gnarled and wooden. But the wind was insidious. It had worn him down the same way it erodes rocks, and turns mountains into sand, and makes headlands into beaches.

Jacinta was gazing out to where the wind was picking up the crests of waves and flicking them skywards in fizzing white spume. ‘It’s beautiful here,’ she said. ‘But it’s cold. We should close the windows and turn up the heater.’

‘What? And blow away the smell of the sea?’

Jacinta reached over and squeezed Mary’s hand. ‘Your skin’s like ice, Nana. Remember, you’re my responsibility today. Is there a thermos in the picnic basket?’

‘I forgot the thermos.’ Mary’s face folded into quietness. Now was the time. ‘There’s a cabin back along the beach a way,’ she said, restraining the tension in her voice. ‘Did you notice it as we passed? It’s just over the dunes. Let’s go and see if we can make a cup of tea there.’

Jacinta looked doubtful. ‘Do you think we can do that?’

‘I know the owners. They won’t mind. It’ll be unlocked.’ Mary’s skin tingled and she held her breath as she waited for Jacinta to acquiesce.

‘I suppose we can have a look . . .’

Jacinta turned the car and drove back along the beach while Mary sat tight and still, struggling to subdue her mounting excitement. She waved a casual hand to show Jacinta where the track turned off, but as they swung up over the dunes, lurching over the rise, Mary’s heart was dipping and curving too.

‘Thank goodness for four-wheel drive,’ Jacinta said, a smile lighting her face. She was struggling to hold the car straight while the sand grabbed at the wheels. They parked on the grass beside the small building.

It was a log cabin, painted brown, with three big windows facing seawards and a grand view over the low coastal scrub to the flat expanse of the beach. Mary could see the tide running in and the hulk of the headland stretching south across the bay. On the front verandah there was a wooden picnic table and an old barbeque collecting rust.

Jacinta turned off the engine. ‘Are you sure it’s okay for us to do this? Someone might be staying here.’

Mary was already opening her car door. ‘I rang ahead to check. They’re expecting us to pop in.’ She slid out hurriedly, awkwardly, knowing she must usher her granddaughter inside before she could ask too many questions. Soon Jacinta would discover that not all had been revealed. She shuffled to the steps, noticing the sound of the sea rising over the dunes and the twitter of fairy wrens in the hushed lull between waves. ‘Could you bring the suitcase, please?’ she flung over her shoulder.

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.’

‘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.’