Offshore (6 page)

“
I’m sorry you were inconvenienced,” he said, aiming for
casual, friendly conversation as well as … what? Her
approval?

She
looked up from her search. “It’s okay. I expected nothing less.
Don’t worry about it.”

“
I’ll put it in my report … about the facilities. I’ll make
sure it doesn’t happen again.”

“
It’s rather bolting the stable door after the event, don’t
you think?”

“
Probably. Again, my apologies.”

“
And again, don’t worry about it.”

She
returned to her search.

“
See anything you like?” he asked.

“
Nah,” she said, turning the books over. “I can see why this
lot was left behind. It’s all rubbish. I’ve read most everything on
here at least twice … oh, except this …” She pulled out a book with
a well cracked spine.

“
Flesh House. Stuart MacBride.” She turned the book over and
skimmed the blurb. “Blood, butchery … human meat … sounds a bit
yucky, but I’ll give it a go.”

“
You read a lot?”

“
Love to, whenever I can as much as I can. You?”

“
Oh aye, I like to read … but I prefer to write.”

She
looked at him keenly, her interest clearly piqued. “You write?
Really? Fiction?”

He gave
a shrug of mildly self conscious confirmation.

“
What sort? Anything I would know?”

“
Thrillers mostly, crime dramas … a bit like MacBride, but I
don’t have his grasp on the gritty realism, or his gallows humour.
Mine are more … theatrical.”

“
What name do you write under? Not your own?”

“
Oh God no. If the blokes ever found out … Ever heard of
Sean Simpson?”

She
frowned. “I don’t think so, but I shall certainly look out for it
from now on.” She lowered her voice and leaned close. “And I won’t
tell anyone it’s you.” She put her finger to her lips, sealing in
the secret. “Are you writing something now?”

“
I’m hoping to use my time here to get some flesh onto the
bare bones of a new story, yes.”

“
How exciting. Can I have a sneak read?”

He shook
his head. “Nope.”

“
Aw, go on.”

“
No. Nobody but me and my editor sees anything before the
last I is dotted and the final T crossed. I tell you what, when
it’s published you can have the first signed copy.”

“
I look forward to it.”

“
Then, when I’m as rich and famous as Mr MacBride you can
sell it on eBay and make a fortune.”

She
laughed lightly, a merry sound he found he liked.

They
spent the rest of the time until the football match finished
talking about his writing career. She gave the appearance of
hanging on his every word, interested in what he had to say. He
savoured the attention, and the opportunity to detail his trials
and tribulations with the literary craft, and to blow his own
trumpet with someone outside his normal sphere of
acquaintances.

She set
her chosen book aside as she browsed for another and he groaned
inwardly. How could he put this without coming across as a total
arse?

“
I … erm … I hate to be jobsworth, but –” She broke off her
search and looked up at him quizzically. He pointed to her hand.
“Rings,” he said, smiling awkwardly.

“
What?” She looked down at her right hand.
“Oh my goodness!” She snatched the gold bands from her slender
fingers and tucked them into her breast pocket, buttoning the flap
for safekeeping. “No exposed jewellery of any kind allowed, I
should know,” she said apologetically. “Epic fail for me there
wouldn’t you say, considering I’m supposed to be Health and Safety
rep. I’ve worn them for so long I don’t even notice them any
more.”
She showed him both hands, the digits now naked, including
the ever telling third finger on her left hand.
“I remembered to swap my usual
watch for a plastic one, though. Will it do?” She held up her wrist
and its acid pink Hello Kitty timepiece, more suited to a girl of
ten than a grown woman.

“
Perfect.”

As she
turned back to her rummaging she bowed her head, and the overhead
light picked up a telltale glint at the back of her
neck.

Bugger.

Eddie
squatted beside her and leaned close, almost touching her ear with
his lips, and lowered his voice to a bare whisper. “I’ll pretend I
didn’t see the chain.”

Her hand
flew guiltily to the neckband of her T shirt, pulling it up, hiding
the jewellery.

“
Thank you. I’d feel a bit lost without it.”

“
Something special?”

The
corners of her mouth twitched into the saddest smile he had ever
seen, and she looked as if she might cry. “It’s my St Christopher,
for good luck. A gift from my dad for my 18th birthday. The last
thing he ever gave me. He … um … he died two days
after.”

“
I’m sorry,” Eddie said. “You should most definitely keep it
on. Just keep it out of sight, eh?”

“
Thank you. I appreciate it.”

He
sighed. Christ, he wasn’t cut out for this supervisory
malarkey.

“
I need to check the others though,” he said, standing.
“Talk about putting my head in the lion’s mouth again. Something
else for them to hate me for.”

She
touched him lightly on the arm. “Don’t be silly, you are just doing
your job.”

He
turned to the party spread out on the sofas and chairs. “Safety
check before we start work, guys. Watches and jewellery …
?”

Without diverting their eyes from either the television or
their note writing, ringless fingers were waggled, overall cuffs
unbuttoned to expose non-metal watches which would be removed
before commencing work, and necks displayed to show the lack of
metallic adornments, although plenty of tattoos were on show -
swallows, hearts, a tribal swirl among them, Shaw’s broken line
around his throat with
‘
CUT HERE
’
being the most tasteless. No-one sported visible piercings
or earrings, although McDougal had a small hole in his left ear
where a flashy diamond stud normally resided.

“
Thank you for your co-operation,” said Eddie, and exchanged
glances with Lydia, who gave him a small smile and nod of
support.

“
That wasn’t so bad, was it?” she said, and nudged him
playfully.

The
football match over, Eddie led his little party to the service
elevator which would carry them down to the container
compound.

It was
only late afternoon but the deck lights were already on, their
harsh orange and white beams diffused into a ghostly glow by the
wraithlike swirling mist.

The
group gathered around Eddie as he unlocked the large padlock and
dragged open the gate to the compound and the variety of shipping
containers within, battered and rusted and also securely
padlocked.

They
were uplifted from a supply ship a few days previous, and deposited
in the secure area by the skeletal crane which loomed over them,
its chains swathed in vapourous grey and set into a gentle swinging
motion by the barely discernible movement of the platform
underfoot, links rattling like Marley’s ghost.

The
foghorn blared again. Louder outside, it smothered conversation and
made everyone wince. Lydia covered her ears with her hands. The
lock to the largest container proved a little temperamental and it
took Eddie a few goes to free it. He wrestled the door open and
entered the gaping black maw, only the beam of his torch visible as
it flashed around the interior.

Why
everything had been locked up so securely he had no idea; it wasn’t
as if there was anyone here to steal anything.

The beam
stopped moving.

Silence.

A roar, followed by the stench of petrol fumes, and the
portable generator rattled into life. A series of deep
clunks
and a group of arc
lights set on man-sized yellow tripods flared into life, lighting
up the interior of the container and the Aladdin’s cave of goodies
the company had supplied; insulated crates and boxes of all shapes
and sizes, stacked to the roof.

A slight
adjustment of the lights positions cleared a passageway for ready
ingress and egress. Everyone gathered at the doorway to get a
better look.

Reynolds
spotted his guitar case and made a move for it. “Hey, my favourite
girl. Come to Daddy!”

Eddie’s hand on his arm stopped him. “Not so fast, Bucko.
Supplies come first. When you’re done with them,
then
you can collect
your personal stuff, so let’s get this show on the road shall
we?”

The crew
divided itself into three sets of two plus a spare, Lonny Dick
acting as a floating hand, to shift the boxes, crates, packets and
bottles of foodstuffs onto hand trolleys, transport them to the
lift and ride with them up to the kitchen and pantries for
storage.

“
Don’t forget the sleeping bags, pillows and towels,” said
Eddie. “There’s enough to go around. Non-essential tools and
equipment can stay where they are. We’ll grab them as and when
they’re needed.”

“
Don’t anyone forget the bog rolls,” McDougal called. “And
put some in the fridge for curry night, ‘cos I like it
HOT!”

Lydia
selected the boxes of medical supplies she felt would be of most
immediate use, and taking one each she and Eddie made their way to
the bright white space she would consider her particular bailiwick
for the length of their stay.

He left
her to unpack and store her goods while he returned to check on the
progress the men were making in his absence.

Nearly three quarters of an hour passed before he returned
to the sickbay,
trundling a hand trolley loaded with various cardboard
cartons topped off with a bright pink vanity case, to see
Lydia busily
sorting bandages and packets of plaster of Paris. Preparation for
some kind of apocalypse perhaps?

“
How’s it going?” he said, quietly so as not to startle
her.

The
brief smile she flashed at him gave the impression of being pleased
to see him.

“
So far so good.”

“
Sorry it took so long,” he said, “but I had to check in
with HQ and let them know we’ve all arrived safe and sound and
things are okay.”

“
You didn’t have to bring my personal stuff,” she said,
taking the vanity case off the boxes. “I would have got it
myself.”

“
It’s nae problem. I delivered your suitcase to the lounge
too,” he said.

“
That’s really kind of you. Thank you.”

He gave
her his most endearing smile. “My pleasure ma’am.”

“
How are they doing?” she said, shifting the top box onto
the examination table. “Did you have to crack the whip?”

“
No. They are nearly done, surprisingly. It’s been hard
work. Sacks of rice and spuds are heavy.”

“
What sort of fresh goods are there? Any fruit and
veg?”

“
Practically none. It’s all either dried or tinned, long
life cartons and microwave ready meals. There’s some chilled and
frozen stuff – meat, fish, even ice cream. The battery powered
freezer and refrigeration units in the containers were well
insulated; everything is fine.”

“
But not especially healthy.”

“
Those guys will have asbestos gullets and stomachs like
waste disposal units already, so it won’t do any harm for the short
time we’re here.”

“
Perhaps.” She dug about in the box, a frown of
concentration on her face, a slow smile replacing it as she found
what she wanted buried in the depths. Lydia pulled them out - two
obscenely large bars of chocolate. She caressed and kissed their
royal purple wrappers, murmuring words of welcome. “What’s with the
pug face?” she said, returned from stashing the candy in the bottom
drawer of the filing cabinet.

He
coughed and tilted his head towards her secret hiding place. “You
were saying … about healthy food.”

She
placed her hands firmly on her hips, fingertips almost touching,
emphasising her narrowness.

“
If you think for one minute I’m going
through three cycles of pre-menstrual tension being deprived of
wine
and
chocolate, you must have a death wish, buddy. It’s
medicinal, and believe me, it’s for
your
benefit.”

His
hands went up in surrender. “Okay. I believe you.”

Silence.

“
I’m sorry about what happened … before,” he said. “The guys
can get a bit ribald. I should have stopped them.”

“
Don’t worry about it. It’s the nature of the beast. I’ve
put up with worse. Ever been in Aberdeen A & E on a Saturday
night?”

“
Aye I have as a matter of fact, more than once, and I
wouldn’t recommend it. It’s no place for a lady.”