“You know that's not what happened.”
She stood up, launching David to the edge of the bed, and threw down a suitcase in her place.
“I have a confession to make, Em.”
“You left the cat in the apartment.”
“No, no. Safe with the neighbors.”
“No socks?”
“Not a one.”
“God damn it, David.”
“I'll find a sheep with a generous disposition, and a pair of knitting needles.” David pleaded at her with his eyes. “Em, come on. It’s not the end of the world.”
“Am I the only one who listens to the doctors? The memory loss is only going to get worse. And then what exactly do you think-” She stopped herself and inhaled. “Can we talk about it later?”
“Em…”
“It’s fine. Just… It’s fine.”
The only sound between them was a zipper that wouldn't pull. After wrestling with it for several seconds, Emma raised her eyes almost high enough to make eye contact.
“Don’t forget to eat lunch while I'm out.”
“I won’t forget. But where are you going to be?”
“I have to get to the station as soon as possible.”
“Why?”
“It’s my job.”
“No one’s expecting you to call in until tomorrow.”
“It’s still my job when no one’s looking.”
“I don’t think that’s how jobs work.”
“That’s how everything works.”
The ritual of showering and unpacking proceeded without incident, except for a head moderately bashed against a non-Euclidean door frame. Out of the corner of her eye Emma caught David sneaking a chocolate bar into her bag and realized she hadn't eaten in almost a day. He took his medication and went to sleep. How did he manage it, the total state of relaxation with no idea where his next pair of socks was coming from?
Emma pulled back two layers of threadbare curtains from the one small window to look out on the village. The blue metal roofs and squat stone chimneys marked each house. A few pine trees carefully tended in back gardens sprayed tufts of green onto the buildings. Everything was washed clean by the rain. This could be a fresh start for an untroubled conscience.
Nobody back home knew much about this place. No one cared what happened here. The few people in the know about her assignment joked that she was going to catch that thieving kestrel if it took half a year. One got halfway through his teasing before he realized she wasn’t going to Antarctica. Nowhere on Earth was as forgotten as South Alderney. That made it an opportunity. Here things could be made right. Things could go the way they ought to go. They had to. She took the chocolate out and ripped the purple wrapper off like an insane woman.
Within an hour of landing, she was back on the pock-marked street, making her way to Broken Ridge Station. The noise of seagulls never abated. Even along the brief strip of road that passed for a high street, she could still hear the roar of the sea and the clatter of small boats against the storm wall. On a fence a row of petrels turned their heads to follow her all the way up the street. She paused to see if they would lose interest, but they never did.
A seagull landed in her path. It cocked its head and screeched.
“I've got nothing for you, little guy.”
Emma walked straight forward, but the bird didn't budge. Instead, it squawked again and ruffled its feathers. It was gray on the sides with lighter feathers underneath, and down its back was a pattern of almost blue-gray speckles. She made a semi-circle around it.
“You hear me? No food. Shoo.”
A few people left the Post, the main shop on the island. She tried to get a good look at their faces without being too obvious about it. If they noticed her staring, they would try to talk to her. These were the people she would serve for the next few months, maybe longer, and she would get to know all of them sooner or later, whether she liked it or not. At least there weren’t very many of them.
The houses on South Alderney were made of dark local stone with metal roofs brought over from Australia. Huddled together, the little buildings merged into a single façade down either side of the street. Nothing indicated separate dwellings except the doors set at odd intervals. The small windows were unprotected by eaves but painted bright colors and a few had flower boxes. These boxes held wispy white clumps of flowers or were empty. Moss and rising damp reclaimed the houses that looked empty.
The local practice apparently was to always keep the curtains shut tight, or a shade pulled down. Some windows appeared to be permanently papered over. Flanked by rows of blind windows Emma had the sensation of total anonymity, and of being scrutinized by unseen eyes.
A sign reading “Broken Ridge Station – British Antarctic Survey” stood in front of a corrugated metal building on a small rise overlooking the town. The moss and tussock grass around it was littered with broken equipment. The generator humming under a shed roof was the one thing kept immaculately clean. Inside Evan had both feet on a table, watching an old episode of Neighbors on a CRT television. Emma rolled her eyes.
“What, literally?”
“Don’t judge. I’ve watched every other thing on this island, and there’s no internet. You’re early.”
“It’s like on time, but better. I thought there were supposed to be two personnel here at all times.” The faint smell of bleach and the hospital white walls gave an illusion of sterility, shattered by the trails of filthy boot prints across the floor.
“Zoe's on the mainland. That’s Zoe Hall. She'll be back in a couple of days. Have a seat. This one's got Russel Crowe in a mullet.”
“Did Sergeant Sommers not leave any pressing business behind?”
“You mean Ned? Never heard anyone call him Sergeant before. And given the circumstances, he didn’t leave much behind but the word ‘argh’.”
“That’s in terrible taste.”
Evan shifted his feet, causing the table to squeak across the floor
