The waitstaff move from table to table, putting plates in front of the guests, as the CEO talks about the zoo’s animal sponsorship program. Some guests pick at their food while pretending to listen to what the CEO is saying. Others fill their glasses, or talk to each other.
Finally I’m introduced. I put my orangutan speech in the back pocket of my jeans, rest my arms on the podium and speak into the microphone.
‘People far more knowledgeable about orangutans than I am have already spoken to you about them, so the CEO suggested I talk about something else. When I asked him for direction, he said, “Say whatever’s on your mind”.’
Two camera guys come closer to the stage. A beautiful russet-haired woman in a sparkly red dress sitting at a table in front fiddles with her phone; I see the recording light flash red.
‘What’s on my mind tonight is that things don’t always turn out the way that we intend. For example, I was reminded only an hour ago that even though I didn’t intend to sink The Watch, I had to take responsibility for doing so because it was my fault that the ship got stuck in the storm in the first place.’
Guests put down their knives and forks.
‘Losing The Watch was a personal tragedy for me. But far more importantly, it was a loss to the environmental movement. The ship, and my parents, and Drew McLeish, and others who supported them and their causes over the years, were inspiring. They encouraged ordinary people like me and you—nurses, tradesmen, teachers, lawyers, shop assistants, mums and dads—to care about the environment, and be prepared to stand up and take responsibility for what the human race, through carelessness and ignorance, has done, and continues to do, to destroy it.’
Orangutan vet says, ‘Hear, hear.’
‘In the past few months I’ve been called incompetent and foolish. Whether intentionally or not, we all make mistakes. But we also have the capacity, individually and collectively, to learn from the things that we’ve done wrong so we can do better in the future. Yet we continue to burn fossil fuels that pollute the air, use chemicals that poison the soil, over-crop and over-stock the land. We destroy the habitats of vulnerable primates like the orangutan. We fish and hunt species to extinction. Our winters are colder, and summers are hotter. Polar ice is melting in the Arctic north and the Antarctic south. Our planet is facing challenges that it’s never faced before …’
I tell the guests that the foundation wants to get people thinking about new environmental frontiers. Then I outline some of the fundraising plans we have, and how we’ll tie them in with visits to regions at risk, like Palau and Antarctica, and make a documentary series. When I finally take a breath and look at my watch I see that twenty minutes have passed.
‘Questions, anyone?’ the CEO says. ‘If Harry doesn’t mind.’
Quite a few people hold up their hands. The woman in the sparkly red dress stands up. I finally place her—she’s a television journalist.
‘Who was it that accused you of being foolish and incompetent?’ she asks.
‘Unfortunately for me, someone who knows what they’re talking about.’ When everyone laughs, I laugh too, as if being insulted by Per hardly matters. Because it’s not like I can name him, after talking so enthusiastically about the Scott and Amundsen connection. ‘Next question?’
The orangutan vet stands. ‘You mentioned a trip to Palau in October. Do you have any suggestions about what people can do to help you get there?’
Liam knocks on my bedroom door on Saturday morning.
‘Go away,’ I say, burying my head in the pillow. ‘It’s still dark.’
He opens the door, walks in, and pulls up the blind. ‘It’s after eight, lazy bones. Let’s go for a run. And look what I’ve got. Someone loves you after all.’
Liam is holding a giant bunch of roses. They’re red and unfurled, wrapped in cellophane and tied with a ribbon. He hands me a gift card. Professor Xiao Tan.
I give the card back. ‘He feels guilty.’
Liam laughs. ‘It’s a little more than that. Wait till you see the newspaper.’ He pokes me in the back. ‘C’mon, get up. I’ve got to be at work by eleven and I want to get a surf in.’
Seeing my smiling face in the paper is a surprise. I didn’t mean for last night to be the unofficial launch of the fundraising effort. Luckily there’s a picture of an orangutan as well, though it’s not quite as big as the photo of Per. His image is the same as the one on the foundation’s website—he’s wearing his black dress uniform with the gold braiding and the peaked cap that hides his face.
‘It’s good publicity,’ I say, as Liam and I run along the soft sand near the dunes. ‘A bit embarrassing though. Quoting my speech like that.’
Kat is sitting on the steps to the back deck when Liam and I get home. The Norwegian flag backpack is sitting at her feet.
‘Hello, Kat,’ Liam says, grabbing his board. ‘I’ll see you later.’
‘Hi, Harry,’ Kat says. ‘You didn’t answer the door. Thought you might be at the beach.’ She holds out the bag and grimaces. ‘Sorry ’bout this.’
I walk past her. ‘Per sends you on a lot of shitty errands, Kat. Pretty hypocritical really, when he says he’s not a messenger boy himself.’
She follows me inside. ‘He’s gone up north for a couple of days. I wanted something to do.’
The new wetsuit is lighter than Mum’s; I hardly feel its weight in the bag. I’m sure it’s also warmer and fits me better. It will be superior in every way that Per thinks is important.
Kat opens the fridge and gets herself a glass of milk. Then she flops onto the sofa. Her colouring is beautiful. Her skin tone is ivory, and her freckles are a washed-out version of her hair shade. I’d love to draw her in pastels.
‘So … what’s up?’ she says.
I should have as little to do with her as possible. But she’s smiling. And she piloted the boat that saved me. I put two mugs on the bench top. Tomorrow morning Per will be here instead of her. I’ll have to wear his wetsuit. And I’ll have to go down to the beach.
CHAPTER
20
Per is sitting on the top step of the deck, his long legs stretched out in front of him. He’s wearing his black wetsuit and sheepskin boots. A small backpack is sitting on the ground at his feet.
I’m glistening like a dolphin because I’m dressed in my wetsuit too. It’s a dark silvery grey colour, and although the fabric is much thicker than silk it has a similar texture. It clings to my body; there’s not a wrinkle anywhere. The zip is at the back; I had to wake Liam so he could do it up for me. He tied my hair into a ponytail too, complaining as he bunched it into a hairband that he was still half asleep and couldn’t see properly in the light from the hall.
Something flashes in Per’s eyes as he looks up at me from the step. Then he blinks and it’s gone. It could have been admiration, or maybe it’s just relief that I’m wearing the wetsuit and he doesn’t have to drag me out of bed. He frowns at my bare feet, and kicks off his boots. Then he walks down the steps, shrugs the backpack over a shoulder, and folds his arms across his chest.
‘I didn’t say you were foolish.’ His tone is gruff and accusatory.
He must have read my speech. I walk down the steps and brush past him. ‘You’ve called me incompetent plenty of times. Foolish is much the same thing.’
‘The word incompetent is objective.’ He narrows his eyes. ‘Foolish is more judgemental, critical, subjective.’
I suspect he’s studied the English language far more thoroughly than I have. And I don’t feel like arguing anyway. I’ve barely slept, and even though I got out of bed an hour ago and made a slice of toast, I couldn’t face eating it. If I don’t leave now I’m afraid I’ll run inside and hide under my bedclothes.
‘Whatever. Let’s go.’
He follows me across the lawn towards the dunes. We jump over the low fence that leads to the path. The sun is rising but the shadows are deep and dark. I hesitate when I get to the top of the steps that lead to the beach. The ocea
n, blacker than the sky, stretches out in front of me, all the way to the horizon. Whitecaps fringe the water close to shore. The beach is deserted. I close my eyes and tip my head back, swallowing. Per moves to my side. My face was colourless when I looked into the mirror thirty minutes ago. It’s probably grey by now.
‘You have to trust me, Harriet. Totally. For this to work.’
When I open my eyes he’s staring into them. His eyes glide to my mouth. My lips are tightly closed. He takes my hand, holding it firmly when I try to pull it away.
‘I promised, remember? I gave you my word I wouldn’t touch you inappropriately.’ He takes a breath. ‘But I have to touch you while we’re here. And you have to touch me. There is no other way.’
I look at him—arrogant and confident. Then I look at the water—beautiful and frightening. When I shove my elbow into his stomach and turn away he releases me. But the sudden movement makes my head spin. I double up with my hands on my knees and retch. It’s not a full-blown panic attack and there’s nothing in my stomach. All I spit out is saliva.
‘Sit,’ he says when I’ve finished. I’m happy to put my head between my knees as he reaches into his backpack and takes out a water bottle. When I’ve finished rinsing my mouth he stands behind me and hoists me up to my feet. For a moment I lean against him, but then I pull away. What do I want from him? Sanctuary?
My voice is low and shaky; I hardly recognise it. ‘This isn’t me. I hate what it does.’
‘I would too.’
I search his face. He’s not laughing at me.
‘We’re going to walk along the beach,’ he says, ‘adjacent to the dunes. And then we’ll go down to the pool.’
I stiffen.
‘Not in the water,’ he says. ‘I just want to talk to you.’
‘How’s that going to help?’
‘It’ll do for today.’
‘And tomorrow?’
‘Tomorrow we’ll do something else. And when I decide what that is, I’ll tell you about it. Because I’m not going to trick you, or force you, or make you do anything that you don’t want to do. I won’t lie to you, either. But there’s a price to pay for that. You have to take my hand. You have to let me hold you. I want your body to learn that you’re safe when you’re with me.’
‘My body?’
He nods.
‘What about my head?’
His mouth twitches. It softens the shadowy planes of his face. ‘Bli med meg,’ he says, holding out his hand.
I hesitate, but take it. His hand is much warmer than mine. He changes his grip and links our fingers together as we walk down the steps to the sand.
My voice is shaky. ‘Did you just say, “You must do as I command”?’
‘No, Harriet. I said, “Come with me”.’
I feel a little better after retching and, like Per said, we’re walking near the dunes away from the water. We pass the surf club, with its shower block and toilets. The café is locked up at this time of the morning. He asks me questions about why I chose to live in Avalon, and how long I’ve been here, and where I work. I’m conscious that he’s talking in order to distract me, even though he doesn’t have to because holding my hand is distraction enough. I don’t want to like the feeling of his warm fingers threaded through mine. I answer in monosyllables and focus on the squeaking noises our feet make as we step through the sand. Before we reach the cliff and pool he veers towards the ocean. I baulk.
‘Not much further,’ he says.
He stops about ten metres from the waves and I tug my hand away. I sit, bending my knees close to my body and resting my chin on them. Per sits next to me, very close, so our calves, thighs and arms are touching. The breeze is coming from the south, but he’s much bigger than me and blocks it.
‘Are you warm enough?’ he asks. ‘That’s important.’
I wrap my arms around my legs and rub my feet. ‘You know I am. I’ve got your wetsuit on.’
‘It’s your wetsuit.’ He sweeps up sand and covers our feet. ‘I could’ve got boots and gloves as well. But it’ll be better if you feel the water against your skin from the start.’
He frowns when I take a shuddering breath and swallow.
I hear laughter, and look over my shoulder. It’s Helga, Allan and some of the other Amazons. They’re stretching on the sand. Per sees them too, but he doesn’t acknowledge them.
‘See the seaweed?’ he says.
It’s lighter now, and easy to make out a big billowing carpet of seaweed a few metres from the shore, drifting towards the rock shelf and wall that borders the pool.
‘Hormosira banksii,’ I say.
‘What?’
‘Common brown algae. Up close it looks like little beads joined together. What about it?’
‘It’s floating.’ He points to a couple of seagulls bobbing further out, looking for fish. ‘So are they.’
Half an hour ago he said he’d never called me foolish. Does he realise he’s treating me as though I am? I stretch my legs out in front of me and create some distance between us.
I lift my chin. ‘I already know what you’re going to say. That most things can float, and that includes me.’
Per opens his mouth and closes it again. He seems to be choosing his words carefully. ‘It’s a fact.’
‘You’re good at facts. Which is why you’re going to give me a lecture now, all about people like me, people terrified of sinking. How they try to grasp onto the water.’ I send him a fake smile. ‘They’re so irrationally, pathetically and insanely scared that they thrash around, instead of—’
‘Stop it, Harriet. I get it.’
‘Instead of lying back and floating. I’ve already heard that one.’
He curses under his breath. ‘Do you want to go home?’
‘No!’ I turn and face him. ‘Because now you’ve started I’d just as soon you finished. Otherwise I’ll have to put up with your hypotheses all week. You’ll be lecturing me while I’m throwing up and passing out. What if I miss something?’
He tips his head skywards. ‘I appreciate there’s no formula for this.’
‘But you think you’re qualified to give it a try anyway? Without asking me what’s been tried already.’
‘That’s unfair. When I asked you questions after you fell on the rock shelf, you refused to answer any of them. You’re bloody impossible to deal with.’
‘You could’ve asked again.’
‘My apologies.’ He pretends to smile, just like I did before. ‘We could have a drink together tonight, maybe dinner, and discuss this sensibly, like adults.’
‘Fuck off.’
He’s quiet for ages. I think he’s trying to get his calm voice back again. ‘I know about post-traumatic stress disorder. I don’t believe you have that.’
‘Are you sure, Doctor?’
‘But some of the symptoms are similar. Do you get nightmares?’
‘Yes.’
‘Would you care to elaborate?’
‘No.’
‘Slowing your heart rate—’
‘Will stop me panicking and puking. Right?’
He speaks through his teeth. ‘It might.’
‘But I can only slow my heart rate if I feel safe and comfortable. I know all this! I’m good on the theory. So there’s no need to patronise me, or treat me like an idiot.’
He frowns. ‘I haven’t—’
‘Yes, you have. You talked about seaweed and seagulls and floating. And I’m pretty sure I know what’s coming next. Psychoanalysis.’
He closes his eyes. ‘Let’s not talk about this now.’
‘I want to get it over with.’
He waves his hand as if he’s giving me the floor. ‘Go ahead.’
I clear my throat and try to keep my voice steady. ‘As a result of a childhood trauma, I have a fear of the water, and that’s why I avoid it. While this coping mechanism keeps me safe, it means I’m unable to move forward in my life.’
I’m at eye level with him. He’s
thoroughly pissed off. ‘Are you done?’ he says.
We stand at the same time. And then he reaches for my hand. When I put it behind my back he swoops in and grabs it. He tugs—hard—and I stumble, barely getting my balance before he picks up his backpack and marches along the beach. Sometimes I have to jog to keep up. We’re slightly closer to the waves than we were on the way here, and every once in a while he strays even closer, and then lets me steer him away. Our fingers aren’t linked together, he’s firmly holding my fist in his hand instead. My nails are pressed into my palm, but if I open my fingers I’m afraid he’ll think I want to hold his hand properly again. He doesn’t say a word until we’re close to the dunes, where he halts, mouth tight and nostrils flaring. He releases my hand and glowers down at me.
‘Congratulations, Harriet,’ he says. ‘You’ve been foul tempered, childish and fucking annoying, generally all at once. I’ll see you tomorrow morning. We’ll go to the pool. Bring an iPod, then you won’t have to listen to anything I have to say.’
I watch his departing back as he strides through the dunes. My anger and resentment and fear are all mixed up with the emotions I have whenever he takes my hand.
A seagull stands one-legged on a fencepost near the dunes. He’s a handsome bird, very well groomed, with a bright yellow beak. I study him for a while.
‘What would you do if you were me?’
He stares. Then he blinks and flies away.
CHAPTER
21
Liam and I are up at three the next morning.
‘It’s unfair of you to keep this from Polarman,’ he says, pushing his fringe out of his eyes. He still has a crease running down the side of his face; he must’ve been fast asleep when I woke him. We’re sitting on the sofa in the living room, cradling mugs of ginger and valerian tea.
‘He asked if I had nightmares,’ I say. ‘I told him I did, but I wouldn’t tell him anything else.’
‘He’d get a better understanding if he knew the details.’
‘You don’t know the details.’
In At the Deep End Page 13
