She is running out of time.
Bamber never takes her rages out on the bridge. She needs to keep this space intact and weatherproof. It is where she keeps her secret things. She opens the locker at the rear of the cabin and at the very bottom of a waterproof bag she finds what she’s come for, double wrapped in waterproof cloth. A Sig Sauer P238 handgun.
Bought in South America, recommended by the shop owner as the best self-defence handgun for use at short range by women, she hoped she’d never have to use it.
She’s always known that she would.
9
Freddie
The ship has been anchored for nearly an hour. The harbour master from King Edward Point has been on board to check the paperwork and explain the rules.
Footwear has to be spotlessly clean and disinfected to avoid contaminating the local soil. No food of any description is to be taken ashore due to the same biosecurity protocols. Fishing and hunting on the island are prohibited. There is no accommodation for tourists and overnight camping requires an expensive permit, so all visitors are expected to report back to the ship by nightfall. Visitors have to stay with their guided group at all times.
Freddie has signed his agreement to rules he has no intention of keeping, and for nearly twenty minutes he’s been waiting in the hull of the ship to be on the first boat going ashore. So far he’s been alone – the rest of the three hundred or so passengers have been taking their time, but now he hears the metal stairs clanging and two pairs of footsteps.
‘Steady on. Hold the handrail.’ A young man’s voice.
‘Thank Christ we’ve arrived.’ The second voice belongs to a woman. ‘I had no idea waves could get that big. Did you know waves could get that big?’
A stout pair of legs in hiking trousers appears. The man says, ‘I’m not sure anyone else is here yet.’
‘I don’t care. I just need to get off this godforsaken ship.’
‘You have no idea how many times you nearly did,’ the male sounds amused. And also, a little tired. Freddie does not recognise either of the voices.
‘Why we couldn’t have flown.’
‘You could have flown. I don’t have a broomstick license.’
The pair have made it to the bottom of the stairs. The woman is in her early fifties, blonde and a little overweight. The man is younger, tall and dark-haired. Neither wear the orange ship-issue jacket.
Freddie has seen neither of them before.
The blonde woman’s skin looks like uncooked pastry and there are mascara smudges under both eyes. She looks Freddie up and down in a way that, had they been in a bar, would feel predatory. ‘I see you haven’t been tangoed either,’ she says.
‘Excuse me?’
‘You’re not wearing orange.’
She is talking about jackets. ‘They didn’t have one to fit,’ Freddie lies.
These two must have joined the boat in Stanley. He feels sure he would have spotted them if they’d been on the trip since London. The woman in particular, seems incapable of not making an impact upon her surroundings.
She gulps and takes a deep breath. ‘We didn’t want to frighten the wildlife.’
Freddie gives a tight-lipped smile.
‘You know, not everyone thinks you’re hilarious.’ The younger man holds out his hand. ‘Joe Grant. Don’t think I’ve seen you in the dining room.’
‘You didn’t see me in the dining room either,’ the woman says. ‘Don’t remember you complaining about that.’ She turns to Freddie. ‘Were you sea sick?’
‘Wasn’t everyone?’ Freddie replies, although he hadn’t been.
‘I’m Delilah,’ the woman offers. ‘As in the Tom Jones song.’ She begins to sing the unforgettable lyrics.
‘I beg her not to,’ the man called Grant says. ‘She will insist.’
‘There you are!’ A voice with a hint of the West Country sounds from above as a pair of dusty black boots appears. ‘Sorry to keep you. I tripped in my cabin and knocked myself out. I had to sit down for a few minutes.’
The newcomer is a police officer. Freddie doesn’t recognise the badge on her hat but has a feeling it indicates a senior rank. She is in her late-forties, with curly red hair cut just under her chin. Her skin is fair, and finely lined, her hands seem huge and she wears a gold wedding ring. She too has avoided the orange jacket. Over what is presumably her uniform, she wears a police issue high-vis coat.
‘I’m Skye.’ She beams at Freddie. ‘Five times I’ve done this trip. It never gets easier.’
Her uniform says she is on official business. The frequency with which she makes the visit means she is probably the police superintendent from the Falkland Islands and the fact that she knows the odd couple, might even be travelling with them, suggests they too could be police.
‘Not a problem, I hope?’ he says.
The boat rocks at anchor and the blonde woman gives a low moan.
‘No, no. Just routine,’ Skye says. ‘I always come out at the end of the summer. If I can’t get anyone to volunteer to take my place that is. And funnily enough, I never can.’
‘You travelling alone?’ the blonde woman asks Freddie. ‘Don’t mind me, I’m nosy.’
‘As you see.’ Freddie gives a tight smile and half turns away. Thank God others are coming down the stairs now.
‘Lot of equipment you got there,’ the blonde woman says, her eyes fixed on the rucksack at his feet.
‘I’m a photographer,’ he tells her.
‘Me too,’ says a man who’s just arrived. ‘What shutter speed are you planning for the birds in flight?’
The boat rocks again and Freddie fakes a stagger to avoid the question.
‘Oh my God.’ The blonde woman, Delilah, is clutching her stomach. ‘I’m going to chuck. I’m actually going to chuck.’
‘Everyone get back,’ the man with her calls.
It is too late. With a sound like that of a cistern emptying, the blonde woman vomits over the policewoman’s shoes. In the ensuing chaos, when the three of them return to their cabins to get cleaned up, Freddie quietly stakes his claim to the front of the queue.
10
Felicity
Trembling, fighting back the urge to leap into the RIB and speed out of the bay, Felicity watches the first launch getting ready to leave the ship. She has to be sure. It’s a common enough name. There is still a small chance that all will be well.
For a moment, she lets herself imagine the day she might yet have. Breakfast watching the ocean, checking the levels on the blue lake, relieving Jack of penguin duty. It could still happen.
The passengers to go ashore have all taken their seats. The lines are released and the skipper steers them across the bay towards Grytviken. It will take them less than five minutes to reach shore. Unloading will take some time, the jetty is narrow and unstable. Even so, every half-hour the launch will unload more passengers until everyone has left the ship. They’ll spend the morning looking around the museum and those parts of the old whaling station that are safe to visit. They’ll walk up to the church and to Shackleton’s grave. Some of the fitter ones might climb up to the hydro dam. After lunch – sandwiches supplied by the ship – they’ll be taken around the bay to the penguin and seal colonies. If the weather holds, some might hike into the interior.