The Lightkeeper's Wife - By Karen Viggers Page 0,86

real than anything going on at home.

Emma speaks to me while she’s typing. ‘My friend has hooked up with one of the physicists down south . . . against my advice. I told her she should try to retain some emotional independence, but she says it all just happened after a few too many drinks at the Saturday night party. She says she needs someone . . . I don’t think her boyfriend back here is going to be very happy . . . not that anyone will tell him . . . poor bugger.’

Finally she swivels on her seat and looks at me. ‘Are you ready?’ she says. ‘Fredricksen will be waiting.’

My mouth goes dry at the mention of Fredricksen’s name and my palms begin to sweat. ‘I don’t know. It’s a long time since I’ve had an interview.’

Emma smiles. ‘You’ll be fine.’ She grabs my hand and places it against her cheek. It’s a gentle gesture, but I’m shaken by it. I’m so unaccustomed to this rush of emotions. Small things seem capable of breaking me apart.

Emma stands and kisses me, rattling me further, and then she takes me through the maze of corridors to Fredricksen’s office. He’s sitting behind his desk with a mountain of paper around him, just like Bazza said, and his fingers resting on a keyboard. When Emma brings me in, he pushes back from his desk and stands up to shake my hand. He’s bearded, like most of the older Antarctic fraternity and his eyes are assessing. He waves me to a seat and motions to Emma to leave us. I watch her go, suppressing a shaky desire to call her back. But I can’t ask her to sit here and hold my hand through this. I have to do it alone.

Fredricksen leans back in his seat and asks about my previous stint south. He asks who was on my expedition, who I worked with in the field, what sort of tasks I was doing on station. I answer as best I can. He asks what sort of a winter we had, whether anyone lost the plot, whether I’d consider wintering again. I tell him that overwintering was hard and that I’d only consider a summer job in future. He nods knowingly. Fortunately, he has sufficient tact not to ask me why I haven’t been back since my first trip.

He asks me what I know about Adelie penguins, whether I’m competent at sexing them and tagging them, how I feel about the ethics of water offloading, and what skills I have in electronics. These questions are easy for me to deal with and I’m honest with him. I tell him what I do and don’t know, and that I’m willing to learn. I tell him birds are one of my passions, and that I can work all day among them without feeling tired. I explain that I’m not keen on water offloading, but if it’s part of the job then I’ll find a way to cope. He asks me how I’d deal with the isolation this time, given that I found overwintering tough, and I tell him that I grew up at a lighthouse and that isolation is not a problem. Home relationships, I explain, were the problem last time. He nods, understanding. I’m sure he has also had his woes.

Finally, he asks about Emma, and whether I think I can get along with her. I admit I don’t know her well, but that I’m willing to work with all types of people. I tell him that I’ve helped many biologists in the field and that my tactic is to work around issues to make sure the job gets done.

Fredricksen regards me for some time before speaking again. ‘Emma needs someone who’s sensitive to her need for control,’ he says, pulling on his beard. ‘If you can work out a way around that, the two of you will achieve a lot. She’s a nice girl, but strong. A head-on approach will not work with her.’

I tell him there are ways to suggest things without seeming to take control.

He stands up and shakes my hand. ‘I’ll let you know in a few weeks,’ he says. ‘Protocol demands I interview more than one applicant. I think you’ll do, but I can’t give you the nod yet. Understand?’

I thank him and make sure he has my phone number. Then I wander along the corridors again, trying to find Emma’s lab. She said she wanted to know