Chapter Three
Allie
‘No. Sorry. Absolutely not.’
Polly stands gazing at me hopefully in the corridor next to the canteen, old mascara dotting the end of her sandy lashes, completely blind to the fact she’s just asked me the worst thing I could possibly be asked in this moment of my life.
Can Milo and Jameson come with us to Cote Rock tomorrow? A tiny, tiny, inescapable island?
‘No?’ She laughs. She’s waiting for me to laugh, too, slap my thigh, say, ‘Haha, just kidding, Polls! Had you there for a minute though, didn’t I?’
Instead, I stutter, ‘I j-just think it’s a bad idea. The fieldwork on Cote Rock is really important and Iris and I have really planned everything we need to do when we’re there—’
‘Oh. Well. Of course I understand. That’s why I suggested I come too. Shoulder the load.’
‘It’s a lot of physical work as well,’ I carry on, desperately. ‘Plus, the tents and the . . . the weather, and no showers. We’ve only planned the trip for three people. It’s me, Iris, Lars . . .’
The fluorescent lights and shiny floors seem to stretch then contract like a beating heart as I stand here.
This cannot happen. I cannot let this happen.
Milo and Jameson cannot come with us on our expedition.
It’s bad enough they’re here, at the station, but to follow us to what is essentially a rock you can walk the breadth of in six hours .
. . No. No. Absolutely not. Plus, you need to be prepared.
Prepared to be exhausted, to be vulnerable, and I don’t want two – strangers with a camera witnessing us being exhausted and vulnerable, just for them to cut and edit us so even more witnesses can watch us as entertainment and not humans, all while shovelling popcorn into their judgemental mouths.
I’ve been there, thank you. I don’t ever wish to be there again.
‘The thing is,’ Polly says gently, holding her hands together at her chest, like a priest might.
‘Everyone agrees it’ll help. That it’ll be the best use of the opportunity.
For awareness. For donations. Oliver even said it himself and that man’s ego means he never acknowledges the dwindling interest in our area of work. ’
‘Celebrity endorsement rarely helps long term, Polly.’
‘I’m the last person to understand all of the internet stuff, Allie, you know that.
But even I’m not sure I agree with you.’ She says this in a gentle, careful way.
Her whole demeanour has the feel of I like you and I know your heart’s in the right place, but I’m afraid to say you’re talking a barrel of absolute shite.
‘Just think. It’ll be a real fly-on-the-wall video about what we really do,’ she carries on.
‘Isn’t that what we always talk about? Making this accessible to the public.
That if only everyone knew how important and real our work is for humanity, the world would change.
Look at Count Your Chicks. Yes, you don’t have the users you’d like, but the people that do know about it help hugely. ’
My heart sinks then. She looks so full of hope and how could I tell her no and tell her why?
It would sound selfish. And I know she’s right.
Sweet, too-good-for-this-world Polly. I think of my regular users – SunshineGirl23, Magic_Garrett, AcerSpark, logging on just to count for the good of the birds, for the good of all of us.
This could reach so many. But how am I supposed to agree to this?
Four days. With Milo Ford on a giant rock in the middle of the ocean?
‘But what if I don’t want to be filmed?’
‘You won’t be filmed. If you don’t want to be. I said I’d happily be interviewed, and Iris doesn’t mind either.’ Of course she doesn’t. ‘The birds and bacteria are OK with it too!’ She chuckles. I don’t.
‘Right.’
Polly steps forward, places her fingertips lightly on my forearm. ‘I’m sorry if it feels like an intrusion.’
And it does, more than she knows. Because viral really was the word for what happened last time. Something that took hold, covering the world like a rash, until it faded away just as fast. A story people, bar a handful of fanatics, have forgotten . . .
I haven’t.
I haven’t forgotten.
Because it changed my life, meeting Milo. The leak. It changed it inside and out.
But this is work, isn’t it? This whole thing is bigger than my silly relationship – if you can even call it that – with a celebrity I was forced to interact with for nineteen dizzying, confusing days.
This is about something that really matters.
This is not about me. Or Milo. It’s about what matters most to me.
‘The medicals?’ I ask quietly.
‘Of course. Both passed.’
‘We’ll need extra pen launchers and camping equipment and . . . It’s a lot to suddenly organise, Polly. The Bay hates it when we just show up without warning, needing supplies. It’s almost nine at night—’
‘I’ll organise it all.’ Polly places her hand on the shoulder of my jacket. ‘It’ll be worth it, Allie. I really think we’ll come back feeling like we’ve done something important.’ She smiles. ‘And all you have to do is your amazing job . . .’
As I shout after her that we leave at 8 a.m. sharp, no excuses, Iris emerges from around the corner of the corridor, like someone sliding from the wings of a stage.
‘Fuuuuck,’ she mouths, and it is the only word that could ever describe what’s about to happen: four whole days in the wilderness with Milo Ford.
Fuck indeed.