‘The chopper came out as soon as the weather settled. Then the other chopper came with more people on board. We searched for six hours. Wesley found him. He knows the area. Max had built a snow cave, just like the manual says, in the leeway of the bluff. But he must have done it in a real hurry because . . . because it had caved in. I was digging beside Wesley. When we got to Max he was curled up like a little kid.’

There’s a pause.

‘His skin was yellow. It’s like he wasn’t there. His body was a shell.’

There’s a stillness between us over the phone. In Jack’s careful telling it’s as if he wants to get it absolutely, utterly right for me.

‘I had to tell Pamela about you two, Fin. I was so worried about how you’d hear about it. I couldn’t tell you myself. I was a mess.’

‘Hey, it’s all right.’

He’s lost, completely, his coldness. I can sense in it all the start of a friendship, anchored by our love of Max.

‘How are you going now, Jack? Are you okay?’

‘Oh, up and down.’ He laughs clumsily. ‘I’m just getting off the sedation now. What about you? We’re all really worried about you.’

It’s easier for both of us to be concerned for someone else.

Deep in the night I toss and turn, it’s like my body is vomiting sleep. My mind gnaws at whatever were Max’s final moments. The snow pinging into his cheeks, the scrabble to build the cave, frantic hands making blocks of ice, the crawl inside, the curling of his body to ward off the cold, the utter aloneness, the endless snowing, the scream of the wind, the checking of his watch, the hurting chill, the crack and the caving in of the blocks, his knowing.

My eyes are wide, my pillow is snot-webbed and sodden.

What he went through, I’ll never know.

Another phonecall early in the morning.

I dread them now.

It’s Lyn. The newsroom has just received a press release from the Antarctic Division about Max’s death. She wants me to file. Expeditioner reactions, that kind of thing. My hand clamps in front of my mouth, as if it’s catching at something coming up.

‘We need it quick. Fin?’

‘I can’t do it, Lyn.’ I tell her briefly that I crossed the line, I fell in love.

‘Oh, God. Can the story, darling. We’ll handle it from this end. Oh God, oh God.’

I sob my relief and thanks to her.

‘Look after yourself, Finny. And don’t hurry back to work.’