Cold, Cold Heart

by Christine Poulson

  CHAPTER 8

  ANTARCTICA

  Katie was disappointed in herself. She had thought she’d cope better than this. It was galling. Of everyone on the base, she was the one who was having the most trouble with her sleep patterns – along with Adam, the heating and plumbing engineer who was the youngest on base. He was really suffering, too. She hadn’t imagined she’d find it so difficult to adjust to twenty-four hours of daylight. Ironic really, when it was what she had come here to study.

  She looked at the digital clock on the shelf beside the bed. It was four forty-five and she had been tossing and turning all night – if you could call it night, when it never got dark. She knew that by mid-afternoon she would be fighting to stay awake. Better get up. She reached and pulled on the blind without getting out of bed. Brilliant sunlight streamed in. It would be a good idea to go outside too, while that lasted. It wasn’t always sunny and the frequent blizzards could reduce visibility to virtually nothing. She tried to get out every day if the weather permitted. Claustrophobia and cabin fever were real threats to mental and physical health.

  She got up and put on her thermal T-shirt and long johns. She pulled on a pair of trousers over her long johns. She walked through the silent building to the boot room at the far end and put on her outdoor gear: first her thermally insulated overalls, then a thick fleece jacket. On top of the jacket went her green polar parka. She pulled a balaclava over her head and a woolly hat on top of that. Finally she pulled on her mukluks, bulky boots with thick soles and cotton uppers that allowed your feet to breathe.

  Out in the corridor the thermometer by the exit read twenty-five degrees below. She hesitated. Should she sign out? She thought back to her training and decided that as long as she wasn’t going off the base and visibility was good then she didn’t need to. But she would take her radio – just in case.

  She pulled up the hood of her parka, took a breath to ready herself, and opened the door. Stepping outside was like being plunged into icy water. She climbed slowly down the stairs and looked around, blinking in the intense light. The undulating landscape stretched away like a frozen white sea. Ice crystals danced in the air and formed twinkling haloes around the sun.

  She decided to give herself a goal for her walk by going out to the caboose. It was a small caravan-like structure that could be moved around on skis and at present it was out on the perimeter of the base, a walk of about a kilometre.

  The silence and the stillness were absolute. All she could hear was the rhythm of her pulse in her ears and the crunch of her feet. And yet silence didn’t seem quite the right word for this – dullness, this blankness. When she stood still it was as if she had suddenly gone deaf. She thought of home, of the English landscape with its layers of human history, its richness, its domestic scale. She hadn’t known what an important part of her life that was until now. The vast emptiness of this continent was scary, but exhilarating too. It seemed somehow to wipe the slate clean.

  She glanced back at the platform to judge the distance she had come. At one of the windows, she glimpsed a pale disc. Only when it moved back and out of sight did she realize that it was someone’s face. That hasty and surreptitious movement made her uncomfortable and so did the thought that someone had been watching her when she had thought she was alone.

  She reached the caboose. The door was iced up and she kicked it open. Her breath hung in the air as she lit the stove and made some tea. The place was soon so hot – at least above waist level – that she was able to strip off her parka and fleece jacket, while freezing drafts wafted around her ankles.

  How distant her old life was beginning to seem: that world of long days in the lab and uncertain results, of tedious and time-consuming grant applications, of anxiety about achieving the publications that were so essential for success. When she thought of her stalled career, the whistle-blowing and what had come in its wake, it somehow didn’t seem so important any more.

  The tea drunk, she washed up and got dressed again for the outdoors. As soon as she opened the door she realized that something had happened.

  The brilliant sunshine of earlier had gone.

  In fact everything had gone. Katie’s first thought was that there was something wrong with her eyes. She couldn’t see anything. She was suspended in a void. Then she realized what must have occurred. Clouds were blocking out the sun – at least that was what she assumed, because she couldn’t actually see any clouds. This was a whiteout, not the kind created by a blizzard, but the kind caused when sunlight is blocked and scattered by ice crystals in low-lying clouds. Land and sky merged in a flat, featureless vista of white. She had never experienced anything remotely like it. Her eyes were struggling to focus, but there was nothing to focus on.

  She glanced back into the caboose to reassure herself and to rest her eyes. She could, if she wanted, stay out here at the caboose where there was a cache of food and plenty of fuel. She had her radio and could contact the base.

  It wasn’t like being lost in fog. She knew she was seeing for hundreds of metres, but overlapping shadows cancelled each other out so all definition and sense of depth were lost. She took a few steps and her feet crunched in the snow, but when she looked back she had left no footprints. She squatted down and touched the snow. She could feel the indentations, but she couldn’t see them. Her sense of disorientation was so strong that she felt a wave of giddiness. She turned back to the caboose and went inside to watch and wait it out.

  It didn’t take long. The first thing to become visible was one of the black oil drums that marked the perimeter of the base. The cloud cover was lifting and gradually the world acquired definition. She set off for the platform.

  * * *

  She hadn’t been in any real danger, she told herself as she stripped off her outdoor clothes in the kit room. And yet the whiteout had shaken her. It was partly the strangeness of it and partly the suddenness. She had been told how rapidly conditions could change out here and now she knew the truth of that. She was glad she had taken her radio even though she hadn’t needed it.

  She made herself coffee and toast in the kitchen and took it back to her pit-room.

  There was someone awake somewhere. As she went down the corridor she caught a distant strain of music, very faint. She couldn’t tell where it was coming from or make out the words, but from what she caught of the twanging melody, it seemed to be country and western. It was probably Craig who was a country and western fanatic. Nick on the other hand had a tendency to play Shostakovich at full volume and sometimes walking down the corridor was like listening to a piece of music by that American composer who had two tunes blasting out from different directions.

  There was still an hour before the day properly began and Ernesto would be making porridge and frying bacon.

  She decided to use the time to catch up on her correspondence. She owed Rachel an email. She propped herself up on her pillow, opened her laptop, and began:

  “Hi Rachel,

  “You asked me what I’m missing most? Well friends and family obviously. But also trees. Grass. Flowers. (I didn’t realize I’d miss colour so much.) And fresh milk. We are also getting low on fresh veg and fruit – though we are still OK for potatoes and carrots and onions and apples. And we have eggs. Apparently they keep for quite a while if you store them properly and remember to keep turning them. It’s strange being in a world where there are no children and no old people. And no money (nothing to buy). On the other hand there are no viruses now that we’re cut off from the rest of the world. No one’s going to get flu or even have the common cold until late October when outsiders – as I already think of them – arrive.

  “Of course there are things that we’ve got plenty of: silence when the wind dies down. Ice. And space – once you get off the base. And the weather’s been good, it’s only got down to minus twenty-five (!) and there’s been plenty of sunshine. So for those who want it, there’ve been trips out on the Skidoos accompanied by Alex. Alex has got two roles on
the base. He’s our mechanic, but he’s also our mountaineer and all-round outdoor man. He’s climbed Everest and has worked in Mountain Rescue back in the UK. He’s responsible for supervising any trips off base. We call him Mr Fix-it. He can turn his hand to anything. He’s Scottish – there seem to be a lot of Scots out here – with a rather attractive west coast accent. A lean, lanky guy with hair that flops over his forehead.

  “Time, above all, I’ve got plenty of time. Yes, I’ve got my work to do and my share of the chores. The chef has one day off in seven and then the rest of us take it in turns to cook. There are cleaning duties too – that’s called being on gash – and meltwater duties. But basically it’s office hours with nowhere to go after work or on weekends. It’s years since I’ve had so much free time. I’m racing ahead with the Inferno. And I’m using some of that time to think about what I’m going to do when I get back home.

  “You’ll want to know about the other guys here. Well, Sara’s great. We have a giggle about things.

  “Graeme – the Boss – is the electrical engineering technician and the base commander, not that he needs to do much bossing. Everyone is responsible for their own work and they just get on with it. But the base commander is sworn in as a magistrate before the season starts so the buck does stop with him (wonder if he’s allowed to marry people, like captains at sea – not that I have any plans…). He never loses his cool. If something does go wrong he just starts to sing in a low voice, ‘When this lousy war is over, no more soldiering for me. When I get my civvy clothes on, oh, how happy I shall be.’ Sara says that when he moves on to ‘There’s a long, long trail awinding’ you know he’s really fed up. He’s something of a father figure – no surprise, given that he’s got four grown-up children and three grandchildren that he’s very proud of.

  “And then there’s Ernesto, the chef. He’s only half-Italian. His mother was from Naples, but his father was from Peckham. It’s a combustible mix and his accent is unlike anything I’ve ever heard. His cooking is terrific. We do eat a lot of pasta, but everyone is fine with that. You need plenty of carbs when you’re out in the cold. And meals are important to punctuate the day.

  “There are lots of little rituals. For instance it’s traditional after the last summer visitors have left for the winter crew to have a back-to-back screening of three horror films, The Thing from Another World and two versions of The Thing. They’re about aliens from outer space taking over remote snowbound research stations! The guys waited for me to arrive. We had popcorn and ice-cream (no problem keeping things cold, it’s more a matter of not letting them get too cold).

  “It took me a little while to get some of the guys straight in my head. There are four or five blokes who seemed more or less the same person at first glance – doesn’t help that everyone wears the same clothes, and they’ve all got beards, but of course once you start to get to know them, they’re quite different.

  “What’s great is that we all muck in together, even though on the face of it, you might not think some of us have got much in common. On one hand there’s Adam (the Kid), the youngest on the base, who’s from Sheffield and calls everyone ‘duck’ – male and female.”

  Katie paused to reflect. She was pretty sure that Adam – only twenty-five – had a bit of a crush on her. He was a pale-skinned redhead and blushed when she took his pulse. She decided to make a point of treating him like a younger brother and to play up the age difference.

  She went on:

  “On the other hand there’s Nick the astronomer (the Posh One), who went to Eton. I know that because Justin teases him about it – he’s the other astronomer. Justin I think of as the Surfer Dude, because he’s got longish blonde hair and has the build for it. They’re the telescope nannies. Twice a day you see them trudging off to the Dark Sector to take readings and one or other of them has to be on duty all the time in case something breaks down – and it quite often does.

  “And then there’s Rhys, the meteorologist, Mr Mastermind. He could answer questions on Antarctica and its history – and virtually anything else. He knows a hell of a lot, and he lets everyone know it. (But as Sara remarked to me the other day, he doesn’t know as much as he thinks he does. No one could.) At the same time, he’s always making cups of tea for people, would do anything for anyone – so it’s swings and roundabouts, as it always is. We all have our annoying little ways – except me, of course!

  “That’s everyone.”

  But was it? Katie stopped typing and thought about it. Her and Sara, the Boss, Chef, Adam, Justin and Nick, Rhys. What about Alex? Yes, she’d mentioned him earlier. But still that was only nine.

  She stared at the screen, baffled. For a few moments she just couldn’t think and then – Craig! She’d forgotten Craig! That was awful!

  She deleted “that’s everyone” and typed:

  “Lastly there’s Craig, our Comms person. We rely on him for our satellite contact with the outside world and that’s ironic, because he’s about the least communicative person I’ve ever met. He isn’t unfriendly or difficult or anything like that. He just hardly ever speaks. Talk about the strong, silent type! Craig is big – and I mean BIG. He’s well over six foot and broad with it. He’s one of those guys who makes you want to step back, he takes up so much room. Always wears those knee-length shorts indoors – looks a bit like an overgrown boy scout.”

  Before Katie left home, there had been plenty of jokes about being alone in the base with eight men and no way in or out. However, Katie was there in a medical capacity and everyone on the base was her research subject, so it would be best to avoid getting into a sexual relationship with anyone. If there was anyone Katie did fancy, it was Nick. With his sooty dark hair and his tattoos there was something of the louche bad boy about him. But she wouldn’t do anything about it. In a small, isolated community that could lead to jealousy and bad feeling. It was important to be friendly, but not too friendly. And that cut both ways. She ought to know something about everyone on base. Had she even tried to have a proper conversation with Craig or sat next to him at a meal? She decided to get to know him a bit better.

  Katie became aware of a commotion outside in the corridor, and the thud of running feet. She turned to look at the door, just as it burst open. Adam was standing there, eyes wide. “Doc! Doc!”

  Katie got to her feet, her heart thumping. “What’s the matter? What is it?”

  “Big Doc wants you in the surgery! It’s Justin. He’s hurt! He’s hurt bad!”

  CHAPTER 9

  Katie forced herself not to run. Panic never helps. She walked briskly down the corridor with Adam at her side, trying to make sense of what he was babbling – “we were helping Alex in the garage – a burst of steam – his hand – and his arm – it were awful – his leg” – and knowing that whatever had happened, there was now no way at all of getting help or of having Justin flown out. They’d just have to deal with it. Fragments of her training came back to her – how to deal with burns – what to do if someone died on base – no, don’t go there…

  They reached the surgery door, Adam hovering anxiously behind her. She braced herself as she opened it; Justin was lying on the examination trolley. He looked round as she came in. He was pale, his hair plastered to his forehead with sweat. He was clearly shocked, but he was at least conscious and alert. Perhaps it wasn’t as bad as all that.

  Alex was waiting near the door. He looked concerned, but not desperately worried, Katie was relieved to see.

  Sara was leaning over Justin, and was trying to remove a dressing from his right hand. He took a sharp intake of breath and gritted his teeth. “Sorry,” Sara said, “the painkillers should kick in any minute. I’ll wait.”

  “OK, Adam,” Alex said. “Everything’s under control now. Let’s get off to the kitchen and get Ernesto to make us a nice strong cup of tea.”

  “Is he going to be OK?” Adam was on the verge of tears.

  Alex clapped him on the shoulder. “Hey, of course he is. He’s
got these two lovely doctors all to himself. Lucky guy!”

  The little joke reassured Adam. But still he looked to Sara for confirmation.

  “He’s going to be fine,” Sara said firmly.

  Alex and Adam departed and Katie closed the door behind them.

  “Are you feeling any better?” Sara asked Justin.

  He nodded. “Go ahead.”

  With infinite gentleness she eased the dressing off. Katie looked over Sara’s shoulder and winced in sympathy, but at the same time she was relieved. The palm of the hand was as red as a lobster, swollen and blistered, but the skin wasn’t charred or leathery. It was bad, but it didn’t look as if it had gone through the dermis. It was probably just a second-degree burn – though that was bad enough. That hand was going to be out of action for quite a while.

  “It still hurts like hell,” Justin complained.

  Sara said, “Believe it or not, that’s a good sign. With third-degree burns there can be numbness. This isn’t quite that serious.”

  “I’ve got to be able to go out to the telescope!”

  “Are you right-handed?”

  He nodded.

  Sara was sympathetic, but firm. “It’s going to be out of the question, Justin, for the time being. Even if you’re up to trekking over there – and we haven’t looked at your ankle yet – you won’t be able to use this hand for weeks.”

  Justin cursed. “I don’t believe it!”

  Katie understood how he felt. The telescope was the whole reason for his presence at the base. Every day, twice a day – at least – he and Nick did what she had done this morning and went through the laborious process of donning thermal underwear, fleece, double-thickness gloves, triple-thickness socks, padded overall, and parkas. Whatever the weather, they slogged across the snow and ice to the telescope to do, well, whatever it was they did do. And that wasn’t all. Things could – and did – go wrong. At any time of day or night the alarm might sound on their laptops to warn that the telescope had stopped working, interrupting the flow of data from the stars that was sent on to researchers in faraway labs. They would have to dress up again, go out to the telescope, and try to figure out what had gone wrong: maybe a bearing that needed lubricating or a broken fan.