Cold, Cold Heart

by Christine Poulson

  There was no way Justin could do all this with one hand.

  Sara gathered what she needed to dress the hand.

  Justin lay back on the couch with his face set. Katie took his other hand and he gripped hers as Sara dabbed on the antibiotic cream and applied the dressing. She arranged a high arm sling so that his hand could be elevated to reduce the swelling.

  “All done,” she said. “We’d better get this ankle X-rayed – just in case.”

  “What happened there?” Katie asked.

  “When the steam hit my hand, I stumbled back and twisted my ankle. What an idiot!”

  Katie and Sara helped Justin across to the X-ray machine. With Justin’s arm around her shoulder, Katie was conscious that it was a while since she’d been this close to a man. There was a smell of soap and fresh sweat, not unpleasant, and she couldn’t help noticing how muscular his shoulders were. He was a good-looking guy if you went for the type, which Katie didn’t. But she couldn’t help feeling a frisson of interest all the same. If it’s like this now, what’s it going to be like by October? she wondered.

  It took a while to take the X-rays and develop them in the dark room. Justin rested while it was done.

  When the X-rays were up on the light box, Sara said, “You’re fine. No signs of a fracture. You’ll need to keep your weight off that ankle, Justin, for a week or two. That’s all. We’ll get it strapped up.”

  While she was doing that, he apologized for his earlier bad temper. Katie found herself liking him better than she had before.

  Sara showed Justin how to manage his crutches. She and Katie watched as he hobbled off disconsolately down the corridor.

  As they turned back to the surgery, Sara said, “It’s going to be tough on him psychologically. He’s used to being a fit young man – did you know he’s a keen cyclist and was almost selected to train for the Tour de France? He takes every opportunity to get outdoors and he’s in the gym for at least a couple of hours every day.”

  “And now he’s going to have to sit by while other people do his work. He’s going to get bored and frustrated,” Katie agreed. “It’s not going to be easy on everyone else either. His work’ll have to be covered somehow.”

  They looked at each other with a tacit understanding of what this might mean for the atmosphere on base. Everyone would have to pull together, work harder, take on tasks that weren’t part of their job description. This was when any problems of attitude or weaknesses of personality would become apparent. In a team of ten it made a big difference to be one man down.

  Sara frowned. “The second accident on base in a matter of a few weeks. You know, some winters the doctor has hardly anything to do.”

  “I’d been meaning to ask you,” Katie said, “have you had any news of Kevin?”

  Sara brightened. “Just this morning. He’s going to be fine. Still doesn’t remember anything at all about the accident – or about the entire day. That’s not uncommon with head injuries. I’m so relieved. I’d been feeling bad about it.”

  “But it wasn’t your fault.”

  “Well, that’s the thing. It kind of was. You see, I was supposed to be on meltwater duty that day, but I had a migraine and Kevin offered to do it for me – that’s the kind of guy he was. He shouldn’t have been out there at all. It should have been me.”

  In spite of the good news about Kevin, she still looked worried.

  “Is there something bothering you?” Katie asked.

  “Well, there is, a bit. Probably nothing. But you know that business with the corkscrews?”

  There had been a spate of practical jokes on the base. Katie had taken a joke carton of milk out of the fridge: it mooed when she tried to pour some into her tea. Ernesto had found a plastic spider in the flour. Mysteriously, Penguin had gone missing and around the same time both the corkscrews had disappeared. With so many practically minded people to hand, getting corks out of bottles wasn’t a problem, but it was annoying all the same. A few days later, Katie had noticed them in the surgery, camouflaged in a tray of medical instruments.

  “What about the corkscrews?” Katie asked.

  “It made me feel a bit uneasy. Not sure why, but I decided to do an inventory to see if anything was missing.”

  “And was it?”

  “Yes. We’re short a scalpel.”

  CHAPTER 10

  “There’s a long, long trail a-winding…” Graeme sang in a low voice.

  He saved the document he was working on – a revised timetable taking Justin’s injury into account – and sat back.

  His eyes strayed to the framed photos on his desk. He missed Helen and the kids and the grandkids. Wintering over on the ice was a single man’s game, but he had had to come here just one last time. The place had called to him. At unexpected moments – in a traffic jam, putting out the dustbins, even at a football match – he had felt that craving, that yearning to be on the ice. The cleanness, the emptiness, the space – it was like a drug. He’d promised Helen that it would be the last time. Of course she hadn’t liked it but, bless her, she knew what Antarctica meant to him and she hadn’t objected. He felt a surge of love for her: what a great girl she was.

  It got under your skin, this place. There was literally nowhere on earth like it and he loved the camaraderie on base. But this year… there was a bad vibe. Of course, Justin’s accident was just one of those things – no one was to blame – but so too had Kevin’s accident been just one of those things. He didn’t like it. When you had a run of bad luck like this, you never knew how it might end.

  And there were other things he didn’t like. These practical jokes for instance. Of course there was always a certain amount of joshing on base, some of it pretty puerile. The departing summer crew and scientists always left various little surprises behind – that was a tradition. The mooing milk carton was probably one of them, and the spider in the flour. That kind of thing was nothing to worry about. But the other things…

  The first thing to go missing had been Penguin. He had disappeared – from Katie’s room, she thought – and that was very unfortunate, because she was doing that blog about him for schoolkids. She’d had to make up a story about him being a naughty penguin and running off to ski to the South Pole. Everyone on the base had looked for him, but to no avail. Then, when he had been gone a couple of days, Graeme had spotted him through the open door of Sara’s pit-room. He was sitting on her pillow. The episode had left a bad taste in the mouth. Perhaps whoever had done it hadn’t realized about the blog before they took Penguin. He hoped not, because if they had, there was something mean about it.

  And then there’d been the missing corkscrews. That was just silly – or was it? Maybe it was a little bit sinister, too?

  Then there had been this morning. He’d gone into the kitchen to find Ernesto in a mood.

  “I dunno what’s happened. I got the fish out of the freezer last night,” Ernesto told him, frowning. “I put it to defrost in the fridge.”

  It was 21 March, the autumn equinox. The day before had been Nowruz, the Persian New Year. Ernesto was planning a special Nowruz meal of fish and rice with green herbs. There was no one Persian on the base, but having lots of little celebrations was part of keeping up morale. Ernesto’s excellent cooking gave them something to look forward to every day and a reason for spending time together. And the routine of mealtimes kept them anchored in time.

  “Shall I have a look?” Graeme asked.

  Ernesto nodded and stood glowering as Graeme opened the fridge and scanned the shelves. “Not there,” he agreed. “Is there time to defrost some more?”

  Ernesto looked at the kitchen clock. “Just about, but…” He shook his head. “Don’t like people mucking about in my kitchen.”

  Graeme wondered if Ernesto had only thought he’d got the fish out, but it didn’t seem a good idea to suggest it.

  However, Ernesto got there himself. “Maybe I just thought I had,” he conceded. “Hope I’m not going toast already.”r />
  Graeme hoped not, too. “Going toast”, or “winter-over syndrome” as psychologists called it, was a recognized condition. There was evidence that the prolonged isolation and perhaps the lack of light actually altered brainwaves. “Going toast” was characterized by the “Antarctic stare”, the tendency to gaze into the middle distance for minutes at a time. People could become vague and forgetful, their eyes unfocused, voices trailing off in the middle of a sentence.

  “Bloody sure I’m not though,” Ernesto muttered.

  “Nah, course you’re not, mate.” Graeme clapped him on the back.

  No, what had worried Graeme as he made his way down the corridor to his office was not “winter-over syndrome”. It was too early for that – they were only a month into their isolation – and the weather had been good. It was only twenty-five below zero with plenty of sunshine and for those who wanted it, there had been trips out. The dark and difficult days still lay ahead. No, at this point everyone should be fine.

  He looked thoughtfully at the wall where photos of all the crew were posted. Someone was playing games. Who was it? He thought he could rule out Ernesto. He had seemed genuinely puzzled and annoyed. And he took food far too seriously to joke about it.

  His eye travelled along the line of photos. What about Alex? Graeme liked Alex. He was proving to be an asset to the station as an all-round handyman. He seemed too grown-up for these silly stunts. But then were any of the others more likely? Justin? If it was Justin, he wouldn’t be in any mood for joking now. Rhys? Nick? Craig? Maybe Craig? Sometimes these quiet types… Ah now, what about Adam? He was always telling bad jokes. Though some of the things that were happening weren’t really that funny – they almost didn’t seem like jokes. But it might be worth keeping an eye on Adam. After all, he was the youngest and a bit immature.

  Continuing along the line of photos, his gaze lingered on Sara. The toy on her pillow and the corkscrew in the surgery: were these jokes deliberately aimed at her? A thought struck him: could she even be responsible? Surely not…

  He suddenly realized what the time was. Hell, he was supposed to be in the dining room, addressing a meeting that he himself had called!

  * * *

  Everyone was sprawled on dining chairs – Justin with his leg up – except for Ernesto who was standing with his back to the kitchen door, a clean tea towel over his shoulder.

  Graeme cleared his throat and said, “You all know by now that Justin’s going to be out of action for a while. I’ve called this meeting, because I was going to ask for volunteers to cover Justin’s trips to the telescope and to share emergency duties with Nick until Justin’s back on his feet. And we’ll have to cover Justin’s meltwater duty. But it’s not necessary for me to ask for volunteers.”

  He paused for effect and there were sideways glances as people wondered what was coming next.

  “That won’t be necessary,” Graeme went on, “because all of you have already been to my office over the course of the day, volunteering your services. It’s only what I would have expected, but all the same… good going, guys. So I’ve drawn up a rota accordingly. Have a look at it and let me know if there are any problems.”

  There were nods all round.

  “That’s all,” Graeme said. “As you were.”

  “Just a moment.” Justin raised an awkward hand. “I just want to say thanks, guys. I’ll be working at my one-handed typing, so if anyone wants data inputting, anything like that – just let me know. And as soon as my ankle’s better – which the Doc says shouldn’t take long – I can take a bigger share of the night watch.”

  There was a buzz of conversation. Ernesto brought in two trays of lasagne. Graeme began opening bottles of red wine. Some bases discouraged alcohol, but social drinking was fine on the UK bases and he felt this was a day when a drink or two was just what was needed.

  It looked as if the situation was bringing everyone together, even having an energizing effect. Even Craig looked mildly animated and was actually having a conversation with Justin. Wonders would never cease.

  * * *

  The killer watched the two women over the rim of his glass as they chatted and laughed together. Big Doc and Little Doc.

  He was still kicking himself over Kevin. Of course he wasn’t to know that Kevin had swapped meltwater duties with Sara at the last moment. Everyone looked the same in their outdoor gear and Sara was a big woman, so his mistake was understandable. But just at the last moment, he’d had an inkling that something was wrong and had pulled back, hadn’t hit Kevin with the full force of the blow. Under the circumstances it was lucky that Kevin wasn’t dead – also lucky that he didn’t remember what had happened. There would have had to be a full-scale enquiry and that would have attracted way too much attention. As it was, the accident had put everyone on edge and now this with Justin, too.

  But maybe the situation could work in his favour. Everyone would be that much more distracted and busy.

  He looked again at the women, sneaking a glance. They were leaning in towards each other, looking serious now, Katie frowning and nodding. He liked Katie and in other circumstances he would have liked Sara, too, perhaps even fancied her. Sara was a good doctor, too, no doubt about it, and it was a pity in a way that she wasn’t going to see the winter out. But that was the way it had to be.

  He was in no hurry. After all, no one was going anywhere!

  The days of twenty-four-hour daylight had ended and the sun rose and set now. The days were growing shorter and shorter. The huge blood-red ball seemed scarcely able to hoist itself above the horizon. It rolled along for a few hours and sank out of sight as if exhausted. The day had come when it was dissected by the horizon, and now only a third remained. Soon the sun would be going down for the last time and the long Antarctic night would begin.

  Darkness was his friend. He could afford to wait for the perfect opportunity and this time there must be no mistake.

  CHAPTER 11

  Katie said, “I don’t care which token I have as long as it’s not the iron or the thimble.”

  Alex said, “There’s no gender stereotyping here, I’ll have you know. Anyway, the thimble’s missing. How about the racing car – or would you prefer the Scottie dog? Me and my brother used to fight over that when we were kids.”

  So had Katie and her brother. Children always went for the Scottie dog.

  “What’s this?” she said, picking up a small black and white object. “Is it… yes, it’s a penguin!”

  “I made that,” Rhys said, “to replace the thimble.”

  “Cool! I’ll have the penguin.”

  Rhys looked gratified. “It’s actually made of pewter.”

  Knowing Rhys, it would be.

  “The Scottie dog for me,” Alex said.

  “I’ll have the boot,” Justin said.

  Craig took the battleship and Nick took the iron.

  Rhys said, “Did you know you can date a set by the tokens? This has to be from before 2013, because that’s when the iron was replaced by a cat. Other retired tokens include a rocking horse, a sack of money, a man on horseback, a lantern, and a purse. The game was invented in 1913 and it was originally intended to promote the economic theories of Henry George –”

  Everyone groaned and Alex said, “Enough! Rhys, you’re like a walking Wikipedia entry.”

  Rhys grinned. He never took offence. Yes, definitely a touch of Asperger’s, Katie thought.

  “I’ll have the top hat to go with the rest of my elegant attire,” he said.

  Katie wondered how she could ever have thought that these guys were alike. By now their personalities were so distinct and were expressed even in the way they wore their clothes. They were all wearing T-shirts and jeans – except Craig who was wearing the inevitable shorts and Justin who was wearing a shirt because it was easier to get on over his bandaged hand. Yet even so there were differences. Rhys’s T-shirt proclaimed “There are ten types of people in the world: those who understand binary and those wh
o don’t” and he had actually ironed it, while Craig’s looked as if it had been crunched up while still wet and chucked in a corner. All the men had beards. It was a tradition, but it was practical too, warmer when outdoors. Nick wore an earring. Craig wore a gold neck chain. And indoors everyone wore different shoes.

  “Who’s going to be the banker?” Katie asked.

  “I don’t mind doing that,” Nick said. He reached for the money and started to distribute it. Katie was fascinated by his tattoos. Black and red roses entwined his right arm from the wrist upwards and disappeared into the sleeve of his T-shirt. She couldn’t help wondering where the tattoo ended.

  Justin was having trouble fanning out his money. Katie resisted the urge to help him. He wouldn’t appreciate being treated like a child. He was learning how to do things with his left hand and was determined to be as independent as possible, though he’d had to accept that he needed help cutting up his meat.

  Nick had all his money squared up. So did Rhys. But Nick had also divided his money into two piles. She wondered why. Alex hadn’t sorted his at all. Justin’s was ordered, but not excessively so. Katie’s was the same. Craig’s was all in one pile – his properties too, so that you couldn’t see what he’d got.