Chapter 27
CHAPTER
Summer O’Connor, a young naval lieutenant on secondment to the Antarctic Division, is responsible for the boats used by scientific and other personnel on Morrison. As waves slap the stern of a rigid hulled inflatable, she puts her short blonde hair behind her ears and pulls on a cap.
‘How’re you doing, Flick?’
I shade my eyes from the glimmer of sunlight pushing through the clouds. ‘Well, thanks.’
‘I’ve got you, Seb, Robin and Tran on my passenger list.’
‘Tran can’t make it, so Sebastien and I have been asked to check the huts. We’ll go back to the station on foot.’
Sebastien, carrying Robin’s daypack as well as his own, adjusts his longer stride to accommodate hers. He’s not exactly limping but favours his injured ankle as he throws the packs into the inflatable.
‘Felicity.’ His split lip doesn’t look as painful as it did.
‘Hey.’
His English vocabulary is equal to mine, but he frowns as if he doesn’t recognise ‘hey’.
Was my greeting too casual? After he ended the call from Matilda last night, he went back to his chair and opened his book.
Angelina jabbed a finger in his direction when I told her I was going to bed, encouraging me to thank him for bringing me the phone, but I walked past as if I didn’t want to disturb his reading.
‘Flick?’ Robin calls out. ‘Why were you up so early?’
‘I wanted to do the gentoo observations before we left.’
‘Lordy lord, you’re keen.’ As Summer hands Robin into the boat, Robin smiles her thanks. ‘Seb tells me you two haven’t met.’
‘Ships that pass in the night.’ Summer smiles as she salutes. ‘I’ve heard a lot about you, Captain Thorsen.’
‘Seb.’
‘Can you give me a hand getting the boat into the water? Flick, hop in and put on a life jacket.’
Summer, sitting next to Robin at the back, manoeuvres the boat out of the bay.
Sebastien, next to me and also facing the others, is careful not to touch me as he takes the life jacket I offer and shrugs into it.
He bends his head to fasten the clips but struggles to secure them, finally lengthening the straps and using the palm of his hand to click the fastenings into place.
‘What have you done to yourself this time?’ Robin asks.
Sebastien shrugs. ‘An old injury.’
Summer tips her head to the side as she considers his lip. ‘The new injury looks like a right hook.’
‘I fell on ice.’
‘Why aren’t you flying jets?’
A pause. ‘Why aren’t you on a ship?’
Summer’s hesitation is even longer than Sebastien’s was. She glances at Robin. ‘What do you think?’
‘As Seb failed to answer your question,’ Robin says, ‘telling him to mind his own business would be justified.’
She laughs. ‘With his rank? I could lose my job.’
Robin huffs. ‘Not on my watch.’
‘I had cancer.’ Summer clearly articulates each word. ‘My treatment ended six months ago and I’m in remission, but the navy doesn’t know what to do with me.’
Sebastien leans forward, forearms on his legs. ‘You’re well now?’
‘Never better.’ When Summer’s hair blows into her eyes, she pushes it under her hat. ‘This has just grown back.’
‘How old are you?’ Sebastien speaks quietly.
Summer points an accusing finger. ‘Tell me I’m brave, air force boy, and I’ll slit your throat with a cutlass.’
He barks a laugh. ‘How old?’
‘Twenty-five last week. You going to share your story now?’
‘A year ago, the jet I was flying had a mechanical failure and I ejected.’ Sebastien’s hand finds mine on the seat. The lightest of touches; my gloved little finger and his ungloved thumb. ‘It went wrong.’
‘Jesus.’
‘If I get through a medical in January, they’ll take me back.’
Sebastien can’t know my heart is beating faster than it was, but he studies my face intently. As a seal darts in front of the boat, I fold my hands in my lap. The seal flips onto its back and swims backwards, head above the water, in front of the boat.
The beach at Craggy Point is only eight kilometres from the station and we could have walked here via the plateau, but Robin wanted to collect samples from rocks near the shoreline.
The wind has softened from last night’s wailing monster to a breeze that ruffles the water.
Summer slows the boat, idling as Robin carefully stores her samples and I look through binoculars towards the coast, taking photos and recording information on an iPad.
Other than Sebastien asking Summer questions about the watercraft used on Morrison, there’s little conversation.
‘You can take us in now,’ Robin says.
There are seals and scores of penguins in the water, so we drift slowly towards the beach.
Thousands more royal penguins nest in rookeries on rocky slopes interspersed with grass.
Royals are mid-sized penguins, about sixty centimetres tall.
Their slate and white plumage is standard, but they have brilliant yellow feathers on the tops of their heads.
‘They look like they’re wearing hats,’ Summer says.
‘Is it the male or female penguin that finds the nesting sites?’ Robin asks.
‘The males claim the sites around September, then the females join them and hatch the egg. About a hundred days later, the chicks are born. The males take care of them while the females feed and regain weight.’
‘My father would have enjoyed a more active caring role,’ Robin says. ‘Unfortunately, there was no parental leave back then.’
‘Dad was the primary carer when me and my brothers were growing up.’ Summer smiles at me. ‘Was your dad hands on, Flick?’
‘I was young when he died.’
After a worried glance in my direction, Robin leans over the side of the boat. ‘For how long are male penguins in charge?’
‘When the chicks are three or four weeks old, they go to a crèche and the parents take turns to feed them. The crèche environment keeps them warm and protects them until they grow feathers and can feed themselves.’
‘Sounds like a good parenting plan,’ Summer says. ‘No wonder the females stay loyal.’
The seals on the beach, a strip of sand littered with pebbles and rocks, lie side by side and sleepily grunt.
A penguin paddles into the water and dives into the shallows.
Patches of tall native grasses glow vibrant green against a monochrome background.
A cacophony of squawks and screeches. Two chicks, grey and white with soft, fluffy feathers, gambol over a pile of rocks.
The adult penguins look much the same, but the chicks are all sizes—fuzzy balls with beaks and older birds that bustle self-importantly.
By the time Robin has collected additional samples, and I’ve added to data the professor recorded six months ago, the clouds have blocked the sun, but we find a sheltered space to share lunch.
Sebastien is the first to stand once we’ve eaten. After a pointed glance at me, he addresses the others.
‘Felicity and I will see you back at the station.’
‘What’s the rush?’ Robin, not terribly successfully repressing a smile, holds out a thermos. ‘More hot chocolate, Flick?’
‘No, thank you.’ I store everything, including the crumbs, in my backpack. ‘Better get going before it rains again.’
As Sebastien and I walk side by side up the hill to the plateau, I give him the briefing I received yesterday—we have to check that the huts on our route have working generators, appear to be weatherproof and are stocked with everything a stranded day tripper might need for an unexpected overnight stay.
Sebastien’s gaze is sombre. Censorious? When his eyes slip to my mouth, I feel unexpected desire. Inappropriate desire. Even my hands and feet feel warm as we walk over the rocks. When we reach the first hut, he shrugs off his daypack, dropping it onto the ground beside him.
‘I’ll start the generator.’
Soft drizzle escalates to rain and then a downpour as we push through gusts of wind to the final hut. Only a kilometre from the station, this structure is a prefabricated shell attached to a concrete slab. When I turn to face Sebastien at the door, rain falls in a curtain between us.
Reaching around me, he yanks open the door. ‘I’ll do the external checks tomorrow.’
Once inside, I take off my dripping coat and gloves and pull down the zip of my jacket, adding it to Sebastien’s on the hooks. I tuck my frozen hands under my arms as he opens a chest and finds a thermal wrap. He points to one of the timber slat platforms that serve as a bed.
‘Sit down.’
As I wrap the thermal around my shoulders, Sebastien contacts the station. One of the maintenance guys tells him he’ll come and get us in the buggy. My hair is sticking to my face and neck as if I’ve just got out of a shower. Sebastien’s hair is dark like a seal and he’s limping.
‘You shouldn’t have walked all that way with an injury.’ I tighten the wrap. ‘But thank you for this.’
His mouth is firm. ‘How long will you be angry?’
‘Do I have to put a date on it?’
‘The ship leaves tomorrow night.’
I spent half of yesterday doing work Sebastien thinks I’ve handed over to Dougie and tomorrow I’ll do the same. Sebastien shouldn’t have taken the work away, at least not without an explanation, but no matter how often I tell myself I’m not lying, merely keeping a secret, I feel guilty.
When I shuffle sideways on the platform, he sits next to me. Ten centimetres between us. Maybe eight.
‘I didn’t want to hurt you.’ His lashes brush his cheeks when he blinks. A drip slips from his hair and slides down the side of his face. He shifts position on the bench. Our knees touch.
‘I appreciate your kindness to Matilda. Other than that, I have nothing to say.’
‘You love Matilda like your own child. She’s clever, like you. Sensitive.’
‘Stop being nice. I want to stay angry.’
‘I can’t change the arrangement with Dougie.’ Another drip falls from his fringe. He swipes an arm across his face. ‘My reasons are sound. You have to trust me.’
‘Again?’
He thinks about that. ‘I wouldn’t expect you to breach confidences. This is the same.’
I don’t know his reasons but they’re important to him. Does that make a difference?
‘Do you want to know what happened after I ejected from the plane?’
He’s searching my face again. This is intimate. He knows it. I know it. When he takes my hand, warmth seeps through my veins.
‘Do you think telling me things will encourage me to trust you?’
A lift of his lip. ‘I hope so.’
‘You’ve already told me that after you ejected, you were lost in the forest. I don’t want to upset you if you’d prefer not to talk about it.’
When he shifts backwards and leans against the wall, I follow his lead. Our shoulders, arms and legs line up. Taking my hand again, he threads our fingers. After a minute of silence, maybe two, I help him out.
‘You were injured.’
‘Broken bones. Also, my eyes.’
‘What happened to them?’
‘Ocular trauma, bilateral oedema, a splinter haemorrhage in my left conjunctiva, a detached retina in my right.’
‘Could you see?’
‘At first, nothing. Later, light and dark. They didn’t find me for two days. That was difficult.’
When my hand shifts, he tightens his grip.
‘I had surgery on my right eye. After many months, both eyes healed.’
‘That wasn’t guaranteed, was it?’
‘No.’
‘How does this affect your career?’
‘If I had to eject again, the risks would be heightened.’ Again, he struggles for words. ‘Most pilots never have to eject. It’s unlikely to happen twice.’
‘Wouldn’t this rule you out of the air force?’
‘I’m trained, experienced, valuable. Flying jets is always dangerous—it’s my choice.’
‘Flying, cave diving, climbing. You do a lot of dangerous things, but losing your sight …’ I search for the gold in his chestnut eyes. ‘Is it worth the risk?’
A shrug like it doesn’t matter. Then, ‘I like to see you.’
‘What about reading?’ I free my hand and stroke his. ‘That’s important too.’
‘You care about that?’
‘I like the way you read.’
‘I like to watch you watch me read.’
I study our hands. ‘What are you reading now?’
‘Matilda.’
When he rests his forehead on mine, our noses bump. We breathe in and out in time.
His phone beeps, and he looks at the screen and curses.
‘We have to go, don’t we?’
‘Ten minutes.’
Our eyes lock. And then, in less than a heartbeat, his arms are around me and my hands are in his hair.
Soft kisses, firm kisses. Warm and wild and hot and hard.
Caring and careless, tender and rough. His kisses, just like the risks he takes and the books he reads, are a world of contradictions.
My breasts ache, my thighs tingle and there’s nothing I want more than to keep on kissing him, but I’ve gone behind his back and made a deal with Dougie and—
Sebastien lifts his head. ‘Lisse? What?’
Swallowing hard, I shake my head. ‘Nothing.’
He lifts my hand and kisses a knuckle. ‘When we met, and later at the zoo, you were hiding your fear of flying. In Hobart, you were afraid of what could happen on the ship. I think you’re hiding something now.’
I look down at our hands; stroke the little finger he fractured. ‘I can’t tell you everything.’
‘I don’t ask that.’
‘You want me to trust you, even though you only show me parts of you.’
‘I’ll be back at the end of November.’ His kiss is short, hard and possessive. ‘I’ll do better. It won’t always be like this.’
‘How can it not be?’
He draws a line from the top of my nose to my mouth before pressing gently, then he lowers his head and kisses me again.