The Dark

by Emma Haughton

  I bite my lip, hesitating. Wondering whether to go ahead. ‘Caro, may I ask you something?’ I glance around to check we’re not being overheard.

  ‘Sure.’ She puts down her pen and gives me her full attention.

  ‘Can you shed any light on what went on yesterday? Has Alex talked to you about it at all?’

  Caro chews her lip. ‘A little. He thinks people blame him for what happened to Jean-Luc. But it wasn’t his fault, Kate.’ She looks at me earnestly. ‘Alex is super careful. I mean meticulous.’

  Despite what Drew told me last night, Caro’s words ring true. After all, if you’ve been involved – or at least present – when someone died like that girl in New Zealand, the experience would surely change you. And contrary to what Drew suggested, wouldn’t it make you more anxious to ensure it never happened again? More careful?

  On the other hand, does lightning ever strike twice? Could it be coincidence that two people died on Alex’s watch?

  I’m tempted to ask Caro if she knows more about that bungee incident, but decide to track down the newspaper reports first. Besides, the person I really should talk to about it is Alex himself.

  If he’ll give me another chance.

  ‘I think I’ve upset him,’ I confess. ‘I asked him about smoking marijuana. He took it as some sort of criticism.’

  Caro frowns. ‘He doesn’t smoke,’ she says. ‘Not any more. Not since Jean-Luc died, and not much before then.’

  ‘Okay.’

  ‘He’s a good guy,’ she adds almost fiercely, as if I’ve implied otherwise. ‘I mean it, Kate. He’s one of the kindest, most gentle people I’ve ever met. He’s absolutely devastated about Jean-Luc. They were friends, you know. Alex was kind of lost when he first came out here, and Jean-Luc took him under his wing. They spent loads of time together, trekking out on the ice in summer, playing poker, hanging out when they weren’t working.’

  To my surprise, her eyes well up. Caro really cares about Alex, I realise, and it makes me glad. I sense he needs all the friends he can get in this place.

  ‘I’m scared,’ she whispers, voice husky with emotion. ‘I don’t think he’s coping very well.’

  ‘I’ll keep a close eye on him and give as much support as I can, all right?’ I squeeze her hand. ‘I’m sure he’ll be fine.’

  Caro smiles at me gratefully. ‘Thanks.’ She glances down at my fingers then up at my face. ‘You okay, Kate? You look kind of pale, if you don’t mind me saying. And you’re trembling. Is everything all right?’

  I remove my hand from hers, suppressing the urge to tell her what just happened. The shock of my discovery.

  ‘Just hungover,’ I say, trying to sound brighter. ‘Hit the wine a bit too hard last night. Always leaves me jittery.’

  ‘Me too.’ Caro’s expression is sympathetic. ‘Go grab yourself something from the kitchen. Nothing like a hefty dose of fat and carbs to chase away a hangover.’

  I get up. ‘Good plan. I just want to check in on Tom first, then I’ll follow your prescription.’

  I find Tom alone in the comms room, sitting at his desk, laptop open. He seems startled when I knock then poke my head around the door.

  ‘You okay?’ I ask. ‘You seemed a bit out of sorts yesterday.’

  ‘Out of sorts?’ Tom stares at me blankly, then looks away again, as if holding my gaze is painful.

  ‘Upset,’ I explain. ‘Sorry.’ Despite the high level of English spoken amongst the winterers, it’s impossible not to trip up over the occasional idiom.

  ‘There is nothing wrong with me,’ he says bluntly.

  ‘I wasn’t suggesting there was, Tom. I simply wanted to check everything was all right, that’s all. I’m responsible for everyone’s welfare on the base.’

  ‘I’m fine, Kate.’ He keeps his eyes fixed on his screen. ‘Thank you for asking.’

  ‘If you’re sure,’ I add. ‘But remember, you can talk to me any time, in total confidence. And please, could you come in for a blood test and complete your video log? I see you’ve missed the last couple of weeks.’ I refrain from explaining, yet again, why they are necessary – as data manager, I’m sure Tom understands their importance.

  ‘I will,’ he says, flicking his gaze briefly to mine and away again in an obvious gesture of dismissal.

  Was it him? I wonder, as I take the hint and head for the kitchen. Could it be Tom who searched my room?

  Stop it, Kate. Just don’t go there. It could have been anyone.

  I take Caro’s advice. Make myself a large cheese and pickle sandwich, and boil the kettle for a cup of tea, trying to push everything out of my mind while I go to the storeroom to find a new box of teabags. As I’m heading back, my elbow catches a tray on the stainless-steel counter.

  There’s a loud crash as it hits the kitchen floor.

  Oh shit. I stare in horror at the mess, glistening pieces of fish scattered everywhere. They must have been defrosting for tonight’s supper. I pick up the tray and retrieve each fillet, start rinsing them under the tap, hoping no one will notice; after all, this place is spotless and I can’t imagine we’ll come to any harm.

  ‘What are you doing?’

  I turn to see Rajiv watching me. ‘I’m so sorry,’ I say, mortified. ‘I was getting some teabags and accidentally knocked them over.’

  He doesn’t speak. Just looks at the wreckage of fish on the tray. ‘Leave it,’ he says sharply.

  ‘Rajiv, I—’

  ‘It isn’t necessary to apologise.’ He picks up the tray and dumps it all in the bin. ‘I will find something else for Tom.’

  Oh hell. I completely forgot it’s Tom’s birthday today. Didn’t even think to mention it when I spoke to him just now. Rajiv was evidently planning a special meal, and now I’ve ruined it.

  ‘I’ll help you.’ I glance around the kitchen, looking for inspiration.

  ‘No,’ Rajiv says, his voice stiff. I can tell he’s working hard to contain his anger.

  Tears prick my eyes. ‘Just let me—’

  ‘Drop it, Kate. Please.’

  I can see he means it. Abandoning my tea and sandwich, I hurry back to the clinic, locking the door behind me. Sinking into my chair, I drop my head into my hands, fighting the urge to cry.

  Pull yourself together, I tell myself fiercely, breathing deeply to get my emotions under control. But it doesn’t work. I sense my mood, already on a downhill trajectory, plummeting further. The hangover, my bungled conversation with Alex, the discovery of my missing pills, and the incident in the kitchen, all tipping me towards some kind of edge.

  Before I can stop it my mind spins back to that argument with Ben, the one that blew up out of nowhere, the Sunday before the accident.

  He’d been aloof and cold, mooching around the house, barely saying a word. I recall my increasing bewilderment, and my growing resentment; I’d been working seventy hours a week at the hospital, as well as renovating our kitchen and planning our forthcoming wedding. Though Ben worked long hours himself, he never offered to help.

  Impossible to forget the anger on his face that afternoon when I challenged him, pouring out my frustration.

  ‘Yes, I know, you’re a bloody saint,’ he snapped back. ‘The Norths are all perfect, no one else can measure up. That’s a given.’

  I stared at him in astonishment. Where on earth had that come from? Ben had never before said a bad word about my family. Seemed, on the contrary, to get on well with them – on the rare occasions we met up.

  ‘What the fuck, Ben? I’m trying to do all of this, keep all these plates spinning, and that’s your response?’

  He sighed and turned away.

  ‘So, what, you’re just going to ignore me?’

  Ben swung back on his heels. ‘I can’t compete, Kate. Whatever I do, whatever anyone does, it’s not enough. It’s never good enough. You’re so …’ He stopped. Closed his eyes briefly, then walked out of the house, got in his car and drove off; when he returned later that evening, it seemed easie
r to pretend the whole thing hadn’t happened.

  You’re so … The words reverberate in my head. I never did find out what he was going to say.

  A sudden sharp pain in my heart, raw as a wound. I feel like wailing, with grief and fury.

  Fuck you, Ben. Fuck you.

  Taking the keys from my drawer, I get to my feet and unlock the cabinet containing the benzodiazepines. I examine the neat boxes lined up on the shelf, the allure of their pristine packaging.

  I pick up the nearest packet of Valium, pull out the sachet and run my fingers over the little foil capsules with an intense rush of longing.

  Seriously, Kate?

  Pushing my sister’s voice aside, I pop out two of the pills and swallow them down. Hesitate for a second or so, then take another couple for good measure, stuffing the rest of the packet in my pocket. Then I shut the cabinet and rest my head on my desk, inhaling slowly until everything fades and recedes back into the shadows.

  11

  27 May

  ‘I’ve already told you, it has nothing to do with the plumbing! I sorted that out ages ago.’

  Caro’s voice, sounding exasperated. I detour from my trip to the Skype room to the laundry, pausing to listen outside the door.

  ‘I reckon the drain hose is clogged,’ she says.

  ‘Always some excuse.’ Luuk’s tone is aggressive. ‘Nothing ever works in this place – the showers, the washing machines. I mean, look!’

  ‘Yeah, I see it. Water on the floor, Luuk. You know where the mop is.’

  ‘I just want to wash my fucking clothes. It’s not a big—’

  I don’t catch the rest. Alex almost shoulders me out of the way as he barges past, his face thunderous. Clearly I wasn’t the only one within earshot. I follow him inside, sensing things are about to get nasty.

  Damp seeping into the knees of her dungarees, Caro kneels on the tiled floor of the laundry room, surrounded by a pool of greyish water. She’s examining the coils of piping at the rear of one of the washing machines.

  ‘What’s going on?’ Alex demands, gazing from Caro to Luuk.

  ‘Drain hose is completely blocked,’ Caro replies, relief on her face as she clocks the pair of us. ‘Could either of you hand me a bucket?’

  I fetch one from the cupboard and Caro angles it beneath the outflow as she unscrews the hose. It’s not entirely successful. A gush of water expands the puddle on the floor.

  ‘Kut!’ Luuk jumps out of the way as it splashes onto his Vans. ‘Look at this fucking mess.’

  ‘Your fucking mess,’ Caro corrects, peering into the hose. Tipping it downwards, she shakes it hard and something drops on the floor.

  Alex scoops up the disposable cigarette lighter, decorated with little green marijuana leaves, and hands it to Luuk. ‘I believe this is yours.’

  Luuk takes the lighter without a word. Doesn’t apologise to Caro, or even appear particularly abashed.

  ‘How many times have I asked people to empty their pockets before putting their clothes in the machine?’ Caro complains, her eyes welling. ‘And not to overfill these top loaders. You can’t simply not bother for weeks then shove all your stuff in there in one go.’

  Luuk mutters something I don’t catch. Suddenly Alex springs forward and grabs his T-shirt, aiming a punch at the side of his head. Caro squeals as Luuk spins around and hits back, his fist grazing Alex’s chin. Alex stumbles, and Luuk manages to get him into a stranglehold.

  ‘Leave him alone!’ Caro shouts. In a flash she grabs the bucket of dirty water from the washing machine and flings it in Luuk’s face. He stares at her, astonished, hair and beard dripping.

  ‘You stupid bitch!’

  Alex gets free of Luuk’s grasp, then kicks his legs from under him.

  ‘Stop it!’ I yell, as Luuk goes down hard onto the wet floor. Shit, what do I do?

  A few seconds later, Arne and Drew run in, alerted to the rumpus. Arne grabs Alex, who’s aiming a kick to Luuk’s belly, and pins him against the wall.

  ‘It’s not his fault!’ screams Caro, crying now. ‘Alex was defending me.’

  Drew glowers down at Luuk as he tries to scrabble to his feet.

  ‘What the hell is going on?’

  We all turn to the sound of Sandrine’s voice from the doorway. Jesus, I think. Bad news travels fast in this place – any hint of trouble and half the station soon turns up.

  It’s not the first fracas I’ve witnessed in the last few weeks. As the Antarctic winter deepens, so have tensions on the base. Our days are increasingly punctuated by low-grade sniping and backbiting, occasionally erupting into a full-blown argument – a fortnight ago Drew and Rob went head-to-head over whose turn it was to empty the food waste bins, with Ark and Arne having to physically restrain them before they came to blows. Several days later Sonya lost her temper with Luuk for playing thrash metal at full volume in the lounge.

  ‘He was threatening Caro.’ Alex glares furiously at him as Luuk pulls himself to his feet. There’s blood on his beard, I notice, though not much.

  ‘Like hell I was,’ growls Luuk, running a hand through his wet hair. ‘Look what she did to me!’

  Sandrine turns to Caro. ‘Did you?’

  ‘None of this is her fault!’ Alex protests. He’s shaking with anger now, jaw clenched with emotion. ‘You!’ He takes a step closer to Luuk. ‘It was you, wasn’t it?’

  Out of the corner of my eye, I see Caro shake her head at him. Don’t do this, her wide-eyed expression says. At the same time I catch a whiff of something like whisky from Alex’s direction, and realise he’s been drinking.

  Hell. It’s not even midday.

  ‘Let’s leave this here.’ Arne raises a hand in warning, but Luuk ignores him.

  ‘What was me?’ he glares back at Alex. ‘I’ve no idea what you’re talking about.’

  Alex jabs his finger towards his face. ‘You were on that climbing trip. You never liked Jean-Luc, did you?’

  Luuk sneers. ‘What the fuck are you on about, man?’

  ‘You know exactly what I’m talking about.’ I get another whiff of alcohol as Alex spits the words at Luuk.

  ‘Hey,’ Drew moves in closer, ‘you need to calm down—’

  ‘No, let him get this off his chest,’ Luuk says. ‘Let’s all hear Alex’s pathetic attempt to deflect blame from himself. He can’t accept that Jean-Luc’s death was his fault, so he’s trying to find a scapegoat.’

  Sandrine frowns. ‘What exactly are you insinuating, Alex? Are you suggesting someone tampered with Jean-Luc’s equipment?’ The lines on her forehead, around her mouth, seem more pronounced than even a week ago, as if she’s ageing right before our eyes, worn down by some emotion I can’t fathom. ‘That cannot be a serious accusation. How on earth would anyone do that?’

  ‘I’m not sure.’ Alex shakes his head. ‘Messed with the karabiner, most likely. But we’ll never know, will we, Sandrine? It’s all down there with him, half a mile deep in that crevasse.’

  Anguish flashes across the station leader’s face as she’s assaulted by the same image that’s haunted me these last three months.

  ‘It was sabotaged,’ Alex insists. ‘It’s the only explanation. I’ve gone over and over it. That equipment was fine when I checked it before we left, but I didn’t have eyes on it the whole time. I might not have seen if someone—’

  ‘But why?’ Arne cuts in, his expression confused. I feel inexplicably drawn to him, wanting to move physically closer, as if he’s a safe haven in this storm. ‘Why would anybody do that?’

  ‘Yes, why?’ demands Sandrine. ‘Why would anyone hurt Jean-Luc?’

  Alex shakes his head slowly, as if in disbelief. How much has he had to drink, I wonder? And has this become a regular habit?

  Keeping an eye on him, as I promised Caro three weeks ago, has proved easier said than done; Alex has become increasingly withdrawn, avoiding everyone bar her and Arne. He’s completely abandoned the medical tests and video diaries, forcing me to keep tabs on hi
m the only way I can – checking his activity monitor. Even if I can’t fathom the data, the heart monitor at least reassures me he’s still alive.

  ‘Why don’t you ask Luuk that question?’ Alex addresses Sandrine. ‘You know damn well they had several run-ins over his little stash.’

  Luuk grits his teeth, looking furious. For a second or two he seems on the brink of launching himself at Alex again. ‘You can’t be serious,’ he splutters. ‘You honestly think I’d kill someone? Over a thing like that?’

  ‘Jean-Luc threatened to report you, didn’t he?’ Alex persists.

  ‘Alex, please.’ Caro’s voice is heavy with warning.

  ‘Well?’ Alex appeals to Arne. ‘You believe me, don’t you?’

  Arne doesn’t respond, and Luuk looks around wildly. ‘What is this? Some kind of fucking trial?’ He turns to Sandrine. ‘You going to do anything? Or would you rather just stay out of the spotlight?’

  The station leader stiffens, her face rigid with tension. She seems almost paralysed.

  ‘And what about him?’ Luuk nods at Arne. ‘I seem to remember he and the doc had their disagreements. Why isn’t he in the picture for this so-called murder?’

  ‘This is not helping,’ Arne says coldly, directing his comment at both Luuk and Alex. ‘We all have to live with each other for the next six months.’

  ‘For heaven’s sake, there’s been no murder,’ Sandrine snaps, seeming to come to and remember she’s supposed to be in charge. ‘Jean-Luc’s death was an accident, pure and simple. This has to stop.’

  ‘Alex, why don’t you come with me to my clinic,’ I say, desperate to talk to him, to calm him down.

  ‘Thank you, Kate,’ Sandrine’s voice is clipped. ‘I’ll handle this. I don’t need you interfering.’

  Heat rushes to my cheeks. I stare at her, stung and bewildered. Can’t she see I’m concerned about Alex’s psychological welfare? The man’s clearly a wreck, and suspicious of everyone.

  Unusually so, I wonder? The ice station in winter has become a curious mix of claustrophobia and loneliness. It’s difficult to get any real privacy, to escape the sense that you’re living in a goldfish bowl, under constant scrutiny, and everything you say or do is being observed and evaluated.