It’s a ridiculous lie and we all know it. I feel my face turn red and pull on my balaclava and goggles to hide my embarrassment. I daren’t look at either of them, just follow them into the garage, feeling mortified.
‘Okay, we ready?’ Drew loads the climbing gear onto Arne’s vehicle, then he and I follow on the other skidoo out onto the ice. We ride in convoy, bouncing across the ridges in the snow, the rays of the rising sun bathing it in a warm golden glow.
I’m going to miss this, I think, as we cruise past the outbuildings and head off towards Omega. In just a few more weeks the light will be swallowed up entirely by twenty-four-hour darkness.
Four long months of it.
A flutter of apprehension, deep in my solar plexus. Will I be able to cope? Will any of us? The tension at breakfast this morning doesn’t bode well for a whole winter cooped up together.
Arne pulls up his skidoo at the base of the tower, proceeding to unload the climbing gear. We slide to a halt beside him.
‘You used one of these before?’ he asks, as he helps me into my harness.
Out of nowhere I’m assaulted by a memory. Ben and I, abseiling in Avon Gorge, a few miles outside Bristol. The two-day course, long on my bucket list, had been his birthday present.
All the same, I had an attack of nerves moments before my first descent. ‘I don’t think I can do this,’ I’d whispered out of earshot of our instructor.
‘Horseshit,’ Ben said, then kissed me lightly on the lips, in that tender way he did back when he still loved me.
Another rush of sadness and longing assaults me, as fresh and sharp as the day he left. I fight the urge to smuggle those pills from my pocket, and swallow a couple. Too risky – especially after what just happened in the boot room.
I take a few deep breaths instead and follow Arne and Drew to the base of the first ladder, pushing down the reeling sensation of vertigo as I peer up through the aluminium girders of the tower.
Do I really want to do this? It looks impossibly tall.
On the other hand, I can’t stand around out here or I’ll freeze. I glance back at Alpha, nearly a kilometre away – a long walk and not one I fancy on my own.
‘Have you changed your mind?’ Arne is gazing at me. ‘I can take you back.’
There’s enough of his forehead exposed to see it’s furrowed with concern, and not for the first time I find myself envying Arne’s girlfriend in Iceland. He might not be as handsome as Drew, or as outgoing, but he exudes a calm self-assurance that’s good to be around.
Like Ben, I realise, with another twinge of regret. Back before it all went bad.
‘She’ll be fine.’ Drew mock punches my arm. ‘Won’t you, Kate?’
‘Let’s do it,’ I say, mustering some enthusiasm. What did my mother say after the accident, when first confronted with the wound on my cheek? What doesn’t kill you makes you stronger.
And uglier. She didn’t say it, but it was there, in her eyes. The way she winced when I removed the dressing.
‘Okay, we’re ready.’ Drew secures the ropes and karabiners. ‘Kate, you want to go first?’
‘Why don’t you?’ Arne suggests instead. ‘Kate can follow and I’ll take the rear.’
Drew nods and sets off. I grit my teeth and start to climb behind him, gripping the rungs of the ladder firmly, my ears ringing with the clang of boots on metal as we ascend each level then traverse the little platform to the next. Slowly, carefully, we zigzag upwards, Drew adjusting the climbing gear as we go.
By the time we’re halfway, my fingers are achingly numb, the cold penetrating through my thick down gloves. But that’s nothing compared to the uncomfortable knot in my stomach that tightens as we rise ever higher.
You’re fine, I tell myself repeatedly, trying not to look down. You can’t fall.
But Jean-Luc did, counters a voice in my head. The climbing equipment didn’t save him, did it?
The picture of my predecessor plunging into that crevasse fills my mind again. My legs go rigid and I stop on the ladder, breathing ragged, on the verge of panic.
‘You okay?’ Arne’s voice behind me. ‘We can go back down if you like.’
‘I’m fine,’ I insist. ‘Just need to catch my breath.’
Inhaling deeply, I set off again, keeping my focus on the horizon, the wider landscape opening up around us. Drew was right. It has turned into a lovely day, with no mist or low cloud to obscure the view for miles around. In the distance, Alpha and Beta look small and remote, reminding me of my first glimpse of the ice station from the little Basler plane.
Just weeks ago, yet it feels like a million years.
A few minutes later we reach the top platform. Drew lets out a long slow whistle as Arne and I join him. ‘Amazing, isn’t it?’
I take in the three-hundred-and-sixty-degree view, trying to ignore the sway of the tower in the wind. He’s right. It is absolutely stunning. Wave upon wave upon wave of snow, an ocean of white rippling out as far as the eye can see. Above, the endless crush of deep blue sky. I’m beginning to understand what draws people back to this place, winter after winter. The emptiness is mesmerising, hypnotic.
Holding the handrail firmly, I let my gaze drop downwards and see, beneath, the shadow of the tower on the snow, the three of us in silhouette. I lift a hand and wave, and my shadow waves back at me.
‘What are they up to?’
Arne’s voice pulls my attention to the horizon. He’s pointing to a space a few hundred metres to the rear of Alpha. Squinting into the sunlight, I spot a tiny skidoo arcing away from the station; behind it a red-clad figure, sliding across the ice at great speed.
For a moment I can’t make sense of what I’m seeing, then realise they’re being towed on a snowboard.
‘Luuk, I reckon.’ Drew peers at them. ‘Probably Rob driving.’
‘They’re going way too fast,’ Arne says as they swoop towards Gamma, bucking over waves of compacted snow.
Suddenly, as if we’ve conjured it into existence, the board catches on a ridge and its rider goes flying into the air, landing heavily on the ice.
I wait, heart in mouth, for whoever it is to get up. ‘Shit,’ I gasp when they don’t. I lurch towards the ladder, feet skidding on the icy metal platform.
Drew pulls me back. ‘Kate, hold up! Let me go first. Arne, you take the ropes and make sure she gets down safely.’
He shucks off his climbing gear and descends the ladders with unnerving swiftness and roars away on the skidoo. I follow as fast as I dare, trying to suppress a groan of frustration each time Arne pauses to readjust the climbing gear. All the way down I mentally run through the possible scenarios – head injury, leg fracture, dislocated shoulder.
None of them good.
‘Hold on tight!’ Arne calls once we’re back on the ground and aboard the skidoo. He revs the engine and we speed away. After another few torturous minutes we finally reach the small huddle of people on the snow and I’m relieved to see Luuk now sitting up, tentatively flexing his right leg.
‘Are you hurt?’ I drop down beside him.
To my surprise he pulls off his balaclava and grins. ‘Just smashed up my goggles. No need to panic, Doctor North.’
‘Are you sure? You took one hell of a fall.’
‘Hey, chill out.’ He sounds slightly annoyed, as if I’m spoiling his vibe. I frown at him, then notice his dilated pupils.
Jesus. He’s high.
I glance around at Rob, hovering nearby. His snow goggles obscure his eyes, but something tells me he’s in the same condition as Luuk.
I’m wondering how to tackle the situation, when Alex appears, almost sprinting across the snow. Even with his face covered, I can tell he’s furious. Sandrine is at his heels, puffing with the effort of keeping up.
‘What the hell were you doing?’ Alex yells, looking from Rob to Luuk and back again. ‘You’re not even wearing helmets. Are you both fucking insane?’ He glares at Luuk, at the ice crystals already forming on his fac
e, the exposed hair beneath his hat, then takes a step towards him.
‘Jean-Luc warned you.’ He pokes his finger at Luuk’s chest. ‘I should fucking report you to UNA.’
‘Really,’ Luuk sneers. ‘That’s a bit rich, isn’t it, coming from you?’
Alex’s gloved hand clutches into a fist. For a second I think it’s all going to kick off, but after a moment of hesitation, Alex spins on his heels and heads back to the base.
‘Not cool,’ Arne turns to Luuk. ‘Not cool at all.’
Luuk shrugs. ‘He’ll get over it.’ With a grunt, he heaves himself to his feet, waving away Drew’s proffered hand.
‘I really should get an X-ray before you walk on that leg,’ I say, but Luuk waves me away, hobbling off to collect his snowboard. I feel a mix of irritation and relief. Probably just pulled a muscle or sprained his knee.
I turn to Sandrine, wondering what she’ll do; after all, this is a serious breach of safety, even before you factor in that they’re obviously off their heads.
But she ignores me, looking instead at Drew. ‘Go check he’s all right, will you?’ She nods at Alex’s retreating form. ‘You two can walk to the station,’ she says to Luuk and Rob, then climbs aboard their skidoo, revs the engine, then roars away.
I stare after her in disbelief. What the hell? Isn’t she going to do anything?
A light pressure on my arm. ‘Forget it.’ There’s warning in Arne’s voice. ‘Let’s get back.’
‘Should we leave them here?’ I glance at Luuk and Rob, both debating what to do with the snowboard. ‘It’s a long way to walk with an injured leg.’
‘You heard Sandrine,’ Arne mutters as he turns away. ‘That’s their problem.’
7
1 May
I’m freezing – the kind of deadening, head-numbing chill that makes your teeth hurt and jaw ache. Despite the kerosene heater in the makeshift shelter, my fingers are so cold I can barely hold the sample pots as I work.
‘Many more to go?’ Drew trains the torch on my hands.
‘Just a couple.’ I fumble with the lid from the next pot, wishing for the thousandth time that I hadn’t volunteered to collect the weekly snow samples. Ten weeks ago, when the last of the summer team left and someone had to take over the task, there’d been near twenty-four-hour daylight; I didn’t factor in how difficult this would be in the dark.
And after tonight, there’ll be plenty more of that, I think grimly as I stuff snow into the pot.
‘I hope those geeks in Geneva find something exciting,’ Drew mutters, stamping his feet to stay warm. ‘Alien life forms, at the very least.’
I laugh. That’s what I like about Drew, he always manages to lift my mood – no mean feat given the increasing air of tension on the station as the daylight hours have shrunk to a vague twilight and the sun sulks ever lower on the horizon. I’d underestimated how much prolonged darkness messes with your circadian rhythms and any sense of routine, draining your energy and fogging your brain, making a challenge of even the simplest chore.
‘Shit.’ My fingers ache so much I drop the last container, losing it somewhere on the snow. Drew sweeps the torch across the ground while I look for it.
I suppress a groan of frustration. How will I manage this for the next four months of permanent night? I can’t face doing it alone, and I’m loath to admit my longstanding fear of the dark to my colleagues. But there’s a limit to how many times I can ask Drew to accompany me; not that he ever objects, but I don’t want to strain our friendship.
Over the last couple of months Drew’s become my closest ally. As winter deepens, and my polite reminders have been met with increasing apathy and evasion, he’s chased people up for blood and stool samples, defending me when they bitch about completing their video diaries and questionnaires. He volunteered to train as a surgical assistant, even offered to help with the endless data updates on the medical systems.
And all that on top of his own workload.
‘That’s it.’ I finally locate the missing pot and stuff it with snow. ‘Let’s get the hell out of here.’
Drew sighs with relief. ‘I really need a beer. I could do with a shower too, but I’ll settle for the beer.’
I grunt my agreement, but can’t help feeling sorry for Caro, who’s had flak for days since the plumbing gave out again, for reasons she still hasn’t identified. We’ve all been forced to wash down using water boiled in the kitchen, exacerbating the deteriorating mood on the base.
As Drew extinguishes the heater, I load the samples into my knapsack, pull on my thick outer gloves, and step outside, listening to the faint tinkling sound as the vapour in my breath freezes and falls to the ground like powdered glass. My fingers and toes throb painfully as we trudge back to Alpha, but that’s preferable to numbness; it’s when you can’t feel anything at all that you need to worry.
‘Shit.’ Unable to see clearly through the ice crystals sticking my eyelashes together, I trip on a ridge in the snow and lurch forwards.
Drew shoots out a hand to grab me. ‘Steady there.’ He pulls me upright, his hand lingering on my arm momentarily. I turn, puzzled, but he simply nods and releases me.
We reach the steps and climb back up into Alpha. I flop onto one of the seats in the kit room and pull off my outdoor gear, grateful I don’t have to do that again for another week.
‘I’ll stick these into cold storage for you,’ says Drew, picking up the knapsack with the snow samples once he’s stripped down to his T-shirt and jeans. ‘See you at lunchtime. We’re gonna give our favourite star a good send-off, so get your glad rags on.’
Who am I kidding?
I examine the black Lycra dress in the little mirror inside my wardrobe door, careful not to lift my eyes to my face. Once tight-fitting, with a deep plunging neckline, the material now gapes around my breastbone and my hips. I pull it off in disgust and slip on a pair of jeans and a fresh T-shirt, then retrieve my pills from the wardrobe. I swallow two, then add a third for good measure.
Seriously, Kate?
My sister’s words reverberate in my head and I squeeze my eyes shut to drive them away.
Soon, I promise myself. Soon.
I arrive in the lounge an hour before sunset. In the adjacent games room, Alice and Drew are engrossed in a table football match; from her victorious cheering, it sounds like Alice is winning.
Sonya sits in the corner, headphones on, knitting something I can’t identify – a scarf perhaps? With her round figure and curly grey hair, she looks every inch the benign Southern grandma, but that fools no one with even a passing acquaintance. Sonya is far and away the most intelligent person on the base – I’ve already clocked her impressive IQ scores in her medical file – and as Professor of Meteorology at the University of Toronto, clearly a leading light in her field.
She also has the stoical patience of a clever black woman who’s endured a lifetime of being underestimated.
‘Hey.’ Sonya catches my eye as I help myself to a glass of red wine, then removes her ear buds and pats the seat beside her. ‘Come and join me.’
I sit, grateful for her friendly attention. ‘What are you listening to?’
‘The Clay Machine-Gun. Victor Pelevin.’
‘I don’t know it.’
‘You should read it. It’s extraordinary. Ark downloaded the audiobook – he’s educating me in the masterpieces of Russian literature.’
I raise an eyebrow, and Sonya smiles. ‘Don’t underestimate him. He probably knows as much about Russian novels as he does generators. Which is to say, a lot.’
‘Where is he anyway?’ I glance around. ‘And the others?’
‘Ark and Arne are helping Rajiv in the kitchen. Alex and Caro are getting changed, Sandrine’s still letting off steam in Beta.’
This last comment makes me smile. Our station leader, it turns out, is a keen golfer. During the summer, she set up her own course on a smooth area of ice, covering her balls in red marker pen so she could see them against th
e snow. But since the encroaching darkness drove her indoors, Sandrine has been forced to mock up a putting green in the largest of the Beta storerooms.
‘As for Luuk and Rob …’ Sonya raises a cynical eyebrow. ‘Well, your guess is as good as mine.’
I don’t need to ask what she’s getting at. Luuk and Rob – or Beavis and Butt-Head, as I’ve heard Caro refer to them – have taken to disappearing for protracted periods, turning up at supper looking wasted. Not to mention the lingering herbal smell in certain areas of Beta.
I’ve half wondered whether to broach the subject with Sandrine, but there’s no way she can’t have noticed – especially after the incident with the snowboard. Presumably she’s concluded it’s relatively harmless. Whatever gets you through the winter, as Ark is fond of saying.
Besides, it’s not as if I’m in any position to criticise.
‘So, how’s it going?’ Sonya pulls more yarn from her ball and starts a new row.
‘Busy, which is good. I’d probably go a bit crazy without plenty to do.’ Though I’d happily give up the snow sampling, I nearly add.
‘It must be a tough job, dealing with all of us. Jean-Luc said it was what he liked least, having to constantly nag people.’
I squint at her in surprise. In all the weeks I’ve been here, this is the first time anyone has mentioned Jean-Luc without prompting. ‘What was he like?’ I ask, seizing the opportunity. ‘Nobody seems keen to talk about him.’
For a moment or two Sonya doesn’t respond, and I worry I’ve put my foot in it again. Then she lays down her knitting, props her elbow on the side of the armchair, and rests her chin in her hand as she gazes at me.
‘He was a good man, Kate. Kind, committed to helping others. Very clever too. Always interested in other people’s field of work, forever scribbling away in his journal – or his Antarctic adventure log, as he liked to call it. He was planning to write a book about his time here.’
‘Really?’ I picture again that face from the photos and feel another wave of sadness. I reckon I’d have liked Jean-Luc a lot.
What a terrible waste.
The Dark Page 6
