Walking down off Observation Hill frightens me. I keep losing my footing. How did they ever get that cross up there? Birdie’s off ahead again. When we get back to the car, I’m exhausted and sweating like a pig. I look back. To have had the will to walk up there, time and again, to wait, to hope against futile hope to see five men trudging in from the southern horizon, and then to be disappointed and take that disappointment to your grave. I shudder.
‘Fancy a drink?’ Nev says.
‘I could murder a beer,’ I say.
‘An orange juice would be nice,’ Birdie says.
‘No booze?’
‘Oh, maybe a glass of red wine then,’ she says.
McMurdo Base sprawls like an ugly growth across the level ground at the end of the land towards the sea. This is where Scott and his men were moored in the Discovery in 1904, when they came up here for the first time, when they built the Discovery hut on the edge of the land, only to find it was too cold to live in. Just the thought freezes me.
We drive into McMurdo slowly. It’s like a frontier town in a Western, ramshackle and deserted, with paths of dirt and scattered debris. We park up next to what looks like a bomb shelter, a semi-circle of corrugated iron.
Birdie grabs my hand. ‘This is no place for Cherry’s ghosts,’ she says. ‘It’s a barren place.’
Nev grunts. ‘It’s the bar,’ Nev says, ‘but we’re not going there yet.’
The frozen bay is straight ahead of us, and behind it the mountains scrape the clouds from the sky. Some are covered in snow, some not. And closer to us, growing from the dirt of the cliff top, higher than the mountains from this perspective, there’s a steeple on top of a small wooden building.
‘They call it the Chapel of the Snows,’ Nev says.
‘It doesn’t look old enough to have such a lovely name,’ Birdie says.
‘The first one burned down over twenty years ago.’
‘That’s a shame.’
We crunch our way towards the chapel, on snowless ground, past more corrugated iron, along a line of telegraph poles, abandoned-looking provision piles, under a canopy of cables.
‘Can we go in?’ Birdie says.
‘Yeah. There’s so much soul searching goes on round here, specially in the winter, they think it’s best to have it open all the time.’
The door leads into a small, dimly lit space. There is a kind of peace here, but there’s nothing alive about it. I was expecting to find an echo here of the past, but there is none. It’s too new, too surrounded by modern sheds and machines. Ironic that it should have such an evocative name, yet be marooned in what is essentially a desert of dry mud.
Birdie and I walk up to the altar, and the stained glass window behind it. A large cross makes up the central panel. And beyond that there is only the Ice. And the south. But McMurdo’s just like an army barracks, over a thousand people in green steel boxes. I don’t want to be among scientists who aren’t interested in the beauty of this continent, who want only to exploit the richness of minerals that lie beneath the ice, minerals that nations will fight over when the greed for energy has eaten up the rest of the world’s resources. I sigh and turn back towards the door. I want to be out there, on the Ice.
‘Seen enough?’ Nev asks.
Birdie nods. ‘Let’s go have that drink.’
My night is sleepless, and not because of the ever-present light. There are shutters to keep that out of the rooms and give the semblance of real night. I can’t sleep because she isn’t here with me, and the bed’s too narrow. And Nev snores. I get up again, toy with the idea of finding Birdie’s room and sneaking in there, but change my mind. So I wander around the base, along the corridors, and up some stairs to where the networked computers are. At least there’s a satellite internet connection, but it’s so slow. Better than nothing, though. I log in to send John a quick email. He’s thirteen hours behind, so I don’t expect an immediate answer. I log off again, head to the smokers’ room to calm myself with some nicotine – not that it helps. I go back to bed, doze a little, can’t settle. I just want to find the tent and the dead men inside it.
We have more safety briefings and group work. We read manuals, learn how to tell the difference between frostnip and frostbite, learn what medications we carry in our field kits once we’re far off-base, and how to deal with injuries and sudden illnesses. The routine of the radio calls from the field is drummed into us again. Calls must be made at eight in the morning and eight in the evening, without fail. If calls are missed, the chopper’s sent out. We have to learn the wind chill calculations off by heart, and get tested on them, again and again.
We’re told how to dress quickly and well, how to set up a tent so it doesn’t blow away, how quickly wind chill can give you frostbite. Damp kills. Cotton kills. Lots of layers of clothes so there’s lots of warm air between the layers. We learn that snow blindness happens mainly on grey days when there’s no difference between the ground and the horizon. That’s why we should wear sunglasses all the time. There are different gloves for different types of work. Keep anything that might freeze in your sleeping bag with you. My head’s full of the stuff. But I have to laugh out loud when they tell us not to confuse our pee bottle with our water bottle.
Tomorrow, if the weather holds, Nev, Birdie, a safety instructor and I will get dropped off about ten kilometres from here to live in the field for four days so we learn the ropes. If we manage that all right, they’ll let us off the leash. Nev’s already explained to Birdie that the two of us will be allowed to stay at the location of Scott’s last camp on our own if we do well in this training, and if we sign a waiver which absolves the New Zealand government of any responsibility for us.
The field training’s cut short after two days because we’re quick learners – except for putting the tent up the wrong way round on our first attempt, with the door facing into the wind and snow. Once we get the hang of that, we do nothing wrong, and the trainer’s happy to sign us off. Birdie’s exuberant.
‘No more waiting,’ she says, as we jump out of the truck back at base that evening. ‘Let’s get some dinner.’
‘Your GPR gear’s been here since last year,’ Nev says on the way to the canteen. ‘We flew it out a week before you came over, so it would be ready.’
‘No one’s messed with it, then?’ Birdie says. ‘It’ll still be OK?’
‘We’ve not even taken it out of its box. All you’ve got to do is check the calibration when you put it all together. And then you’ll be able to see through the ice. And the modded Skidoo’s ready, too. We’ll fly the lot out to the location Adam’s worked out, so it’s ready when you get out there. And I’ll spend the first night out there with you. Just to do a recce.’
‘You sure you’ve got the coordinates right?’ I say.
‘I’ve had the chopper pilot check, double-check, and triple-check, so yes.’ He pushes his empty plate to one side. ‘Now listen,’ he says. ‘This is the really serious bit. It was a hell of a job persuading the powers that be that we could shorten your field training, so don’t let me down. Don’t do anything stupid when you’re up there without me. No running off because you’ve seen something you like the look of, no stomping off in a bad temper. The Antarctic’s a dangerous place, so don’t forget it.’
‘Yes, boss,’ Birdie says. ‘Sorry, boss. Anything you say, boss.’
‘It’s important,’ he says, and for once he’s not smiling.
‘Sorry, Nev,’ she says. ‘I am taking it seriously. Honestly.’
‘I know,’ he says. ‘But regardless of that waiver you’ve signed, I still feel responsible.’
‘Then don’t. If anything goes wrong, it’ll all be self-inflicted. I didn’t have to choose to do this.’
‘But I did,’ he says. ‘I did.’
She reaches out to him across the table, and takes his hand. ‘I understand how much you’ve done,’ she says. ‘And I’ll always be grateful to you. I won’t let you down. I promise.’
He turns the touch into a handshake. ‘Thank you.’ He lets go of her hand. ‘Right, I’m turning in. Don’t you two go to bed too late. It’ll be non-stop from tomorrow. Don’t let the 24-hour light make you think you’re not tired.’
‘OK,’ I say.
‘See you in the morning.’
I sit down again when he’s gone, turn to look at Birdie. Her face is as pale as the snow outside.
‘You OK?’ I say. She still hasn’t told Nev about being pregnant, and I don’t think she will.
‘Fine.’
‘You look dreadful. You’re not gonna faint, are you?’
‘No.’ She laughs. ‘Stop worrying. I’m eating like a pig. I feel stronger than ever.’
‘They were just ruses, those fainting fits, weren’t they? The first to snare me, and the others just to soften me up even more.’
‘Oh, yeah. As soon as I saw you, I thought, I’ve got to faint to get that handsome bloke.’
‘Thanks.’
‘Not for a while, I haven’t.’
‘I miss you,’ she says. ‘I wish we were sleeping in the same bed. And I’m sick to death of being told what to do and how to do it. All this shit, when all I want to do is find the grave.’
‘You want to be safe, don’t you?’
‘’Course I do. But all this stuff’s just common sense. We don’t need to be taught to be sensible. And, anyway, if something really does go wrong, they can just come and get us with the helicopter.’
‘It’s not that simple. They don’t have that many helicopters out here. They’re expensive to run. And what if there’s a blizzard? It could take days to get to us.’
‘We could last that long, couldn’t we? It is summer.’
‘Not exactly tropical, though, is it?’
‘That’s not the point.’
‘What is, then?’
‘Oh, everything. It’s frustrating, that’s what.’
‘We’re off tomorrow.’
‘Yes,’ she says. ‘Finally. How long’s it taken?’
‘A year and a bit.’
‘For you. It’s been nearly all my life for me.’
‘I hope you won’t be disappointed.’
‘Not much chance of that,’ she says. ‘I’m going to refuse to leave until we find them.’
We get up, rinse our plates, glasses and cutlery, walk out of the canteen, into the empty corridor. She takes my hand. We get to the corridor which leads off to the women’s quarters.
‘Hang on a minute,’ she says. She disappears into the doorway of the women’s toilets and showers. Reappears a moment later, a broad smile on her face.
‘Change of plan,’ she says, and grabs me.
‘What?’
‘No one in there. Come on.’
‘I thought you said …’
‘Forget what I said.’ She drags me into the room, into a cubicle. ‘I need you. Who knows what could happen tomorrow.’ She drops her trousers, pulls her shirt off. Helps me with my clothes. ‘Let’s be clean for tomorrow.’ She pulls me under the shower, turns on the water. Grabs my wet body, wraps her legs around me. ‘Two minutes of hot water,’ she gasps. ‘Better be quick.’
She kisses me through the jets of water, scratches my back, bites my shoulder to stop herself calling out, pulls my hair, claws at me, makes me forget where I am, whispers into my ear, holds me tight when it’s all over, when my muscles ache, when I start crying.
‘Thank you,’ she says. ‘I love you.’
‘I love you, too.’ I look round the cubicle. ‘Towels – there aren’t any towels.’
‘Doesn’t matter.’ She steps out of the shower. ‘Use your shirt.’
She’s still so skinny. God knows how I’ll feel when she gets bigger. Will she ever be the same once she’s had the baby, ever get back to that six-pack of a stomach that clenches and relaxes whenever I touch her? Does it matter? She bends over to pull on her pants.
‘You cow.’
‘Irresistible cow,’ she says. ‘You’d better take a good look while you can.’