I should have pulled over, I say out loud to Caro in that tiny cabin surrounded by the endless hostile night. I should have stopped the car so we could talk.
But I kept on driving, tears smearing my vision. ‘Are you going to tell me who she is?’ I asked Ben.
‘Does it matter?’
‘Of course it fucking does!’ The car veered into the other lane as I glared at him. Ben made a grab for the steering wheel. ‘For fuck’s sake, Kate, pull over. Let me drive.’
But I didn’t. I wouldn’t. I carried on clutching the steering wheel to prevent myself from hitting him, to stop the fury welling inside me from spilling out and engulfing both of us. ‘Who is it?’ I repeated, louder.
‘No one you know.’
‘A nurse?’
He snorted. ‘Yeah, right. Like I’m that much of a cliché, Kate. Actually she’s a junior doctor. Paediatrics.’
I sifted through my mind, trying to remember all the doctors in that department, but the hospital was large and staff turnover high. It was impossible to keep up with everyone. ‘Does she know you’re engaged? That you’re getting married?’
Ben shook his head again. ‘We’re not getting married, Kate. That’s precisely what I’m trying to tell you.’
All at once the tears arrived, streaming down my cheeks. Ben turned away, embarrassed, staring out of the passenger window at the silhouettes of trees, their winter-bare branches glowing eerily against a nearly full moon.
‘Why?’ I swiped the tears with the back of my hand. ‘Why?’
‘I can’t give you a reason, Kate. It doesn’t work like that.’
‘Then fucking try, okay? I need to know.’
He closed his eyes and rubbed his forehead, thinking. ‘She … it’s … fresh, Kate. I don’t know. Exciting. Spontaneous. Everything about us – you and me – is so predictable, so earnest. All we do is work and eat and sleep. We barely even screw any more, let alone have any fun.’
He looked at me properly for the first time since getting in the car, his expression pleading now, begging me to understand.
‘You’re leaving me.’ A statement, not a question, but still I waited for him to contradict it. ‘Shit!’ I slammed a fist down on the steering column when he didn’t. ‘Shit.’
‘Kate, slow down!’ In my tears his face was blurry, but I could see his eyes wide with alarm. ‘Pull over, okay?’
I kept going.
‘Seriously, you’re driving way too fast.’
‘Fuck off, Ben.’
It was at that moment the fox appeared, darting out of the trees into the road. It froze, eyes glinting in the headlights, confused by the sudden glare. Staring right at me, as if trying to communicate something.
I swerved to avoid it. And everything changed for ever.
‘Kate?’ Caro studies me with a concerned expression. ‘Kate, I’m so sorry.’
I’m crying, I realise. Great convulsive sobs.
‘Are you okay?’ she repeats.
I clear my throat again. ‘Not really.’
Caro looks at me long and hard. ‘It wasn’t your fault, you know.’
I shake my head and turn away. ‘Apparently I was doing at least sixty,’ I tell her. ‘Ben was killed instantly when we hit the tree. I broke my leg, ruptured my spleen, and my face was lacerated by a branch that came through the windscreen.’ Instinctively my fingers find my scar, trace its line across my cheek.
My mark.
A permanent reminder of my guilt.
‘Shit,’ Caro whispers, taking all this in. ‘He died?’
‘It took several hours for the emergency services to cut us out of the car,’ I continue, voice cracking with the pressure of memories finally allowed to surface. ‘I passed out for a while, then came round in the ambulance. We were rushed back to the same emergency room where I worked.’
I glance at Caro in the twilight of the kerosene lamps. ‘That was almost the worst thing, seeing the faces of my colleagues. That’s when I realised that Ben was dead, from their expressions, the pity and sympathy in their voices.’
Caro’s gaze doesn’t waver. ‘You do know it wasn’t your fault, don’t you?’ she repeats.
I shake my head again vehemently. ‘But that’s not true, is it? At best, I was careless. I should have pulled over. At worst …’ I stop. Better not to go there.
That way madness lies.
‘At worst what?’ Caro is gentle, coaxing. ‘Kate, tell me.’
I squeeze my eyes shut. Force myself to voice my worst fear, the thing that haunts me, day and night. The pain I’ll do anything to numb. ‘What if it wasn’t an accident?’ I whisper. ‘What if I made it happen? Deliberately.’
Caro frowns. ‘What do you mean?’
I swallow again, swipe away more tears. ‘Sometimes, when I can’t sleep, when I’m lying there awake, I start thinking, you know, if I intended it to happen.’
‘If you intended it to happen?’ Her frown deepens. ‘To hurt yourself and Ben, you mean?’
I nod, recalling those bright eyes in the headlights. Sometimes I wonder if I imagined it, that fox. Was it really there? Or did I conjure it up afterwards to absolve myself? To give myself an excuse for what happened.
I clear my throat again. ‘The worst of it is, I’ll never know, will I?’
Caro shuffles forward, pain fleeting across her face, and reaches for my hand. ‘Kate, listen to me.’ Her fingers squeeze mine. ‘I know, okay? I’m absolutely certain that you would never deliberately hurt anyone, however angry or upset you were. You simply don’t have it in you.’
I stare at her, disbelieving. Suddenly the baby gives a little mewl, her face twisting, and Caro releases my hand to check her. There’s a minute or so of almost soundless crying before she falls back to sleep.
Wind, I decide. That tiny digestive system kicking into action.
I gaze at Caro. ‘Have you thought what you’ll call her?’
‘Yes.’
‘You going to tell me?’
‘Do you even need to ask?’ Caro smiles. ‘I’m calling her Kate.’
My eyes widen and I have to swallow again before I can speak. ‘I’m honoured. Thank you.’
‘Kate Louise,’ Caro adds. ‘Louise, after Alex’s sister. I thought about Alexandra, but it seemed a bit … well … too much.’
‘Kate Louise. That’s a beautiful name.’
I study the pair of them for a moment, then get to my feet. ‘You two should get more rest. If you need more pain meds, let me know.’
Caro looks nervous. ‘Where are you going?’
‘Not far,’ I reassure her. ‘Just to collect some snow. I’ll heat it on the stove for fresh water. Then I’ll find some food, and check we’ve got more fuel.’
Caro lays her head down on the pillow. ‘I meant what I said, Kate,’ she murmurs. ‘You have nothing to forgive yourself for. You have to let this go.’
I hold her gaze for a few seconds, then nod. ‘I promise I’ll try.’
Taking one of the torches, I venture out into the freezing cold of the main tent – it must be minus twenty or thirty in here. I hunt in the kitchen for containers I can load with snow, but everything is too small. I check all the cupboards, but find nothing bigger than a saucepan.
Surely there’s a plastic bin or bowl around here somewhere? I open the door to the storage space under the sink – nothing of use, but as I’m about to close it up again I see a glimpse of metal behind the U-bend.
Bending down, I shine my torch inside. Something silvery reflects the light back at me. I reach in and pull the object from its hiding place, hardly believing what I’m looking at.
A laptop.
Expensive, by the look of it, slim and sleek. I get down on my hands and knees and shine my torch deeper into the cupboard to check for anything else. In its beam, I see a maroon-covered notebook, and a small object in a black case. I reach in, easing them around the pipework that kept them hidden from view. The smaller one turns out to be a phone in a flip c
ase – Alex’s mobile, I realise, remembering him playing video games on it in the lounge.
I pull off my gloves, open up the notebook, and shine my torch on its pages. Small neat handwriting in French, executed with a fountain pen.
No doubt about it.
I’ve found Jean-Luc’s journal.
46
7 July
I stare, shivering, at the journal, my fingers already so numb with cold that I can barely hold it. Though I’m desperate to read what’s inside, I daren’t return to the heated cabin, loath to disturb Caro and the baby.
Besides, I need to focus on this alone and undistracted.
So I grab a sleeping bag and wrap it around me as I squat on one of the beds in the main dorm, using my torch to scan the pages of close-written French script. To my surprise, I can understand most of it – Jean-Luc was old school, his language devoid of slang or difficult idioms.
As with the videos, all the earlier entries reveal his excitement, his delight at being once again in Antarctica.
A flagship project! Such an honour to be here! I feel so much joy at being on the ice again, in this beautiful, pristine environment. It speaks to my heart like nothing else.
I flip through the pages, noting the date of each entry. Sure enough, as we approach the weeks before his death, the tone shifts. This is a different Jean-Luc. Sombre and serious. Worried.
I never felt easy about N’s death. Why was a young woman wandering outside in the dark on her own? I cannot forget those tears frozen on her cheeks, the rips in her clothing. How to explain them? I had a feeling there was more to it, but a visiting doctor’s feelings don’t carry much weight on a large US base.
I scan further, heart in mouth. Lots of stuff about the experiments. Calls home to his wife Nicole, reports on how the children were getting on at school. Then finally I find what I’m looking for.
I struggle now to recall A’s exact words when I mentioned N’s death to him. Stupid of me not to have noted them down at the time. ‘Such a tragedy. Especially as she was pregnant.’ Something like that, but I recall better the sensation it gave me, how my skin went cold. That sixth sense I have sometimes when a situation feels wrong.
How does he know that, I asked myself? How did he know she was pregnant?
I’d read all the reports from the medical team – she was barely eight weeks and apparently none of her friends on the base were aware of her condition. Yet when I first asked A if he knew her at McMurdo, he claimed it was only in passing.
Jean-Luc’s words begin to blur and swim.
‘A’.
Since Alex is dead and Ark has never set foot on the American base – he’s made several jokes about how he’d never get clearance – that single initial can only stand for … Arne.
Oh God, it’s him, I think, tears choking my throat.
It’s been Arne all along.
Pain in my heart as sharp as ice, and it takes all my strength not to wail with anguish as I force myself to read on. I find a paragraph written a week or so later – just a few days before that fateful expedition to the crevasse.
S and I have had a huge row about the DNA checks. I worry we were overheard – people are always eavesdropping in this place. She refuses to ask UNA. Says it’s pointless, no one there will agree to request the samples from N’s baby, not after her death was ruled an accident.
I told her I disagreed, that it had to be worth a shot. She called me paranoid. Paranoid! Sometimes that woman infuriates me. So inflexible.
Now I’m unsure what to do. Perhaps S is right, and I’m reading too much into this. But I have a hunch about A, and I have learned to listen to gut instinct. I’ve met his type before. Plausible. Never betraying his true nature.
Nevertheless, I cannot insist she request those checks. I suppose I could ask UNA myself, explain my reasons, but sooner or later it would get back to S, and she’s already being difficult about our personal situation. I can’t risk angering her further. I must wait until we return from the expedition, then try again to convince her.
Mon dieu, quel gâchis.
My God, what a mess, I translate in my head, flicking through the last couple of pages. Nothing of note, just more ruminations about his relationship with his wife. Intimacies that I skim through, uncomfortable, as if I’m somehow intruding.
Pulling my gloves back on, I sit, shivering harder now, trying to take this all in.
So Arne had a relationship with ‘N’ – Naomi Perez. That baby must have been his. But why kill her? I remember how fondly he talked about his ex’s child – Margret, wasn’t it? He seemed to like kids – or so he made out to me.
Then again, what reason do I have to trust anything he said? Plausible – that was how Jean-Luc describes him. Never showing his real nature.
It’s true. Arne is very plausible, very convincing. I’ve been utterly taken in – even to the point of falling for him. Everyone was taken in, I remind myself, recalling Sonya’s reaction when I spoke to her in the clinic. Caro coming to his defence too, back when I told her where I’d found Alex’s activity monitor.
I stare at the notebook in my hands, the laptop and phone beside me. What should I do with them? They’re valuable evidence, after all, proof that Jean-Luc’s death was no accident.
Nor Alex’s.
I think of Arne gaining access to my clinic, taking those sleeping pills, and remember Drew’s comment when I arrived on the base, about Sandrine losing her keys. Arne must have stolen them from her office – after all, I managed the same while her back was turned.
With those master keys, Arne could gain entry to any part of the station. He could help himself to whatever he liked in the clinic, and access the medical files to delete Jean-Luc and Alex’s videos. He must have got wind that I was digging around, looking into what happened to my predecessor; after all, plenty of people heard my argument with Alex that night in the canteen.
One of the best men I’ve ever known has been murdered, and instead of helping me find out who the hell did this, you want to stick me on fucking antidepressants!
Alex’s words reverberate in my head, making me wretched with guilt. He was right all along. Had I believed him, had I acted sooner, maybe he – and Sandrine – would still be alive now.
Beneath the guilt, a rising sense of anger at Arne’s betrayal. At my own stupidity. I trusted him. I believed he cared about me.
Had started, perhaps, to love me.
But it was all an act. I’ve been played, deceived. Arne exploited my naivety, my need to be loved, to be reaffirmed after what happened with Ben.
What a fool I’ve been.
At that moment I hear a noise, coming from somewhere outside. The sound of an approaching skidoo.
Sonya. Thank goodness.
I glance at the little collection of objects on the bed, wondering whether to leave them out to show her. But some sixth sense, shared with Jean-Luc, warns me to be cautious. I get up quickly and lift the mattress, sliding them underneath. Then head towards the exit as the buzz of the engine grows louder and finally stops.
I hover by the door, waiting to greet Sonya, flooded with relief to have someone here to help me look after Caro. Someone I can confide in, discuss what we should do next.
But when the door opens, there’s no sign of my friend. Or of anyone else.
Arne has come alone.
47
7 July
‘Kate.’ Arne takes a few steps towards me, sounding out of breath. ‘Thank God. I saw the abandoned skidoo and thought you hadn’t made it.’
I stand there, rooted to the spot. My mouth opens but my words stall, as if frozen by the blast of cold air that followed him in.
‘Kate?’ He removes his goggles, frowning at me. ‘Is everything okay? Are Caro and the baby all right? I’ve been so worried about you.’
I stare at him.
Plausible. Yes, that’s exactly the word.
Despite all I know Arne’s done, is capable of, I still feel the tug of
him. Part of me desperately wants to be convinced by this role he’s playing, longs to be sucked into it, to pretend everything is exactly as he would have me believe. It would be so easy to go along with it, to surrender to wherever it took me.
Then I remember Caro and her tiny daughter – above all, I have to keep them safe.
‘I was about to collect some snow for water.’ I force myself to sound casual. ‘Caro needs a drink. Can you help?’
Arne gazes at me with an inscrutable expression, as if he’s trying to figure something out. ‘Kate, it’s all kicking off back at base. We—’
‘Tell me outside. They’re both asleep.’
I return to the kitchen and pick up the saucepan. Glancing around to check Arne isn’t watching, I quickly open the cutlery drawer, select the largest knife I can find and stuff it inside my jacket.
‘Christ, it’s freezing in here,’ says Arne as I rejoin him. ‘Where are Caro and the baby?’
‘In one of the rear cabins.’
I edge towards the door, but he grabs my arm. ‘Listen, we have to talk—’
‘Let’s do it outside. I don’t want to wake them.’
Arne releases me, following me into the night. I march away from the camp as fast as I can, clutching the saucepan in one hand, my torch in the other. I need to draw him as far from Caro and the baby as possible.
And then what? I ask myself, teeth chattering in the unbearable cold. What exactly are you planning to do, Kate?
Stab him?
I remember how Arne hit Luuk in the lounge, the deft and decisive way he overpowered him. Anyway, how would my kitchen knife be a match for his gun?
I grit my teeth and carry on.
‘Hey,’ Arne calls after me, ‘why so far? The snow here is as good as anywhere.’
I stop. Gaze around. We’re about fifty metres from the camp. I turn to face him, dropping the saucepan and reaching inside my jacket for the knife. ‘I know what you did to Naomi Perez,’ I say flatly. ‘And that you killed Jean-Luc and Alex. And Sandrine.’
I shine my torch beam on his face to gauge his reaction. Arne looks completely stunned. There are several moments of silence as he takes in what I’ve just said.
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