The Lightkeeper's Wife - By Karen Viggers Page 0,100

call over my shoulder. ‘It’s fine. I’ll leave you to it.’

I remember a time during my stay in Antarctica when a small group of us explored an ice crevasse on the plateau, just for fun. I was a reluctant member of the party, not quite convinced I would enjoy dangling above an abyss, but the others persuaded me to come. We rattled out early from station in a Hägglunds, juddering north over the uneven frozen fjords then up a steep snowy slope onto the ice field. It was a clear day of raw blue skies and brilliant white ice, and when the battering engines of the Hägg were finally quiet, a silence spread around us as infinite as the view.

We slathered on sunscreen, drank hot soup and ate chocolate biscuits, gazing out over the glossy plateau and the long stretch of sea ice below. The Vestfolds creased away to the south, and north of us only a few black islands broke up the featureless white.

With crampons strapped to our feet and harnesses fastened around our freezer suits, we crunched in single file over the ice behind Andy, the field training officer. It was his job to oversee all dangerous field activities and to train people for situations that might arise during their stay in Antarctica. We trudged over the plateau until a suitable crevasse was found. Then we dumped our gear in piles and stripped off layers of clothing.

A few metres back from the edge of the crevasse, Andy drilled several screws into hard ice. Methodically, he rigged anchors, ropes and a caving ladder so we could lower ourselves into the slot one at a time. When the first person disappeared over the lip of the crevasse, his helmet slipping from sight as he sank within the ice, the sweat chilled on my skin. Around me, the others jiggled happily, seemingly heedless of the risk. Andy stood on belay, solid as a fortress, checking the rope tension. He was chatting and joking, but I could see by the tightness in his body that at least he knew this was a dangerous game.

I waited till last, hoping we’d run out of time and I’d miss out, but the others pushed me forward. Andy watched me tie in to the rope and then snapped an extra line to my harness for security. Then he nodded at me to lower away. I backed up to the crevasse one crunching step at a time.

When I reached the edge, Andy barked instructions. But I stood there, upright, holding my breath, unable to lean back into space. He talked me through it with calm authority. I forced myself to lean backwards, and my feet scratched at the edge of the crevasse as I let out the rope one jerky frightened inch at a time.

Snow dust scattered as I descended. I lowered until I was three or four metres down, spinning slowly on the rope. The caving ladder was dangling beside me and I reached to grasp it. Below, a dark crack yawned. There was quiet, a dense stifling quiet. Just the noisy huffs of my breathing. Showers of fine snow crystals danced down on me from where the ropes sawed at the crevasse edge above.

Around me was another world. A world of layered meringues and ice puffs, cascading over each other like tiered wedding cakes. Powder-blue ice castles with fluffy turrets were mounded on top of each other. As my breathing eased, I could feel my heart knocking in my ears. The quiet pressed in. The walls. That sliver of light above. The deep blue crack of sky. The shaft of light fragmenting and glinting off a universe of tiny ice crystals.

Time stopped. Welded to the magical beauty was the possibility of a suffocating death. It was at once exhilarating and terrifying.

As I flee Emma’s bungalow now, I remember the crevasse and how I felt that day. I’m still wrapped in Emma’s magic, but Nick is the unexpected slump of my snow bridge. He’s an outcome I hadn’t anticipated, and everything within me is tumbling into darkness—a place I’ve always feared, where rescue is uncertain.

I should have known Emma had a boyfriend.

I haul open the car door and watch Jess leap up. Then I’m in, dragging the seatbelt across. I have to leave before Emma comes out. In case he follows her: Nick. That hard face of his, flat with anger. I turn the car uphill, misjudge the clutch, grinding a gear change; something a mechanic