Geraldine McCaughrean - The White Darkness

For Richard Oates or Titus Morant

The mind is its own place, and in itself

Can make a Heaven of Hell, a Hell of Heaven.

John Milton, Paradise Lost

Dear Reader,

This is a story set in the present day. But if you dont already know about Captain Scotts doomed expedition to the South Pole in 1910, it might help to read the account included as a postscript ().

... Of course you could just plunge in, taking my word for it that Scott, Oates, and the rest were an amazing breed of men, whose memory shouldnt be lost under the snows of Time.

I have been in love with Titus Oates for quite a while nowwhich is ridiculous, since hes been dead for ninety years. But look at it this way. In ninety years Ill be dead, too, and then the age difference wont matter.

Besides, he isnt dead inside my head. We talk about all kinds of things. From whether hair color can change spontaneously to whether friends are better than family, and the best age for marrying: 14 or 125. Generally speaking, he knows more than I do, but on that particular subject we are even. He wasnt marriedat least, he wasnt when he died, which must have substantially cut down his chances.

Uncle Victor says I shouldnt marry at all. Uncle Victor knows about these things and he says that marriage is a bourgeois relic of Victorian sentimentality. That suits me. No one would match up to Titus. And we have a kind of understanding, Titus and I.

Uncle Victor is marvelous. Hes done so much for usfor Mum and me, I mean. And anyway, hes just so clever. Uncle Victor knows a fantastic amount. He knows at what temperature glass turns to liquid, and where Communism went wrong and how the Clifton Suspension Bridge was built and just what the Government ought to be doing; you cant fault him. Hes read books about everything: history, geography, politics, astrology, animals... the Fount of All Knowledge, Dad used to call him.

I would get stuck doing my homework, and Dad would say, Ask the Fount of All Knowledge. And Id telephone Victor and he would tell me. Quite often he knew more than the teachers, so theyd think Id got my homework wrong, but as Victor says, What teachers dont understand is that the body of learning is still growing. They reckon it stopped the day they came out of college. That, or theyre plain ignorant. Lot of ignorance in yon schools.

Its true that none of my teachers knows much about Antarctica. When Dad and Victor and I went to Iceland, one of the teachers had been, too, and knew all about Dettifoss and the hot springs and people having stinking saunas in their backyards. But none of the teachers at school has been to Antarctica. Some of them know about Scott of the Antarctic going to the South Pole and not coming back. But they mostly mean John Mills in the movie. I dont.

In the general way of things, I dont know much about anything. Uncle Victor says Im the victim of a shoddy education system. But I do know about the Polar Regions. The bookshelves over my bed are full of books about the North and South Poles. Icebound almost. A glacial cliff face teetering over my bed. I remember, the night after Dad had been rushed into the hospital, one of the shelves sheared off and crashed down on me. I woke up thinking the house was collapsingbooks gouging at my head, bouncing off the bed frame, slapping flat on the floor. I looked at the hole in the wall and the brackets on the pillow and I didnt know what to do.

About the shelf. About anything.

So I went back to sleep, and dreamed that I was sailing toward the Ross Ice Shelf, and that crags were splitting off its face, plunging down, massive as seagoing liners foundering.

Come to think of it, Uncle Victor gave me most of my ice books. Every birthday and Christmas. Books about The Ice and the North Pole; about Shackleton and Scott, Laurence Gould and Vivian Fuchs, Nansen and Barents, Franklin and Peary; about penguins and polar bears, whales and seals and boreales... About Captain Lawrence Oatesthe one they called Titus. Uncle Victor understands how the whole idea creeps up on you like pack icepressing in and pressing against your head, then crushing the hull and tumbling inside.... If we ever did a project at school on Antarctica, I could shine. Like Mount Erebus in midsummer, I could, I could shine!

Except that I dont think I would choose to. Its all bound up with Titus, and I know better than to mention Titus at school. I do now, anyway. I made that mistake once. I wont do it again.

Symone has a pretend friend! Symone has a pretend friend!

It was the conversation about kissingor snogging, as they invariably call it. Like the ant nest in the larder: You think youve done everything to be rid of itthat it cant possibly come back againbut there it is: How many boys have you snogged? There is no right answer. You say none and youre sad and frigid or they know someone whose brother would be willing to snog you for cash. You refuse to answer and you are sadder stillor hiding something, or prefer girls, or... Its not that they care; they only want to tell you how many theyve snoggedchiefly because they like saying the word. It makes them feel as if they are wearing red underwear. But on and on they go: How many boys, Sym? How many boys have you snogged?

Why is it that all the words to do with sex are ugly? Words to do with love arent. No wonder Titus thought women were a nuisance. No wonder he died without ever... getting mixed up with all that.

Anyway, I said that I could do without it. (At least thats what I tried to say. I dont explain things very well out loud.) I tried to say that I was happy to stick with imagining for the time being, thanks all the same. Later, maybe. If I ever met anyone who could compare with Titus...

And after that I was the mad girlsad, frigid, and mad, all threethe retard who had an imaginary friend: Like little kids do, oo-hoo. Like little kids do!

The day I came into school and said my dad had died, I heard Maxine say to Nats, Dont worry. I expect she just imagined it.

So thats when I sealed myself inside. Laced up the tent, so to speak. Filled the locks with water so that they would freeze. Thats when Titus and I looked at each other and decided we could do without them, so long as we had each other. You and me now, Sym.

You and me now, Titus.

Warm, isnt it?

Who fancies a trip to Paris, then? said Uncle Victor.

Mum was surprised, because moneys been so short lately.

Its one of those newspaper promotions, said Victor. Free tickets on the cross-Channel train and two nights in a two-star hotel.

I wanted Mum to smile and widen her eyes and say How lovely! because it was such a kind thought. It seemed wrong of her to pucker her forehead and look harassed and confused. Its not the last place on Earth a person might want to go, is it: Paris? But Mum just looked uneasy. Sym has exams coming up.

Say again?

Sym has exams.

The child worrits her life away on exams! Exams in what? What are they trying to measure? Her potential? Her usefulness? Her knack at taking exams, is all! Youd like to go to Paris, wouldnt you, girl? Cradle of Art and Town Planning?

Id like to go up the Eiffel Tower, I said.

Mums face accused me of treachery;in mentioning the exams, she had thrown me an invisible hint and I had fumbled the catch. Why cant she say things out loud? Why does no one in this house say anything out loud? Anyway, why wouldnt she want to go to Paris? Uncle Victor is only trying to cheer her up! Cant we go after the exams? I said, trying to satisfy them both.