The Split - Sharon Bolton Page 0,2

water for several seconds and then blooms like an alien flower, spreading slowly in the almost non-existent current.

Then, it begins to spiral, like water draining from a wash basin. It goes slowly, little more than a trickle, but there is definitely centripetal movement.

‘Flick, we need to get out of here.’ Jack has swum down to join her. ‘My airways might be icing up.’

Felicity can’t breathe easily any more but that seems less important than what she’s learned. This is definitely the plug, and the water is draining already. It isn’t apparent on the surface because enough meltwater is replenishing the levels but when the plug disintegrates, the lake will empty rapidly.

Jack clips her safety line back on.

‘We’re done, Al,’ he says. ‘We’re coming up.’

* * *

When they are ready to leave the glacier, Felicity stands on the edge of the lake once more, with Jack, who is holding the video camera. Over one shoulder she has a bag filled with nearly a hundred small orange plastic balls.

‘Sometime in the next few weeks,’ she says to camera, ‘the lake will drain. The equipment we’ve just installed will alert us to it happening, and there’s a chance we can get over in time to film it. These balls might allow us to trace where the water meets the ocean.’

She lets them fall into the lake and they spread out over the surface of the water like sweets on a child’s party cake.

‘Are we done?’ Jack asks, as she bends to gather her equipment. ‘I’ve some stuff arriving on the boat.’

Felicity stops moving. ‘What boat?’

‘Last boat of the summer. The Snow Queen, I think. Why, what’s up?’

‘That’s not today.’

‘It is, if today’s the twenty-second. Seriously, are you OK?’

Felicity resumes packing, faster now, and not nearly so carefully. ‘Yeah, just cold,’ she manages.

She’s got it wrong. The boat is coming. The boat is coming today.

3

Freddie

‘Good morning, sir. Have a seat.’

The ship’s doctor is young, a thin, sandy-haired man who probably can’t grow a full beard. Unlike the other ship’s officers, he isn’t wearing uniform but has opted instead for chinos and a sweater. He holds out a hand for Freddie to shake.

‘We passed our first berg this morning? Did you see it? There was a whole gang of us on deck at first light. I didn’t notice you there but, as I say, there were a lot of us.’

Freddie sits.

‘Massive thing.’ The doctor is still on his feet. ‘Must have been fifty metres high. I’ve done this trip twice now and I’m not sure I’ll ever get used to them.’

‘I was in my cabin,’ Freddie says.

‘It’s the colours I can’t get over. People talk about bergs being white but, I tell you, there was a blue near the water’s edge that was pure copper sulphate. And the noise they make – how can a lump of ice make so much noise?’

‘Mainly, you’ll be hearing millions of trapped air bubbles being released as the ice melts,’ Freddie tells him. ‘A sort of fizzing and crackling, was that it?’

‘Exactly. And a groaning. It was actually a bit unearthly.’

‘The ice will be breaking apart and moving within the berg.’

The doctor makes a puzzled face. ‘You’re very well informed.’

‘I’m a geologist. Ice isn’t really my thing, though.’ Freddie looks at his watch.

‘What can I do for you this morning?’ the doctor asks.

Freddie unbuttons his shirt. ‘I have a recurring, low-grade abscess that might have flared up again. Lower back, right-hand side.’

Without being asked, he stands and pulls off his shirt. The air in the medical centre is cool, but everywhere on the ship has chilled down since they left the Falkland Islands three days ago to travel south. The heating does its best, but every time a door opens, a blast of cold air races in.

Freddie feels cold fingers pushing into his skin a few inches to the right of his spine. ‘Is that painful?’ the doctor asks.

‘Yep.’

Freddie feels the other man’s breath on his skin.

‘How are you feeling otherwise? Sweating more than usual? Dizzy spells?’

‘Like I’m coming down with flu. Alternating hot and cold, aching, sweating a lot at night.’

The doctor doesn’t reply.

‘I’ve kept to my cabin for three days,’ Freddie adds. ‘Just in case. But I have an infection. I’m not infectious.’

Cold fingers touch him again. ‘This is a nasty wound.’

Freddie says nothing.

‘How old is this scar?’

‘Three years, pretty much to the day. My last doctor thought some foreign body had been left behind. Not metal, that would show up on X-rays. More likely wood, or