Harriet
I called Professor Tan after the mediation, and told him it was important that we meet face to face. He replied that he could see me in his university rooms on Wednesday afternoon. I’m sitting in the waiting room outside his office.
The professor is a high-profile physicist and committed environmentalist, with excellent contacts in government and media circles. He admired Mum and Dad, and appreciated the fact that their documentaries were based on solid scientific evidence. Dad encouraged Tan’s postgrad students, letting them carry out research while crewing on The Watch. So Tan was a natural choice as a board member for the Scott Foundation when Dad set it up. A few years ago the other board members—most of them academics—elected Tan as Chairman.
I take out my sketchbook and pencil. When he wasn’t in hospital Dad saw a series of specialists as an outpatient—monthly, weekly, sometimes daily. I’d wheel him into their waiting rooms and sit there until he’d been treated, then I’d take him outside to meet whoever was driving us around that day. I must have been fifteen when we were in his neurologist’s waiting room. Dad turned to me and said, ‘Bring your sketchbook tomorrow, Harriet. It will keep you occupied. And take your mind off Brazil.’
Dad had swerved to avoid a truck overloaded with coffee plantation workers. The road under the front wheel of our four-wheel drive gave way, and the car tumbled eighty metres to the bottom of a gorge. Mum died within thirty minutes and although I got Dad out of the car, he was still unconscious when Drew and the villagers arrived three hours later. I didn’t want to talk about what had happened and the locals didn’t ask questions because fatal accidents are common in remote regions of South America. But Drew got most of the facts out of me. As did the psychiatrist that Drew sent me to.
Dr Makepeace was funny and kind, and his wife gave me herbal teas while I sat in his waiting room next to a brown-haired girl with beautiful eyes. She was always there before me even though her appointments were later than mine, and she wrote furiously in her notebook while I drew pictures in my sketchbook. Sometimes another girl sat with us in the waiting room. She never smiled, and she walked with a stick, or crutches. Her hair was red-gold and she looked like a Christmas angel.
Professor Tan finally opens the door to his office. ‘Sorry to have kept you waiting, Harry.’
The professor is shorter than I am but when we shake hands he always seems to look down on me. And I don’t know why he’s apologising. He always keeps me waiting.
He looks at his watch. ‘You have thirty minutes,’ he says.
Even before The Watch went down, the professor didn’t rate me. He sees the world in terms of people who are scientists and people who are not. But he does acknowledge that, through Mum and Dad, and the documentary work I do, I’m very well known and generally liked. It makes me useful for liaising with the public and for fundraising.
He sits on the chair behind his desk and gestures that I should sit opposite. I perch on the edge of the chair and take a deep breath.
‘I have an idea, Professor, an idea that might help us get another ship.’
He raises his brows. They pop up above the steel frames of his glasses.
‘I see. To replace the one that the foundation previously had?’
Tan isn’t convinced by my story about what happened to The Watch—that a few silly mistakes were made, which resulted in catastrophe. But I’m not giving him the facts about Drew. Tan’s been given the same story as everyone else—Drew’s dementia only took hold in January, after the Antarctica trip.
I sit up even straighter in my chair. ‘I have an idea for a documentary series. One that focuses on low-lying regions around the world and the impact rising sea levels will have on their environments and inhabitants. We’ll create a fundraising campaign around the issue and use these proceeds, together with the insurance money we get for The Watch, to raise funds for another ship …’
Tan asks me to clarify almost everything I say, and holds up his hand when I speak too quickly or don’t give him time to consider my points. After I’ve finished, he stares over my left shoulder. He rubs his forehead. Then he looks at his computer screen like I’m keeping him from something important.
‘This is all very well,’ he finally says, ‘but the purchase of another ship is a huge commitment. Your ideas are interesting, certainly, but not … inspiring.’
I owe it to Mum and Dad and Drew to get a ship. Per wants a ship too.
‘There’s something else,’ I say. ‘Something you might find inspiring. Do you remember the man who rescued me from The Watch? Per Amundsen is not only a naval officer, he’s a scientist with a PhD. You might even share some research interests. He’s into glaciers, glacial melts, things like that.’
Professor Tan wakes up. And he stays wide awake as I outline my plan. I give him the Scott and Amundsen working together angle, the Polarman angle, everything.
‘And this is the man who came to your aid in December?’ he says.
‘That’s right. He’s capable, professional, and intelligent. He’d be a wonderful pin-up boy for the foundation.’
The professor shakes my hand when I leave. ‘Perhaps replacing The Watch isn’t out of the question after all,’ he says. ‘There’s a long way to go, certainly, but the Australian and Norwegian aspect fascinates me, as do the scientific possibilities. I look forward to discussing it in more detail with Commander Amundsen. You’ll tell him to get in touch, won’t you?’
Four days later, Liam and I are running side by side at the beach. He got back from a night shift at 6 am and dragged me out of bed. We’re at the very edge of the hard sand because I’ve regressed since Antarctica. Just thinking about putting my head under the water increases my heart rate. It’s not likely I’ll be dragged out to sea while running along the sand, but I’m not taking any chances.
‘Why are you frowning?’ Liam asks.
‘Mind your own business.’
He wipes his sweaty sun-bleached hair out of his eyes and shoulder bumps me. I bump him back, much harder, but he doesn’t flinch because he’s 184 centimetres tall, solidly built and very fit. We’ve been housemates for over two years now but we’ve known each other for eleven—we met when he was a medical student at a rehabilitation centre where Dad was treated. Now he’s training to be a surgeon. We went out a few times but never got serious. I told him we shouldn’t have sex because, with my history, I’d have to dump him immediately afterwards and never talk to him again. And that would be a shame because I liked him. He shrugged, and asked whether that meant he could rent my spare room so we could live together without ‘living together’.
As we run I fill Liam in on the week’s events—we’ve barely seen each other since last weekend. He laughs when I describe the Polarman drawing. I’d like to laugh too but I can’t quite manage it. Per was horrified when he saw it. Now Professor Tan knows about my idea and I have to arrange a meeting between them. Anything could happen.
I’m doubled over with a stitch by the time Liam and I get to the southern end of the beach, near the seawater pool. I sit on the sand, and he tells me if I hadn’t talked so much I might have been able to keep going for longer.
‘I was still faster than you, though,’ I say, putting my head between my knees.
He sits down next to me and we watch the Avalon Amazon swimming club members while I get my breath back. It’s almost eight so they’re getting out of the pool and walking along the landing towards us. The mornings are getting colder but none of them wear wetsuits; they’re in speedos and one pieces. Everyone is in their sixties and seventies, except for Rhonda who’s eighty-two. There are seven women and four men. Allan, the coach of my indoor football team, towers over everyone else. His chest hair is thick and white. Helga is slender and sprightly; her hair is straight and grey, and she wears it in a bob. She wipes her hair from her face and scans the beach. She’s probably looking for her grandson Jonty, a boy in my geography class. He’s sitting near the surf club, dressed in a hoodie and
playing on his phone. Helga locates him, waves, and then she spots me.
‘The tide’s turning, love,’ she says. ‘You stay up there.’
Liam pats my leg and winks. ‘Good to see Helga’s looking out for you.’
‘Stop it, Liam. She’s been very kind. She wanted me to join the Amazons.’
He laughs. ‘Good luck with that.’
I stand and tug his hand until he’s upright too. ‘I’ve got to make a call before I pick Drew up,’ I say. ‘Let’s get back.’
‘Polarman?’
‘Yup.’
‘You’re determined to stick your neck out over this new ship thing, aren’t you?’
‘Nothing to lose.’
‘Except for your head. Can’t you let it go? For once in your life?’
‘You sound like Amundsen.’
He ignores me and studies the waves. ‘Surfs going to be good. Can’t wait to get out there.’
Two young surfers are running towards the sea at the northern end of the beach, near the rock shelf. I sense their excitement, their anticipation. They hold their boards above their heads as they wade into the shallows; white foam churns and froths around their hips. When the water deepens they flip their boards into the ocean, hop onto them and lie on their stomachs, paddling out to the bigger waves that appear and disappear, blue and white like ribbons, as far as the eye can see.
We were moored off Oahu in Hawaii, tracking the migration of giant turtles, when Dad and I took a day trip to Banzai and watched the surfers brave the northern beaches pipelines. I told Dad I was afraid of the rips and the giant surf. He took my hand and led me to the water’s edge. Then he gestured to the horizon. ‘Be like a dolphin, Harriet,’ he said. ‘Let the currents take you where they will. I’ll always keep an eye on you.’
CHAPTER
6
Per told the mediator he was stationed at the HMAS Penguin naval base at Balmoral, so I look up the number as soon as Liam jogs over the dunes to the surf, board under his arm. As the phone rings I perch on a stool at the kitchen bench. How do I convince Per to speak to Professor Tan? Unless I implicate Drew, I can’t defend myself against Per’s accusations that I’m incompetent. So I have Per’s low opinion of me to deal with, in addition to him wanting nothing to do with my plan. I take a breath when the receptionist tells me she’ll put me through.
‘Amundsen.’
As soon as I hear his voice I jump up from the stool. Liam was right. I am sticking my neck out.
‘Commander?’ I say, as if there might be another Amundsen there.
‘Harriet.’
‘Hi.’ I can barely get the word out because my mouth is dry. I’m filling a glass from the tap when the phone clatters into the sink. I wipe it with a tea towel and put it to my ear again. ‘Sorry.’
He’s not there anymore, and the screen is blank. I must have hung up on him. Or did he hang up on me? I’m staring at the screen when the ringtone sounds.
My voice is still croaky. ‘Harriet.’
‘Per.’
Kat told me Per’s name was pronounced like the word pear, but when he says it it’s sharper, more abrupt. It suits him when it’s pronounced like that.
‘What do you want?’ he says.
‘I saw Professor Tan.’
I tell Per almost everything that happened at the meeting. He tries to interrupt but I talk over him—easier to do when he’s not facing me across a table and scowling. I reassure him that if the foundation approves of my proposal I won’t be involved in the trips to the low-lying regions, or to Antarctica, and I finish my spiel with a detailed account of the professor’s scientific credentials.
‘He’s keen for you to contact him because he’s interested in your research,’ I say.
‘How does he know about my research?’
‘It came up in our discussions.’
‘Did you talk about me in any other context?’
I’m hoping Per will be so impressed by Professor Tan’s qualifications and enthusiasm that he’ll agree to anything the professor suggests.
‘No.’
‘Liar. You told him I’d be involved in the trips and documentaries you were planning, didn’t you?’
‘I spoke in general terms.’
‘So you didn’t mention your idea about the Amundsen and Scott connection?’
Of course I did. And Polarman. But I can’t tell him that. ‘Speaking of ideas, I’ve been thinking. I looked you up, and saw most of your research colleagues are scientists at the University of Oslo, so I assume they rely on government and private funding, like most academics. I suppose the navy pays your wages, but I’m sure the university would love it if you had a public profile. It could exploit this in order to—’
‘Harriet!’
‘I didn’t mean to say exploit! I meant if you had a public profile as an environmentalist through working with the Scott Foundation, the University of Oslo could use this profile for its own fundraising activities. And there are additional possibilities as—’
‘Harriet.’
‘Well, there are. I don’t know much about Norway, but your armed services are like ours, aren’t they? Getting involved in all sorts of worldwide conflicts? Like Afghanistan, and Iraq, and Syria. Which is awful for everyone involved. Obviously. And tragic. So, if someone from the navy, for example, did something different, like sending the world a message that there are environmental battles that can be fought and won if only we could all band together to—’
‘Harriet!’
‘What?’
He’s quiet for so long that I check my phone to see he’s still on the line. Then I cross my fingers, willing him to actually think about what I’ve been telling him—because I’ve given him a lot to think about. Too much?
When I was ten, we were docked in Lima in Peru, getting The Watch ready to head home. I was on the main deck, trying to convince Mum and Dad that we should take a diversion of 2 000 nautical miles to Easter Island, so we could see the Moai statues. Dad suddenly picked me up by my forearms and spun me around and around. Then he put me back on the deck. I laughed as I staggered backwards, dizzy and disoriented. He scooped me up just before I fell, and told me the way I was feeling now was how I made him feel when I talked too much. And then he called Drew over.
‘Harry wants to go to Easter Island,’ he said.
‘Right, Captain,’ Drew said, grabbing me and carrying me under his arm. When we got to the bridge he perched me on the chair next to his and I watched silently as he got out his maps and charted a course. Finally he turned to me, his eyes twinkling. ‘Hi ho, Harry, ready to set sail?’
‘Harriet?’ Per says. ‘Are you still there?’
‘Um. Yes.’
‘Professor Tan called me last night. He asked me to attend a cocktail party given in honour of the Swedish Ambassador.’
My heart skips a beat. ‘That sounds nice. Is the Swedish Ambassador a friend of the Norwegian Ambassador?’
‘I have no idea. You set this up, didn’t you?’
‘I did not! If I’d known you already had a date with Professor Tan, I wouldn’t have wasted the last fifteen minutes trying to convince you to call him, would I?’
Per tells me he still hasn’t given up on the idea of suing me, and possibly the foundation as well. And then he warns that if I cause any more trouble for him he’ll personally throw me overboard from one of the navy’s biggest ships, the HMAS Adelaide.
‘And this time,’ he says. ‘I’ll let you drown.’
Dad and I never spoke about what happened immediately after the accident in Brazil, and how it led to my fear of the water. He continued to communicate intelligently and thoughtfully on environmental issues, just like he always had, and although he’d lost his mobility and couldn’t go to sea anymore, when he was well enough he gave support and advice to Drew and the crew. But the part of his brain responsible for emotions like affection and empathy was damaged, and the only thing he appeared to really care about was his ship. He establ
ished the Scott Foundation, and transferred The Watch and most of his other assets into that. He gave me his apartment in Newport. Drew wasn’t happy with how Dad set things up because I hadn’t even finished my schooling yet, but I didn’t mind. I loved what the ship represented just as much as Dad did.
On a warm February evening he told me he was sick of the drugs and tubes that were keeping him alive, and that he was ready to die. And then he made me promise not to call an ambulance. I moved his bed into the corner of the living room in the apartment so he could see a strip of ocean between two pine trees, and I propped him up on pillows. It was after seven, and the sun was a giant blurry ball of saffron. The ocean was unusually calm. There were no surfers, only paddling children.
He pulled the cannulas out of his arms, took off his oxygen mask, and reached for my hand. ‘Harriet for ingenuity, Hillary for perseverance, and Amelia for pluck,’ he said. His eyes were half closed, and perhaps I was imagining it, but for the first time in over four years I thought his expression softened, so that he was looking at me in the same way he used to look at me before the accident. He was struggling to breathe, so he wheezed his instruction that I was to take out a boat with Drew and scatter his ashes off the coast of Palm Beach, in the same spot we’d put Mum’s.
I rested my head on his chest and wrapped my arms around him. He rubbed his chin against my forehead. When I closed my eyes it was like I was fourteen again and at the bottom of the gorge—exhausted, frightened, bereft. It was then that I’d lost the loving father who had inspired and adored me. At last I could say goodbye.
CHAPTER
7
I was named after the geographer and explorer Harriet Chambers Adams, but I’m not sure my parents imagined I’d become a geography teacher. It’s the last period of the day and my Year 7 class of twelve- and thirteen-year-olds is waiting for the bell. Most of them are slumped over their desks, or leaning back in their chairs and staring out of the windows.
In At the Deep End Page 4