than angry. ‘What did you say?’
‘I said’ – I draw myself up to my full height – ‘you man-stealing tart.’
Cougar laughs. ‘You’ve been watching too much daytime TV, Autumn.’
‘Summer.’
Cougar lowers herself onto the floor. ‘You’re going to regret doing this. You’re out of your depth, Winter.’
‘Summer.’
‘It’s going to end badly. For you.’
I’m waiting for her to add Spring, but she doesn’t. I shrug. I don’t want to go to Antarctica and I don’t want to impersonate Cougar but I’m committed now. I stand back to let her through the door.
Cougar pauses at the doorway and sniffs the air. ‘I don’t mind a bit of Mister Sheen.’
I stare at her, unsure how to take this. She gives the impression she’s waiting for a reply. As if Mister Sheen is a secret password. ‘Me neither.’
She winks at me.
My eye twitches but I am not winking back.
Cougar swings down the corridor towards the lift like a woman on a mission. She turns as the lift doors shut and the last thing I see is a flash of teeth like the Cheshire Cat, then she is gone.
Shutting my door, I lean against it. Antarctica. Damn. How did that happen? If only the word igloo had never passed my lips.
I remember Mum’s warning – encased in snow. I make a mental note to Google igloo-building. Structural integrity may be important if I don’t want to end up buried in snow.
Chapter Nine
I encounter a hairy scientist
Project: Thursday routine
Objectives: Travel to Hobart / Be Cougar Gale
‘Glaciology is the study of ice,’ I say to my reflection. ‘I am a glaciologist, which is to say I study ice.’
I am practising for Antarctic conversations. If I’m going to be Cougar Gale I have some work to do. I remember that episode of Days of Our Lives where a character had a chip inserted into her brain which made her become someone else. That would be good.
My phone dings and I check it. It’s time for my scheduled call with Lucas Nilsson to finalise logistics. Even though I’m now Cougar, I’m also still the production assistant.
I dial his number and he picks up.
‘Lucas Nilsson.’
He sounds distracted. I try to imagine what he looks like. He’s a scientist so I expect he’s old and hairy and perhaps wearing a moth-holed woollen sweater over shorts which expose his knobbly knees.
‘It’s Summer Wright. From Channel Five. I need to check through the spreadsheet with you.’
‘Mm.’ The phone bumps and there’s the sound of rustling paper. ‘Where is it? Oh here.’ There’s a bang. ‘Damn.’ There’s more rustling and more banging. ‘I spilt coffee on it.’
‘You have the electronic version.’
‘Yes.’ There’s the sound of keyboard tapping. ‘Yes. Here it is. Five hundred and thirty-five actions.’
‘And two thousand sub-actions. Have you familiarised yourself with it all?’ I feel a knot in my chest. I’m going to Antarctica and my liaison officer is not on the ball. In fact, he seems downright nonchalant. I pick up a pen and gnaw it. ‘It’s very imp—’
‘Mm. Just looking through it now. Oh dear, just deleted it. Never mind. I’m sure it will be fine.’
‘No, that’s not good enou—’
‘Summer, I’m sorry, but the probability of us sticking to that schedule is very low. There are many factors to consider. Antarctica is not Sydney. I have to go now. I have a paper to write. Goodbye.’ He hangs up.
I can’t believe he hung up on me. I try dialling again, but he’s switched his phone off. I gnaw at my fingernails then snatch up Adrian’s book for some inspiration on how to deal with such situations.
Adrian’s book tells me extreme project management requires improvisation, the ability to relax controls and keep the process loose. I must remember my life is no longer a waterfall, it is more like a scrum. I must stay on my toes – be prepared, but not over-prepared, alert but not alarmed. Okay. That is the way to tackle Lucas Nilsson. I breathe deeply. Alert, not alarmed.
The Extreme Project Manager doesn’t get bogged down in extraneous facts. Okay. Don’t worry about facts. I concentrate on breathing deeply.
There is no point in trying to remember details about boring ice holes, measuring ice flows and whatever else it is that glaciologists do. Not only are ice holes boring, they are tedious and dull. I can do this, I tell myself. I can.
I smile at my reflection and articulate clearly; ‘Ice is of great interest to me. Do you like ice?’ I sound like Eliza Doolittle: the rain in Spain falls mainly on the plain. I imagine there will be a lot of people in Antarctica who like ice. Why else would you go there?
Penguins, I suppose. ‘I like penguins too,’ I say to my reflection. ‘Ice and penguins are two of my favourite things.’ Now I sound like Maria from The Sound of Music. I shouldn’t be channelling musical stars, I should be channelling Cougar. How do I do that? I narrow my eyes and purse my lips like a supermodel with indigestion. A bolt of inspiration strikes. I put one hand on my hip and raise an eyebrow. ‘You can take your ice and your trampy penguin and get out of my igloo.’ Yes, Alexis the bitch queen is a perfect match for Cougar.
I did attempt to study glaciology yesterday afternoon, but got bogged down in facts: reams of information about sea ice and sea level rise, ice shelves and icebergs. Who would have thought there was so much to learn about ice? I’ve decided it’s best to keep it to two key messages – ice and penguins – for the time being. Later on, I can expand my repertoire to snow and seals.
I tilt my head to one side. I have the glaciology part of the equation mastered, but how about the appearance? After a visit to the chemist, my brown hair is now black and my pale skin brown. There is definitely a resemblance to Cougar Gale. It’s like one of those separated at birth things. I’m the twin who was brought up in the trailer park and spent her leisure hours watching television, while Cougar went to a private school and had elite training in gymnastics from an early age. I’m glad Adrian can’t see us side by side as I wouldn’t come out of it well.
Clothing-wise, however, I’m right on top of it. I’m wearing stylish quick-dry shorts and a tank top. Underneath I have a quick-dry bra and knickers. I glance at my bed where a huge mound of clothing sits waiting to be packed. My visit to the outdoor shops yesterday afternoon was a revelation. I’ll have to share it with Marley. I open my laptop and write:
To: Marley Lennon Wright
From:
