Cold, Cold Heart
Page 24
Even that was hardly enough to keep Katie awake. Her eyes felt sore and gritty. Her watch said three o’clock, but she couldn’t remember whether it was supposed to be day or night. Her body clock had gone haywire.
The room was dim. They were conserving energy and only one lamp was lit. It must have been like this in our prehistoric days in the cave, Katie thought, looking at the shadowy bearded figures huddled around a single source of light. We’d be wearing animal skins instead of heavy-duty parkas and thermal underwear. Justin was sitting next to her and the pressure of his leg against hers was comforting.
When the lights flickered and came on, she was dazzled.
Graeme and Adam appeared in the doorway and there was a ragged cheer.
When Katie’s eyes had adjusted, she saw how exhausted the guys looked and how filthy they were. They were like those men in the early black-and-white photographs of Antarctic explorers, men who had barely survived the rigours of the Antarctic winter. No doubt she looked much the same – minus the beard. It was a long time since she’d had a shower and she wouldn’t be having one for a while yet. Power would be limited, and they would have to survive without running water or working toilets, perhaps for weeks, until everything was up and running.
But none of that mattered. They had come through, they had survived.
Ernesto was twisting the wire on a bottle of champagne.
“No problem keeping this chilled!” he joked.
Justin was setting out glasses on a table and there was a lively buzz of conversation. Everyone was getting their second wind – or more like their third or fourth wind.
There was a pop and Ernesto filled the glasses. With a flourish and a little bow he handed one to Graeme. Graeme took the glass, but absently, looking around as though something was puzzling him.
Justin handed glasses out to the others. He took one himself and raised it. “To the Boss!”
“To the Boss!” everyone said, raising their glasses.
He had earned that title, Katie thought. She was in awe at the way Graeme had dealt with the situation – and at his stamina. He put the younger men in the shade.
Graeme was still scanning the faces around him and frowning.
“Where’s Alex?” he said.
CHAPTER 40
MIDWINTER
Email from KATIE to RACHEL:
I haven’t felt I could write about this before, other than just the bald fact that Alex was missing. We searched the platforms from end to end, though all along we knew it was no good. He had gone. Graeme organized a search party, but after a few hours he called it off. Some of the others would have gone on for longer, but Graeme said he wasn’t going to risk their lives, when it was clear what had happened. Alex deliberately went out, knowing that he wouldn’t be coming back.
I don’t think he could live with knowing that he had killed an innocent person when he killed Sara. I keep wondering what it was like for him, setting off into the dark and bitter cold. How long could he have lasted out there? Not very long – and they say death from hypothermia is a painless way to go. Perhaps his body will be found when the summer comes – perhaps not. There are plenty of deep crevasses out there. Either way he will become part of the mythology of Antarctica and future winterers will tell stories about him and pretend that his ghost haunts the place. And perhaps it will at that.
Justin says it’s maybe for the best, but I don’t agree. I think justice should have been seen to be done. That would have been best for Flora’s and Sara’s families. On the other hand, as Graeme says, it would have been hell having to stay out here with him for the remaining six or seven months. How could we have kept him under lock and key?
As for the rest of us, we’ve got back into a routine. Now that we are down to eight, it’s harder work than it was with ten, but we manage. Rhys was sore for a while, but no serious damage was done. Adam has almost recovered physically and is in much better shape psychologically than I would have expected. In any case we don’t talk about what happened. It’s better not to when we still have so long left here. Overcoming the generator breaking down has somehow been cathartic. It’s pulled us all together. We came so close to complete disaster that I think we’re all just glad to be alive. Ernesto goes on cooking up a storm and we play board games in the evening. There’s a lot of laughter, even Craig’s more communicative these days. We’ve come through and that’s all that matters. But of course there’s sadness, too. We’re grieving for Sara and I often think of that other woman, Flora. Such a waste.
As for what I’ll do when I get back home, I don’t know yet, and it doesn’t seem to matter like it did. I’ll think of something.
Today we’re at the halfway mark of our stay. So we’ve reached the summit and it’ll be all downhill from now on. And then one day it’ll happen: the rim of the sun will burst through the line of the horizon. Adam as the youngest will raise the British flag. It feels sometimes as if we’re existing out of time, here in our own little bubble, where one day is very much like the next and outside it is always night. But today’s special, it’s midwinter, a holiday, and of course I am thinking of the last time we had a celebration when Sara was with us. I miss her every day. Still we’ll do our best to celebrate in a quiet way. As I write, Ernesto is roasting a chicken and some of the boys are decorating the dining room. And later on I’ve promised to thrash Adam at table tennis.
I keep thinking about you and the baby. Such lovely news. Only hope I’m back in time for the birth. The thought warms me through the coldest day. New life…
Give Chloe a big hug from me.
All my love,
Katie
THE END
Acknowledgments
I like to visit the places that I write about, but in the case of Antarctica, that wasn’t possible. So I am hugely grateful to Dr Rose Drew, one of the few medics who have wintered over in Antarctica, for sharing her experiences, giving me advice about the medical aspects of the novel, and reading a draft of the novel. Her help was invaluable and it has been a pleasure getting to know her.
I have also drawn on accounts written by others who have recently wintered over in Antarctica, notably Gavin Francis in Empire Antarctica: Ice, Silence & Emperor Penguins (London: Chatto and Windus, 2012) and Alex Gough’s Solid Sea and Southern Skies: Two Years in Antarctica (Kindle Edition: Alex Gough, 2010). I’d also like to mention an earlier classic of this tiny subgenre: Alone by Richard E. Bird (London: Neville Spearman, 1958).
I have tried to read as much as I could about Antarctica. Gabrielle Walker’s Antarctica: An Intimate Portrait of the World’s Most Mysterious Continent (London: Bloomsbury, 2010) was the book I most often turned to while writing.
Heartfelt thanks are also due to the following.
Dr John Olsen, who was my scientific advisor, developed a (sadly fictitious) cure for cancer, and commented on a draft of the novel.
Dr David Poulson, who helped me to bring about a technical breakdown on an Antarctic research station.
Gary Moss, who once again shared his knowledge of patent law with me.
Dr Paula Bolton-Maggs, haematologist, sister-in-law, and friend, who gave me medical advice and put me in touch with Dr Kate Ryan.
Dr Kate Ryan, who kindly told me about treatments for Diamond Blackfan Anaemia.
Dr Helen Crimlist, who gave me advice on some of the medical aspects of the novel and kindly read a draft.
Dr Beverley Howson, who discussed post-partum haemorrhage with me.
Prue Chiles and John Moreland who shared with me their memories of a medical emergency. Thanks also to Jo Burn, who read and commented on a draft of the novel, and to Lisanne Radice for a very helpful discussion.
Thank you to all at Lion Fiction, and especially my splendid editor, Jessica Tinker, and my assiduous copy editor, Drew Stanley.
As for Sue Hepworth, who comments on everything that I write, what can I say? Thank you seems hardly adequate for all the years of friendship and patient reading – and
even rereading – of many drafts.
And finally I dedicate this book to the memory of my husband, who gave me the time and space to write this book and the others that came before it.