The Dark

by Emma Haughton

  There’s no response I can make to that beyond a wry smile. It’s true, I do work too hard. It’s been my refuge ever since the accident, and I returned to my job in the hospital as soon as possible – when you focus on the bad stuff that happens to other people, it leaves less room to dwell on the bad stuff that’s happened to you.

  ‘There you go again.’ Drew laughs. ‘Off with the fairies.’

  ‘Sorry.’ I take a slug of wine. It’s a decent Italian red – Rajiv clearly knows his vintages, and UNA has the good sense not to fob us off with rubbish.

  ‘Well, so much for pool,’ says Alice, as she and the other two emerge from the games room. ‘Having had my arse whipped, I’m off for an early night.’ She gives us each a hug and kiss on the cheek. ‘Thanks for a lovely evening.’

  We murmur our goodnights, and Alice leaves, Rob and Luuk’s gaze following her out of the room.

  ‘Forgeddaboutit,’ Drew quips in a NY accent, which makes them both laugh.

  The four of us fall into a long and rambling conversation. Luuk, I discover to my surprise, studied fine art in Utrecht before deciding to retrain as an electrician. I ponder this as the banter flies back and forth. Is that why he’s so … antagonistic? Some by-product of thwarted artistic ambition?

  I’m not about to ask, but I learn more about Rob, who describes growing up in Australia as the child of Asian immigrants – his imitation of his mother’s hybrid Aussie-Taiwanese accent makes Luuk and Drew laugh so hard they have tears in their eyes.

  Gradually I find myself relaxing, though part of my mind still niggles at what happened with Alex earlier. What did he mean? What does everyone think is his fault?

  Should I ask Drew?

  No, I decide. The person to ask is Alex himself. I’ll deal with that tomorrow. And check in on Tom, too, while I’m at it.

  ‘Well, I’m gonna hit the sack,’ Rob says eventually. Luuk drains the rest of his beer and joins him. ‘Don’t stay up too late,’ he calls back to the two of us, with only the hint of a smirk.

  I watch them leave, wondering if they’re going off for another smoke. Seems more likely.

  ‘I should go to bed too,’ I sigh. ‘I really do have lots of work to do tomorrow. Sunday or not.’

  ‘Hey, the night is young,’ quips Drew. ‘We’ve got four months of it yet. You can’t spend all of it hiding away in that clinic.’

  I hesitate.

  ‘Stay and keep me company,’ he insists. ‘My body clock’s screwed and I can’t sleep anyway, so what’s the point of trying?’

  He’s right. I doubt I’ll sleep much either, especially given what’s happened tonight. So I allow him to top up my glass again, knowing full well I’ll regret it in the morning. But I’m past caring. The events of the evening have me rattled and I’m grateful for the opportunity to blot it from my mind.

  ‘You didn’t say much,’ Drew prompts. ‘About yourself, earlier. In fact you never do. I hardly know anything about you.’

  I nod, surprised he’s picked up on my reticence. Whereas once I’d have been happy to talk openly about my life, these days I avoid it as much as possible. All roads seem to lead to Ben, to that night.

  ‘I guess I don’t find myself a very interesting topic of conversation,’ I hedge.

  ‘Big on self-censorship, aren’t you?’ Drew grabs a handful of peanuts and chews them slowly, pinning me with his gaze. He really is insanely handsome, I think, feeling slightly drunk. His clear brown eyes and light tan. The perfect hint of stubble.

  Entirely out of my league. The thought is vaguely comforting, as if I no longer have to bother trying.

  ‘How about you pick one thing,’ he persists. ‘Tell me the last time you were happy.’

  The last time I was happy? To my dismay, I find I can’t remember. Happiness seems an impossibility now, about as attainable as becoming a concert pianist or flying to the moon. Happiness is for other people. All I aspire to is numbness, an absence of pain.

  Then an answer occurs to me, but not one I can tell Drew. I recall those first days after the accident, when I was moved from morphine to prescription painkillers – the good stuff, not the pale imitations you can buy over the counter at Boots. I remember perfectly the rush of well-being they gave me – relief not simply from the physical pain of my smashed knee and whiplash, but from all the grief and guilt and trauma.

  Of course, it’s not real, that blissful detachment – merely the chemical effects of opioids attaching to receptors in the body and brain. But that didn’t stop me craving it, always chasing that soft, soothing blankness.

  Though now it mostly eludes me.

  I look up to see Drew frowning at me. ‘Okay then, how about the last time you got drunk. I mean really drunk, not just a bit “squiffy”.’ He says this last word in a mock English accent that makes me laugh.

  I sigh, trying to recall. It must have been that night, six years ago, when Ben and I went for a summer barbecue in Clifton with a crowd of our medical friends. I got through nearly a whole bottle of designer gin, then dragged everyone to a club in town to dance our arses off.

  I tell Drew about it, all the while marvelling at that light-hearted version of myself. Did I actually do things like that? Impossible, now, to imagine I was ever that person, that I was once that relaxed, that carefree.

  And not a painkiller in sight.

  Somehow Drew coaxes more from me and I end up telling him about my family. How both my parents were doctors, but my elder sister Clare managed to break the mould by studying law at Cambridge instead of medicine. My brother Richard, however, dutifully followed into the family business, eventually becoming head of surgery at a leading hospital in Australia.

  ‘You sound a clever bunch,’ Drew comments.

  I pull a face. ‘We’re a family of over-achievers. The kind that looks great on paper but feels hollow on the inside. Nothing is ever good enough when the minimum standard is perfection.’

  ‘So you’re not close to them then?’

  I shake my head. ‘Dad died five years ago, and Mum lives in India now – she took a job in Delhi as a consultant psychiatrist. My brother works in Melbourne, and we’ve pretty much lost touch.’

  ‘Don’t you miss her? Your mum.’

  ‘Sometimes.’ I keep my voice noncommittal. ‘She was never exactly the stay-at-home, nurturing type. I’m closer to my sister, Clare.’

  Drew looks thoughtful. The expression on his face is uncomfortably close to sympathy. ‘Sounds a bit lonely, your childhood.’

  I squint at him in surprise. Is it that obvious? Or maybe I’ve underestimated him. Just because he’s ripped and fit, it doesn’t mean Drew’s some kind of emotional caveman.

  ‘Yeah, I guess it was. But hey, it’s my life now.’

  ‘And is there anyone in particular you share it with?’ He asks this casually, as if it isn’t a loaded question, one I’ve dodged a number of times since coming here. This time, I suspect, I’m not going to sidestep it so easily.

  ‘Not any more.’

  Drew studies me with an inscrutable expression. ‘So you’re single?’

  ‘I’ve been talking too much,’ I say quickly, anxious to change the subject. ‘What about you? Tell me more about your life – you don’t really mention it either.’

  Drew shrugs. ‘Not a lot to say. Born and raised in the Midwest. Parents were arable farmers. My brother went to college, got the hell out of Dodge.’

  ‘Got the hell out of Dodge? You mean your home? Wasn’t it happy?’

  He sighs. For a moment I worry I’ve hit a nerve. ‘He left Nebraska. Took me a few years longer. When my parents sold the farm, retired to Florida, I rented a place in town and worked at the local Target for a while, before I realised that if I didn’t get my shit together, that would end up being my whole life. So I joined the army and trained as a combat engineer.’

  ‘How long did you do that for?’ I feel bad I don’t already know, but there’s an unwritten rule on the base that no one pries, or asks to
o many questions. Out here, it seems, we can be whoever we choose; fresh versions of ourselves – at least for the duration of our stay.

  ‘I was in the army four years, maybe five,’ Drew replies. ‘A couple of tours in Afghanistan was enough for me.’

  He chews the side of his lip and I sense we’ve strayed into territory he too would rather forget, so I grasp for a change of subject. ‘So you’ve no one special waiting for you either?’

  Fuck’s sake, Kate. I kick myself the second the words leave my mouth. Why on earth would you ask him that?

  Because I’m drunk, I realise, blurrily.

  Drew turns to me – to my relief I see he’s grinning. ‘Why are you asking me that, Kate? You interested?’

  ‘Of course not,’ I say quickly, heat rushing to my cheeks. ‘I’m sorry … I mean, you’re a good-looking guy, I was simply wondering why you’d be single.’

  Jesus, Kate, you’re actually making this worse.

  Drew’s smile is playfully mocking. ‘FYI, Doctor North – not that you’re interested – I had a girlfriend back in the US for five years. We broke up last year.’

  ‘Oh.’ I can’t think of anything to say to that.

  ‘She didn’t like me disappearing off to the ice. Plus she wanted children, and I wasn’t that keen.’ He downs the rest of his beer. ‘Do you?’

  ‘Do I what?’

  ‘Want children.’

  I shrug. ‘No … not really.’

  To be honest, it’s no longer a question I give much thought to. Ben and I had assumed it was on the cards, one day, when our careers were more settled; but now he’s gone, it seems irrelevant.

  Besides, who’d want me now? I’m making a fool of myself even having this conversation, I realise, remembering my scar. I get to my feet, the room spinning. ‘I’m going to bed,’ I say, trying not to think about the hangover waiting for me tomorrow.

  ‘Wait up.’ Drew drains his beer and turns off all the lights in the lounge. We walk quietly through the corridors, wary of disturbing anyone.

  ‘Hey, you like whisky?’ Drew asks, as we approach his door. ‘I’ve got a bottle stashed under my bed.’

  ‘Under your bed?’

  ‘Can’t be too careful.’ He gazes at me. ‘Well? Fancy a nightcap?’

  Despite everything, I’m tempted. The alcohol has dissolved my usual inhibitions, all those protective layers I’ve carefully assembled around myself. And there’s something else, a sensation as unfamiliar now as happiness: an undertow of desire.

  Don’t be stupid, I tell myself fiercely. There’s no chance someone like Drew would be interested in you. Even here, where there isn’t much in the way of choice.

  ‘It’s a single malt,’ he leans in, whispering. ‘If that doesn’t tempt you, I can’t imagine what will.’

  He lifts a hand and pushes my hair from my face. With his index finger he traces the line of my scar from the top of my cheek almost to my jawbone. Despite myself, my skin tingles beneath his touch.

  I wait for him to ask exactly how I got it. That inevitable question. I’m amazed he’s managed to hold it in so long.

  ‘Kate,’ Drew murmurs, lifting my chin so I’m forced to look at him. ‘It doesn’t make any difference, you know. It’s not as bad as you think.’

  I stare at him, speechless. Then let him pull me into his cabin and shut the door behind us. As soon as we’re inside he draws me into a kiss. Soft, at first, tentative, then quickly fierce and hungry and urgent. It’s been so long since I’ve kissed anyone, and desire rushes up with shocking force.

  I thought all this was behind me.

  ‘You okay with this?’ Drew draws back to look in my eyes. ‘Just want to make sure I’m not taking advantage of a lady while she’s drunk.’

  ‘Shut up,’ I say, kissing him again. Seconds later, we’re removing each other’s clothes. I try not to stare at Drew as he pulls off his top – his body is strong and toned and there’s still a faint tan line at the base of his abdomen. I’m guessing he spends quite a bit of time at home with his shirt off.

  ‘Come here,’ he says, pulling me down onto the lower bunk.

  These beds are definitely not built for fucking, we discover. There’s not enough headroom for anything but missionary – not that I care; it’s been so long that even vanilla sex feels exotic.

  I’d forgotten, I realise, as Drew pushes into me. I’d forgotten how good this is, the sensation of being touched, of skin on skin, the ebb and flow of pleasure.

  But suddenly, stupidly, silently, I find I’m crying. I turn my head to the wall, stifling a sob, praying Drew won’t notice. All at once I want this to be over … it feels wrong.

  Too much, and too soon.

  Ben’s face hovers in my mind. That look in his eyes, gazing at me but not seeing.

  Gone already.

  ‘Stop!’ I push Drew away.

  He stares at me, confused. ‘What is it?’

  I shake my head.

  ‘Kate, I thought you were into it. I didn’t mean to—’

  I cover his mouth with my hand. ‘It’s not your fault. It’s me … I’m sorry. I just can’t … and I can’t explain it either.’

  I pull the covers up around me and we lie there silently for a minute or two as it gradually dawns on me what a mess I’ve got myself into.

  ‘I feel bad about Alex,’ Drew says out of the blue.

  I turn to him, surprised. ‘Why?’

  ‘I didn’t mean to upset him. I want you to know that.’

  ‘What did you say to him anyway?’ The question pops out before I can stop it, the wine loosening my tongue.

  Drew inhales. Props his head on his elbow and peers at me. ‘It was nothing. I simply asked about the field safety audits and risk assessments. He’s in charge of them.’

  I frown. ‘Why would you mention those?’

  Everyone blames me.

  ‘Because they haven’t been done, Kate. After Jean-Luc died, Alex was supposed to write a report, review all the safety procedures, but he hasn’t.’ Drew rolls onto his back. ‘Look … I don’t want to stir things up.’ He pauses, as if wrestling with himself.

  I wait for him to go on.

  ‘Okay, listen. It’s not the first,’ he says reluctantly.

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘It’s not the first time Alex, you know … has been involved in an incident.’

  ‘An incident? I don’t understand.’

  Drew frowns at me. ‘Hasn’t anybody told you exactly what happened?’

  I shrug. ‘Not really. No one seems keen to talk about it.’

  ‘One of the karabiners sheared off while Jean-Luc was abseiling into the ice. He fell over fifty metres into the crevasse, nearly pulled me in too.’

  ‘Jesus. Is that true? But what’s that got to do with Alex?’

  ‘Think about it. Alex is in charge of all the field equipment. It’s his job to make sure it was all good before we went out.’

  Drew’s right. But it never crossed my mind that Alex was in any way responsible for what happened. Surely, if that were the case, he wouldn’t be here now? At the very least he’d have been sent home.

  I say as much.

  ‘Some of us wanted that to happen, but Sandrine flat refused. She believed there wasn’t sufficient proof that Alex had been negligent.’

  ‘So it was an accident then?’

  Drew leans over slightly, so we can see each other properly. ‘Thing is, Kate, like I said, it’s not the first time. Someone died when Alex was working in Queenstown. A bungee jumping incident, on his watch. Another equipment failure, apparently.’

  I pull away a little so I can focus better on Drew’s face. ‘Really?’

  He shrugs. ‘Nothing was ever proven, but a girl died. It was in the papers.’

  ‘Are you saying he did this deliberately?’

  ‘No, not at all. I mean … he’s sloppy. Doesn’t check things thoroughly. Then tries to blame other people.’

  I consider this. If that we
re the case, why would UNA have taken Alex on in the first place? At the very least, they’d have overruled Sandrine and sent him home after Jean-Luc died.

  ‘How do you know all this?’ I ask Drew.

  ‘Luuk told me. Anyway, it’s common knowledge.’

  You all think I did it.

  Christ, no wonder Alex is so paranoid. I feel uneasy even discussing this behind his back.

  ‘Who was on this trip?’ I ask.

  ‘Pretty much all of us – it was supposed to be this team bonding thing for those overwintering. Sonya didn’t go – she didn’t want to trust the weather balloon to one of the summer staff, plus Rajiv and Caro volunteered to stay and run the station.’

  I pause, then ask a question I probably shouldn’t. ‘What Luuk said earlier, about Alex, did he mean he smokes a lot of weed?’

  Drew shrugs. ‘It goes on.’

  ‘And you?’

  ‘Not my thing. Seen too many people messed up by drugs to ever want to go there.’

  He gives me a long look and I feel my face flush, remembering again the pills that fell out of my pocket. Does he think I have a serious problem?

  Do I?

  Gingerly, I slip off the bunk and reach for my clothes in the semi-darkness. ‘I should get some sleep. No chance with two of us in that bed.’

  ‘Yeah, you have to figure these bunks are a deterrent.’

  I turn to look at him. ‘Listen, Drew,’ I say, then pause, trying to sort through the confusion of my thoughts, my feelings.

  His smile melts away. ‘That sounds ominous.’

  I hesitate, choosing my words carefully. ‘Don’t get me wrong, I like you, really, and I’m flattered. But we shouldn’t have let it happen. I’m the station doctor, which means remaining completely impartial and available to everyone, and I don’t want anything getting in the way of that.’

  The silence lingers a second or two. ‘That didn’t seem to bother you just now,’ he says, eyes no longer meeting mine. ‘You seemed kinda into it – at first, anyway.’

  ‘I … I shouldn’t have drunk so much. I wasn’t thinking straight.’

  ‘You were drunk. Well, thanks for the compliment.’ He blinks at me, his expression hurt.

  Oh God, I’m not handling this well. ‘Drew, that’s not what I mean. You know that.’