We step out of the bright, air-conditioned corridors of Singapore’s airport into dark humidity. The smokers’ room is a rooftop garden. A multitude of yellow lights pierce the heavy night. I drag on my first cigarette for over half a day and it makes me feel dizzy.
‘You OK?’ she says.
‘Yeah. Fine.’
‘Fancy doing some shopping?’
‘Why not? I like shopping.’
‘Come on, then.’
I buy cigarettes. She tells me off. I stop next to a shop that sells anything made of silk. I go in. There are some very beautiful clothes in here, with bright colours and soft textures. I run my hands along them. She elbows me.
‘What are you doing?’ she whispers.
‘Just feeling the material.’
‘What the hell for?’
‘I like to.’
‘Why?’
‘Because that’s what I do when I shop.’
I pull a two-piece, skirt and top, from the rail. It’s a size 36 – tiny. I hold it up against her. She pushes it away.
‘Stop it.’
‘Why?’
‘Because.’
‘What?’
‘I’m not your wife.’
‘I know that.’
‘So why bother?’
I hold the crimson and pale yellow fabric against her aggressive body again.
‘Has anyone ever bought you clothes?’ I ask.
‘Yes, me.’
‘Someone else, I mean.’
‘I don’t want people to buy me clothes. It’s just a way of trying to change me.’
‘Shit, is that what you think? Sorry.’ I hang the outfit back. ‘I didn’t mean to upset you.’ I start to walk away from the rail, towards the exit.
‘Wait a minute,’ she calls.
I turn around. She’s holding it in her hand.
‘D’you really think it would suit me?’
‘Why else would I have shown it to you?’
‘Just let me try it on, then.’
When she reappears a few minutes later, I’m speechless. She’s even more beautiful in it than I thought she’d be. The pale yellow matches her hair, the rich red blends with the brown of her eyes. She looks timeless and elegant, graceful and controlled.
‘Give us a twirl,’ I say.
She does, with a broad grin on her face. ‘It looks great with my boots, doesn’t it?’
‘That’s what makes it. You look wonderful.’
‘When am I going to wear it?’
‘Anytime.’
She just grunts and walks back to the changing room. When we get to the checkout, I insist on paying for it.
‘A thank you,’ I say and give her the bag.
‘What for?’
‘Everything.’
‘Oh, stop being so soft.’ She grabs my hand and squeezes it.
‘And what was that?’
‘Oh, nothing.’ Now she does let go. ‘Come on. Get your smoke done. It’s time we moved on. And try to get some more sleep on the next leg. Otherwise you’ll be no good for anything.’
‘But I tried already.’
‘Try again.’
This time, the plane really is blacked out as we fly across territory I know nothing about. I sleep after two glasses of wine. Fitfully. At one point, I wake up and open the window blind just in time to see a shooting star fizz across the sky. I don’t recognise a single constellation. As I close the blind, I hear her move next to me.
‘It’s wonderful, isn’t it?’ she says.
‘What?’
‘Being in limbo. In a timeless zone.’
‘Yes.’ With you, I think.
‘Sleep.’ She closes her eyes again.
Christchurch airport isn’t as big as I’d imagined it to be. It’s light now, but I’m still not sure of the time of day. I’m a zombie. She drags me along the corridor. We’re met by a guide.
‘Hi. I’m Shane, and you look like you need some coffee, mate,’ he cheerfully shouts at me.
‘Yeah, story of my life, pal.’
‘Your bags are priority, so all we need to do is pick them up and then you can have that coffee.’
‘We’ve got a cab waiting,’ Birdie says. ‘We’ll get coffee at the hotel.’
‘Fair enough,’ he says.
We get in the cab. Shane puts all our gear in the boot and hands me his business card. Bit sexist, really, seeing as it’s Birdie who’s paying for all this. She’s not bothered, though. She shrugs and winds down the window, despite the chill.
‘It’s gonna turn to custard later,’ the cabbie says as he pulls away from the kerb.
‘Eh?’ Birdie raises an eyebrow and shoots me a secret smile.
‘Gotcha.’
I think I’ll let her do the talking. I can’t transmogrify into a Kiwi like she just has.
‘So whatcha down here for?’
‘Just a holiday.’
‘Just married?’
‘Nah, mate. Just good friends.’
‘Fair enough … No harm in asking.’
‘None at all.’
‘Posh digs, though.’
‘Luck of the draw.’
‘Good customers of mine.’
‘Even better.’
We’re down the long straight road from the airport by now. The city is scattered in the wake of a range of hills, green, dotted white with houses. We move gently along the road, and I get a sense of us missing Christchurch out altogether, and just motoring on up the hills. But we suddenly come to a stop in the middle of a huge park populated by enormous trees. They’re pine trees, he tells us, as we’re waiting for the traffic lights to change. There’s one in there that’s 137 years old. He tells us to make sure we find it. The lights change, and we’re there. After London, this place seems more like a village than an international city. And I like it.
I think the cabbie’s too old to help us with our bags, so I lug all our gear through into the hotel lobby, and tell the hovering porters I don’t need any help.
‘I gave him a twenty-dollar tip,’ Birdie says when she catches up with me.
‘Why?’
‘Such a nice old bloke.’
‘I’m surprised he’s still driving.’
‘He obviously wants to keep going.’
‘Not like you to be so generous.’
‘Ha.’
She checks us in, and we carry our bags into the lift. The doors close without a sound. Posh digs, indeed.
‘Why the separate rooms?’ I ask.
‘Wouldn’t want anyone getting the wrong idea, would we?’
‘S’pose not.’
‘Oh, stop being so grumpy. It’s just so we’ve each got our own space.’
We dump her stuff in her room. Mine’s next door.
‘Very nice,’ she says.
‘Not bad at all.’
She jumps onto my bed, my double bed.
‘I’ll get my stuff later.’
‘What?’
‘I’ll get my stuff later.’
‘I don’t understand you.’
‘You just see everything in black and white when there’s no need to. Just go with the flow.’
‘I’m trying to.’
‘You think too much.’
‘So how do I stop?’
‘If I knew, I’d have told you by now.’
‘Can’t you ever be serious?’
‘I’m serious about finding that tent.’
‘What about feelings?’
‘They’re not important. Not now. Come on, Adam, leave it. We’ll talk about all that when we’ve done what I came here to do.’
‘We’re not quite there yet.’
‘I know.’
‘So what now?’
‘The guys from the Antacrtic Trust are going to have dinner with us later. And tomorrow we go to their office and get kitted out.’
‘I hope that works out. I’m sure I’ve put on weight since we sent our measurements.’
‘You’re so full of shit.’
‘But I have.’
‘Rubbish. Anyway, they’ll have more than just one size of things, won’t they?’
‘How should I know?’
She stands on the bed. She starts bouncing, then jumps off with a little scream.
‘Come on,’ she says. ‘I need that coffee now.’
I touch her shoulder as she walks past me. She turns and puts her arms round me. We kiss, a long kiss. She strokes my face. She looks at me and smiles. There’s a sadness in that smile I can’t fathom.
When we get downstairs, the guy at reception waves at us. We go across to him.
‘Mr Wheeler has arrived for you. He’s waiting in the bar area. He told me not to disturb you until you came down.’
‘Who?’ I ask.
‘He’s the bloke from the Trust,’ Birdie says. ‘You should pay more attention. He’s the one who’s taking us out there.’
We wander across to the bar. There’s a stocky guy with dark hair on one of the bar stools drinking what looks suspiciously like booze to me.
‘Neville?’ Birdie asks.
‘Ah, Henrietta.’ He jumps off the stool. ‘Nice to meet you at last.’ He shakes her hand. ‘Call me Nev.’
‘Hi, Nev,’ she squeaks.
‘And you must be Adam.’ He turns, shakes my hand, too. He’s got a good, firm grip.
‘Hello, Nev. How you doing?’
‘Good, good.’
‘So, what brings you here before the appointed time?’ Birdie asks him.
‘Just thought I’d see how you’re settling in.’
‘Fine,’ she says. ‘Let’s sit over there. Adam, can you get me a double espresso, please?’
‘Try a Long Black,’ Nev says. ‘Speciality here.’
‘And what’s that you’re drinking?’ I ask Nev.
‘Lemonade with bitters and fruit. Dead refreshing.’
‘I thought it was booze. Sorry, mate.’
‘No worries. Too early for that … You wanna try the local beer, though.’
‘I’ll leave that till later, too. I need some caffeine.’
‘Are you very tired?’ he says as we sit down.
‘I’m not too bad,’ Birdie says. ‘But I think Adam’s struggling a bit. Just can’t take the pace, these oldies.’
‘I’ll be fine. Just a bit disoriented. Never been in the Southern hemisphere before.’
‘You’ll get used to it,’ Nev says. ‘I think it’s great you reckon you’ll be fit enough to have dinner with us later.’
‘You try and stop us,’ Birdie says.
Our coffees arrive. Bliss. I excuse myself so I can take mine outside and have a smoke with it. Old habits, and all that. It’s warmer now. The sun’s threatening to come out. I wander round the car park with my smoke and my coffee, nose around a bit. The park looks interesting. And immense.
‘… and the weather’s a bit unsettled, as well,’ I hear Nev say as I walk back into the hotel.
‘Is that a problem?’ Birdie asks.
‘It could escalate to a Condition One, in which case we won’t even take off if we know about it. Or we’ll get boomeranged when we’re in the air.’
‘How will we know, if we’re still on the ground here?’ she says.
‘Scheduled take-off is 9 a.m. every day. That means being there by seven. So I’d pick you up at about 6.30. If we get bumped, you’ll get a bump call at about 5 a.m. or so.’
‘From you?’
‘Me or Warney. He’s the guy in charge of logistics, and he usually knows before me if there’s a problem. You’ll meet him tomorrow when you get your gear. That’ll be your last day of getting up late, because I won’t be picking you up till 8.30.’
‘So what happens if we get bumped the day after tomorrow?’ Birdie asks.
’24-hour delay.’
‘And if we get bumped again?’
‘Same thing.’
‘Jesus. It could go on forever, couldn’t it?’
‘You never know,’ he says. ‘Although normally bad weather only lasts three or four days.’
‘So what about Scott’s ten days in that tent?’ I say.
‘No one knows,’ Nev says. ‘That’s why you’re here, isn’t it?’
So she has told him. I look at her. Why? She avoids my stare.
‘Apparently,’ I say and finish my coffee. ‘Apparently so.’