Meg tells us not to leave going to the toilet to the last minute because we’ll have up to six layers of Antarctic gear on and it takes time to get it off. She says soggy accidents aren’t fun. She says to remind the men we need a bit more time than them.

‘They can just whip it out and go, but for us, it takes a bit longer.’

‘I can do it quickly,’ says Andrea. ‘My mother taught me to urinate standing up when I was little. She told me it was something to do with the way men treat women, some sort of statement.’

The rest of the women laugh. I’ve said nothing in the meeting. My mind’s weighted down with thinking about Fin-tu. I scribble his head, again and again, on my notepad.

Meg declares the meeting closed and asks me to stay back.

‘I heard you had a bit of a run-in with Tyrel. Don’t think too much about it. He’s a good man. He did what he thought was right.’

She has the calm of experience in her. Her calm’s no comfort. I smile and tell her thank you, okay, yeah. I ask her how she knew about Fin-tu going overboard and she says remember, there are no secrets in Antarctica. She says it’s all around the ship and that dwelling on things in Antarctica can create a lot of problems. She says once a deed is done, that’s it, move on, don’t look back, because a lot of things don’t turn out the way you want them to down south. As she walks out of the room she tells me to keep smiling.

‘You have such a beautiful smile, Fin. It’s a real gift. It lights up your whole face.’

A cluster of birds follows the ship like children from Hamelin. They feast on the krill that’s kicked up by the hull as it chops through the ice. Sometimes there are so many birds it’s like something out of Hitchcock. Gradually I stop looking for Fin-tu among them all.

The floes change. From a bumpy jostling white moonscape to motionless, flat sheets as big as ice-rinks.