Chapter 14
CHAPTER
Last night, Sebastien stood on a stage. This morning, as the sun filters through the early morning mist on the harbour, he’s standing at ease on the deck of the ship, legs slightly apart and hands behind his back.
Is he dressed in a similar way to most of the crew members—black on black—because he’s already at work and assessing the ship and its potential impact on Antarctic oceans and wildlife?
He’s talking to Captain Simpson, a leaner version of Santa Claus with a white beard and avuncular smile, who warmly welcomed us all on board.
I don’t want to care that Sebastien takes everything so seriously and hardly ever smiles.
Did our kiss mean something to him like it meant something to me?
He didn’t want me to walk away. Even though we’re not friends.
Or colleagues. A month ago, I told him I didn’t need to be rescued but I did.
Kissing him has only made everything more complicated.
I follow the directions of the busy but friendly crew as we’re directed right and left. The sky is grey and the breeze off the ocean is cool, but the sun holds subtle hints of summer.
‘I’ll take you to your cabin.’ Gregory, the crew member assigned to me, Robin and a few others, is in his mid thirties and has a gigantic smile. Will he care if I breathe into a bag or throw up?
‘Could I stay up here for a while?’
‘Enjoy the weather while it lasts,’ Gregory says with a mock shiver. ‘I’ll take your kit to your cabin.’
When Robin looks at me suspiciously, I touch her arm. ‘I want to get acclimatised, that’s all.’
She takes a few steps before looking back. ‘I’ll find you a room with a view.’
The ship is one of very few equipped to carry supplies and people to bases on sub-Antarctic islands and mainland Antarctica. Other expeditioners, whether this is their first trip or the latest of many, are excited about the opportunities they’ll have on the stations.
I’m excited too, but first I have to get there.
The ship is an hour out of Hobart when a silver gull, red legs and beak vibrant against grey and white feathers, flies overhead. I follow him with the lens of my camera and capture the image.
‘Nice to see a real camera.’ Kingsley, sitting next to me on one of the decks at the side of the ship, leans back and stretches his arms above his head. ‘My grandfather had a Canon like that.’
‘This one belonged to my grandfather too.’
He gestures to the bulky bag at my feet. ‘Was he a professional photographer?’
I unscrew a lens and store it carefully in one of the compartments. ‘No, but Gramps took his photography seriously. He’d approve of the photos I take.’
‘Aren’t seagulls boring to someone with your qualifications?’
‘That gull would weigh around two hundred and fifty grams. What’s he doing all the way out here in the middle of his breeding season? He’s flying into a headwind back to the mainland. How long will it take him?’
‘I hadn’t thought of it like that.’
Clouds scoot across the sky as the gull, head extended like the tip of an arrow, swoops again.
‘Fly away home, silver gull.’
Kingsley taps my foot with his. ‘What got you into birds?’
I was still in pigtails when I worked out that birds had the freedom to stay where they were or to move on.
And just like the birds, I could grow strong and independent and make my own way in the world.
I filled a scrapbook with pictures of the birds I saw at the park and at school.
For my eighth birthday, Mum sent me out the back of our rental—an apartment with a patch of dirt around the Hills Hoist—to find my present.
There was a small aviary near the chain wire fence, which is where she’d put the canary.
It upset me to see the bird, who I called Pippin, clinging to the wires of the cage and looking beyond them to the trees on the other side of the fence.
Even before I’d left for school, I’d opened the cage to let Pippin out.
Mum was cranky because the bird had been given to her in lieu of payment by a client.
Matt told me I’d signed the canary’s death warrant because he wouldn’t have a chance of surviving in the wild.
When I started to cry, Matt was contrite: ‘I haven’t given you my present yet. ’
He’d bought me an illustrated guidebook on Australian birds that he’d found at a second-hand book stall.
Pippin wasn’t in the guide because canaries are an introduced species, but I assumed he had similar qualities to a budgerigar.
It was too late to get Pippin back, but I reasoned the more I knew, the less likely I’d be to harm a bird again.
I borrowed every book I could get my hands on.
And, as I was too young to have my own phone, I searched for Gramp’s camera (after his sight had deteriorated, he’d given it to Mum but she’d never used it).
We were living in Warrandale at the time and an elderly neighbour, Artie Jones, bought me my first roll of film and taught me how the camera worked.
It was expensive to get the film developed so I mostly used the camera to zoom in on birds and take imaginary photos. In my mind, I remembered them.
‘I like how birds are free,’ I tell Kingsley before shading my eyes and searching for the seagull. ‘How they’re out of reach.’
‘A bit like you.’
‘When I was seventeen, I was separated from my niece, Matilda. I never want that to happen again.’
‘What about men?’ An exaggerated sigh. ‘Regretfully, you’re not into me, but I think you’re out of reach to other men too.’
‘It’s easier.’
‘Bad experiences?’
In the last of my hook-ups, we were on the banks of a river at Narromine.
It was stupid to dive into the water after we’d had sex, particularly in winter and in the dead of night, but it was the only way I could think of to get clean.
And as it turned out, the chill of the water stopped it hurting so much.
When I came to the surface, the first thing I heard was the hoot of an owl.
He was out there somewhere, safe in his tree, and I promised myself I’d find safety too.
‘I don’t want more of the same.’ Looking even further back, to my parents’ relationship and my mother’s almost desperate love for a man who cared only about himself, I worked out I didn’t want love either.
Kingsley holds out a hand. ‘I’d like to be your friend, Flick.’
I smile as we shake. ‘Deal.’
‘I was an idiot at the bar in Melbourne.’ He grimaces. ‘Not much help on the flight, either.’
My throat tightens. ‘Confined spaces with engine noise are my nemesis.’
‘What about here?’
When a cloud shifts, the sun shines brightly. ‘So far, so good.’
‘With this rolling motion—’ Kingsley puts a hand on his stomach, ‘—I’m not doing so well myself. Consensus is the weather will get worse.’
‘We’ve been warned.’
‘I’ll go to my cabin for a spell. Maybe lying down will help.’
I haven’t been to my cabin yet, but I’ve walked up and down the passenger deck, and explored the dining and common rooms on the next level down.
The windows were shut, but the spaces are large.
Narrow banks of steps lead to the lower levels of the ship and the cabins for the crew and passengers. My smile is shaky.
‘I’ll see you at six for dinner.’
As other passengers wander from the dining area to the common rooms or their cabins, I pretend an interest in my iPad and tell anybody who asks that I’ll be going to bed very soon.
At first, the kitchen crew clearing away the buffet keep me company, but then I sit alone.
My eyes are scratchy and I’d like to go to bed, but the memory of my last panic attack keeps me where I am.
If I’d had the courage to tell Captain Simpson about my fears, he might have found me a place where I could—
When Sebastien told me his hair needed a cut, I disagreed. As he walks towards me, he runs a hand through it. Robin, pale in the way Kingsley was but also concerned, is behind Sebastien but jogs to overtake him.
‘Our cabins are next to each other, with a bathroom in between.’ Lowering her voice, she puts a hand on my arm. ‘You haven’t been down there, have you? Does Seb know that?’
I sit on the edge of my chair with my hands on the table, ready to jump to my feet. Ready to scoop up my bag, throw it over my shoulder and stride from the room with my head held high. Ready to—
‘Flick.’ Sebastien pulls up a chair and sits close. ‘Breathe.’
The breath I wasn’t aware I was holding escapes in a gasp.
‘We’ve both been looking for you,’ Robin says.
Sebastien takes my hands, squeezes firmly. ‘Keep breathing.’
Will he send me back to Hobart when the storm passes? Will he get angry and—
‘You also do this on ships?’
‘The cabin.’ I exhale again. ‘The vibrations and sounds of the engines.’
‘This reminds you of a plane?’
‘I can’t get out.’
He strengthens his hold on my hands. ‘You have to sleep in a cabin.’
‘Chapter four. Module six.’
‘What?’
When I can’t answer, Robin puts a hand on his shoulder. ‘In our training, we were warned we’d be confined to our cabins at night—and during the day if the weather was bad. We were told that passengers can’t wander around willy-nilly.’
Sebastien’s gaze softens a little. ‘Chapter four. Module six.’
‘Up here, it’s okay.’
‘It’s unsafe to stay up here.’
‘The captain won’t like it, we know that.’ Robin grimaces. ‘But what if Flick has a migraine?’
‘I’ll take care of it.’ Sebastien leans in so close I’m forced to meet his gaze. ‘You have to trust me.’
‘With Seb’s military background,’ Robin says, ‘he knows what he’s doing.’ When she looks to Sebastien for confirmation, he nods firmly.
‘We want to avoid a panic attack.’