‘You’re enjoying this.’
‘Not really. I organised to have tomorrow off so I could spend the day with Drew McLeish. But we may as well make the best of things. Take off your boots and I’ll have another look at your feet. Then I’ll tell you a campfire story. You can tell me one as well—about rich people you know who care about the environment. I’ll ask them for money when I get home.’
Malcolm laughs, and offers to give me the personal details of anyone I’d care to name. He gets his phone out of his pocket and takes a photo of me tending his feet.
‘I’ll post it when we get back to civilisation,’ he says.
Close to Katoomba we meet up with the track that leads to a clearing, and the car park beyond it. I’m not sure why there are so many people here—at nine on a Monday morning it’s too early for the tourist buses that stop at the lookouts. For some reason there’s a television helicopter resting on the tarmac.
‘There’s Harry!’ A woman and a man, the man holding a camera in front of his face, walk quickly towards us. I recognise the woman—Lisa Toohey, the journalist with the sparkly dresses, only today she’s wearing red trousers and a white shirt. Her thick auburn hair bounces on her shoulders
‘Malcolm!’ the cameraman shouts. ‘You okay, mate?’
Malcolm hoots, pumps the air in a victory salute and throws an arm around me. My knees buckle and I stumble. Isn’t it enough that I’m carrying half his gear without him exaggerating his limp and leaning on me?’
I’ve just steadied myself when I see Per jump to the ground from the cockpit of the helicopter. He’s dressed in tightly fitting black fatigues. His dark hair and panther body is unmistakable. He looks up and talks to someone who’s still inside, presumably the pilot. I’m not sure what I feel—whether the sudden pressure in my chest is relief because he’s safely back from sea, or trepidation because I don’t know what he and all these people are doing here. Lisa Toohey shoves a microphone in my face. The crowd gathers around us.
I answer Lisa’s questions patiently—a smile plastered to my face—as I explain that we weren’t lost and didn’t need rescuing. But it was raining and misty yesterday afternoon, making it safer to camp overnight. Malcolm details the hardships he’s endured. He shows off his scrapes and scratches, and takes off one of his boots to display the tape that covers his blisters.
I’m hot and sticky, and dismayed that this excursion has somehow become a media event. Per is still standing next to the helicopter, talking on his phone. Even though I’ve decided to take a chance on him I didn’t plan to see him today. What’s he doing here?
The crowd eventually disperses. Seven-year-old twins, a girl and a boy, ask for a photo. After their mother has taken it, I point to Per. ‘Commander Amundsen’s a twin. Go and say hello.’ The children race away and the cameraman follows them.
Lisa clears her throat. ‘If you didn’t need rescuing, Harry, can I ask why Commander Amundsen believed that you did?’
‘What do you mean?’
‘The commander called me last night. He told me you and Malcolm Curtis hadn’t returned from your hike at the scheduled time. He requested the helicopter to get him up here first thing. And in case we needed it later on.’
‘What for?’
She shrugs. ‘In the event you didn’t show up. Our chopper’s used for rescues all the time.’
‘But I didn’t need rescuing!’
She touches my arm and smiles. ‘Go with the flow, Harry. This is a good news story. You and Malcolm have been found safe and sound, so there’s cause for celebration.’ She smiles in Per’s direction. ‘The commander is the icing on the cake.’
‘There was nothing to worry about.’
‘Tell that to the commander.’
Per squats in the shadows of the helicopter as he talks to the children. Then he gets to his feet and shakes their hands. The girl hugs his leg before she waves goodbye.
I can barely hold onto a neutral expression. ‘Thanks for filling me in, Lisa. I’ll have a word to the commander before he heads back.’
I take my keys out of my pocket. ‘Malcolm! Catch.’ I shoulder my pack and walk towards Per.
He’s lost weight. His cheekbones are prominent and his scar is more pronounced. His eyes are glinting black. When he helps me off with the pack, our hands touch. He’s particularly warm. Helga said he had a cold. He may have a temperature. The realisation troubles me, but I put it aside.
‘Why are you here?’
‘Because you are,’ he says, reaching for me.
‘No.’ I step back. ‘The press is still here. They’ll take photos.’
He frowns, and rests a hand on my arm. I shove it away.
‘I said no. They think you came to find me. To save me again.’
‘I did.’
The lump in my throat gets bigger. It’s an effort to speak. ‘You shouldn’t have contacted Lisa.’
‘I needed her help. I told her the facts.’
‘That I’m an accident waiting to happen?’
His smile is tentative. ‘You are.’
It would be easy to lean my head against his chest. He wouldn’t care that I’m dirty and weary. He’d hold me tightly and nuzzle my neck, trail kisses to my mouth. My knees would go weak with wanting him. I could trace the shadows under his eyes, take him home, and make him a cheese and tomato sandwich.
But what would be the point of any of that? He came here to rescue me?
‘Liam wouldn’t have been worried about me,’ I say. ‘Neither would the rescue services, so long as I was back this morning. I had a beacon, supplies and a planned route. When the mists roll in, it’s stupid to keep going.’
‘You planned a two-day hike. Anything could have gone wrong.’
‘I’ve been hiking, climbing … abseiling, since I could walk. No one would have been worried if you hadn’t alerted Lisa.’
He rubs his neck and closes his eyes for a moment. ‘Yeah, well, maybe people don’t know you like I do.’
Grant didn’t mean to harm me when he blabbed to the media. Neither did Per. But their thinking was similar—someone immature or incompetent like I am, someone who’s vulnerable, has to be managed, protected. I take a long slow breath as I straighten my shoulders.
‘You don’t know me at all.’
He tips his face skywards and brings it down again so his nose is only centimetres from mine. ‘I know you sink ships. And you have secrets.’
‘Thanks.’
He runs his hand around the back of his neck again. ‘Jeg har savnet deg. That means I’ve missed you. I haven’t slept.’
‘Am I supposed to say thank you? Maybe Lisa can add ungrateful to my character profile?’
He straightens. Blows out his breath. ‘She doesn’t matter.’
‘Yes she does!’ I tighten my lips. When he zeroes in with his thumb I jerk my head away. ‘I told you not to touch me.’
‘Jesus, Harriet. I’ve waited two fucking weeks to touch you.’ His voice is low, gravelly.
‘My personal life is private.’
‘What? When half the fucking country has a piece of you?’
I clear my throat and try to speak calmly. ‘I deal with the media to support my causes, and I do it on my terms. This is the first time you’ve engaged willingly with them, and what do you say? Harriet Scott’s in trouble again. I care about my reputation, and my professionalism, just as much as you do.’
‘Your reputation went down with The Watch. And professional? When you sell yourself for weekends?’
It’s like I’ve been punched in the stomach and the air has been forced from my lungs. I was giving him a chance to get to know me better, to learn to trust me and have faith in me. My dreams were stupid and girlish. The silence between us is interminable. I’m trying to get my breath back. He’s trying to get his temper under control. Finally he speaks.
‘Harriet, I didn’t—’
‘Oh yes you did. And it’s not for the first time either. You think I’m the
foundation’s whore. It doesn’t matter anyway, because—’
‘I didn’t—’
‘No!’ I reach for my pack. ‘I have to get back to Malcolm. He’s paid for my services.’ My voice is unsteady. ‘And like I said, it doesn’t matter. It’s not like we have to see each other. I can swim now, and you never turn up to functions.’
‘Are you saying we’re over? For fuck’s—’
‘If we were ever together, then yes.’ I shoulder my pack and shift my weight around until I get it balanced. I’m careful not to meet his eyes so he can’t see the tears in mine. We both turn when we hear the crunch of gravel. Lisa and her cameraman are driving away in their van. My car door is open. I see the bottom half of Malcolm’s legs; he must be lying down on the back seat.
‘Harriet?’ Per’s eyes are darkest grey. ‘The professor, he wants a meeting about Palau.’
‘Why?’
‘Friday afternoon at five. I can’t do it any earlier. Or later. I’m going away again.’
‘But Friday’s four days away.’
‘Complain to Tan, not me. He’s the one who wants both of us there.’
We stare at each other. He can’t apologise in a way that has meaning because in similar circumstances he’d behave in exactly the same way, say exactly the same things, all over again.
Malcolm wants to watch the helicopter take off. He won’t shut up, telling me he flies on choppers all the time in the Pilbara, and up north at Bowen Basin. Then he talks about navy helicopters, like the Seahawks Per must get to fly in. As the helicopter disappears over a ridge I start the car. Malcolm continues to talk, shooting me encouraging glances. Thank goodness he doesn’t ask questions about Per and me, because I don’t know what I’d say if he did. That only a couple of weeks ago Per made love to me like I meant everything to him? And I held onto him as if my life depended on it?
CHAPTER
36
Lucy raises her hand. ‘The commander’s like Spiderman. He always comes to your rescue.’
‘Can we get back to work, please?’
‘He’s more like an Avenger,’ Jonty says. ‘Or a vigilante.’
‘Was it scary in the bush?’ Lucy says.
‘No … because nothing went wrong.’
‘Then why were you on the news last night?’ Jonty says.
‘I was a little late back, that was all.’
‘Why didn’t you come back home in the helicopter?’ Lucy says. ‘I would’ve. How old is Per? Does he want to go out with you?’
‘That’s inappropriate, Lucy. Move on to the next workbook if you’ve finished the first one.’
‘He’s almost thirty-one,’ Jonty says. ‘His twin’s a bit younger. Tør had asthma when he was a baby and almost died.’
Jonty is much better at finding things out than I am. I presume Tør is well now. I googled him. He looks the same as Per only his hair is longer.
I clear my throat. ‘Let’s return to the curriculum. Has everyone read my Antarctica post from Tuesday?’
The Scott Foundation: Environment Adventure Education
Scott’s motorised sleds (which looked like a smaller version of the snow mobiles we use today) were developed specifically for the Antarctic expedition. The first and heaviest of the sleds fell through the ice as it was being unloaded from the Terra Nova; the other two sleds were discarded due to mechanical failure before the trek to the Pole had even begun. The loss of the sleds, combined with the failure of Scott’s Siberian ponies, and insufficient dogs, meant that man-hauling—where Scott and his team were pulling the sleds themselves—was increasingly necessary. This was exhausting work, particularly in light of dwindling food supplies. But notwithstanding the hardships he endured, Scott never lost sight of the scientific objectives of his mission. He continued to collect rocks for the purposes of geological study even though it increased the weight of his sled …
‘What an idiot,’ Amber says. ‘His fingers are falling off with frostbite and he’s picking up rocks.’
‘You don’t lose your digits immediately,’ I say. ‘It takes a week or two.’
‘If you’re dead you don’t lose them at all,’ Jonty says. ‘Not if you’re in the deep freeze.’
‘Be quiet, Jonty. Didn’t you read the rest of the post, Amber? The reason Scott kept collecting was because he planned to take the samples back to England. The research aspect of his earlier work had inspired a lot of interest from institutions like universities and geographical societies. So his work in the field was important from a scientific perspective, and it helped him raise funds for later voyages.’
‘Roald Amundsen just wanted to get there first,’ Jonty says. ‘That’s what he cared about. Even if he could’ve rescued Scott I don’t reckon he’d have bothered.’
‘Not everyone’s like the commander,’ Lucy says. ‘He loves to rescue people.’
I take a breath. The innocent smile Lucy had at the beginning of the year isn’t looking so innocent now she’s thirteen.
‘Can we get back on point please, Lucy? Scientific enquiry?’
‘Will you collect rocks when you go to Palau?’
‘No, but I’ll have plenty of other things to keep me occupied. Because in addition to being threatened by risks associated with global warming, Palau was the first country in the world to create a shark sanctuary in its waters, and it’s also working on fishing exclusion zones to protect vulnerable species like Big Eye and Bluefin Tuna.’ I nod towards the board where I’ve sketched a school of fish. ‘Sustainable management of resources. Let’s have a look at that now …’
Two days later Drew and I are walking together near the shore break. I picked him up from his care home after I finished at school. The waves gather around our ankles and our feet sink into the sand. Halfway along the beach we stop and face the horizon.
He links his arm through mine. ‘It’s a lovely evening, Maggie,’ he says.
I squeeze his arm. ‘Hey, I’m Harry, remember?’
He looks at me closely. ‘Course you are. Confuses me a little, you looking so like Maggie.’
Most things are confusing to Drew now. He calls at six every morning wanting to know where I am and what he should be doing. ‘Get dressed, have a chat to the night nurse, and then help out with the other residents until breakfast,’ I tell him. ‘Don’t go outside until George or one of the other carers arrives at nine, or you may get lost again.’
‘Harry! Drew!’ Allan and Dougal are running down the surf club steps to the beach. Dougal is fully fit again, and gallops over the sand. I brace myself when he gets to me but he doesn’t jump up; he rubs himself against my legs like a giant cat.
‘Hey, boy,’ I say, running my hands over his long curly coat. ‘Nice to see you too.’
‘Missed you in the second half of the game last night,’ Allan says. ‘How’s the head?’
I thought I’d got used to seeing Grant on Wednesday evenings, chatting on the sidelines about the animals he was treating, or what was going on with the foundation. But last night he asked me out. He said he remembered how much I liked Thai food, and told me a bunch of people from his team had booked a table at a local restaurant. He smiled his boyish attractive smile. ‘Will you come with me?’
It was half time. I looked down at my football socks and shorts. ‘I’m hardly dressed for it,’ I said.
All of a sudden he was serious. ‘You’re beautiful whatever you’re wearing.’
Maybe it was the use of the word beautiful that upset me. Vakker. Within a heartbeat I was so choked up I could hardly speak. I said something about having a headache and leaving early, and could he pass a message onto Allan. It was another half an hour before I could see clearly enough to drive home.
Allan walks with Drew while I paddle. Dougal runs circles around me, and darts in and out of the ocean. We both spot the seagull. It’s perched forty metres away on a piece of driftwood that’s washed up on the shore.
‘Race you, Dougal,’ I say, taking off in a sprint. The win
d is behind us and we fly over the ground.
I ran with Mum when I was small. When I could outrun her I ran with Dad. The first time I was faster than him we were on a beach in Cornwall in the middle of winter. The Watch was moored off shore; when we sat down to catch our breaths she was a blurry black shape in the distance. The coarse grey sand was rough between my toes, and I was so puffed I could barely breathe. ‘Beat you!’ I said.
Dad smiled, and shoulder bumped me. Thinking about it now, I can’t recall that he was panting like I was. Maybe he’d let me win? The tide was out, so it was easy to follow our tracks as we walked back to the outboard. It was tied up to a jetty near the headland. I stepped in Dad’s footprints, and he stepped in mine.
By the time we walk back to Drew and Allan, Dougal’s and my footprints have been washed away. Per’s were obliterated weeks ago. After tomorrow we’ll barely see each other. I’ll be heading to Palau in The Adélie towards the end of October. In December he’ll take the ship to Antarctica. One day I’ll thank him properly for giving me this gift of the ocean. I’ll write him a letter to tell him what it means. When he’s back in Norway. And when I’m sure I’m not in love with him.
CHAPTER
37
On Friday afternoon I bang on Professor Tan’s door, ignoring his PA’s instructions to stay in the waiting room until I’m called. When he opens the door he gives me one of his long-suffering expressions.
‘Weren’t you told to wait outside, Harry? I’d like another few minutes with the commander.’
Per is standing at the window with his back to me, gazing at the view of the university quadrangle. Even though I’ve psyched myself up to see him again, my heart threatens to burst through my chest. My words are stilted.
‘I’ll work on my sketchbook. Just pretend I’m not here.’
Per relinquishes his hold on the windowsill and turns. Our eyes meet. He doesn’t appear to be unwell like on Monday. Or maybe he just looks particularly good because he’s wearing his dress uniform. ‘Harriet.’
In At the Deep End Page 23
