The Girl in Steel-Capped Boots (8 page)

‘I’m serious,’ Lena said. ‘I had a chat with Dan Hullog the other day –’

That got his attention. ‘You saw Bulldog without me?’ he demanded, finally looking at her.

Okay, maybe not perfect but at least he’s talking to me.
‘It wasn’t a meeting,’ Lena told him. ‘We spoke about the headstocks in the gym.’

‘In the gym?’ Mike’s voice clearly denoted his contempt. ‘That’d be right, wouldn’t it?’

‘The gym?’ A head popped up over the side. It was the rat-faced little man Lena had spoken to the last time she was there. She’d found out later from Radar his nickname was Fieldmouse.

‘What’s that?’ He was up and over the handrailing in a flash, winding a rope around his arm as he came. ‘You go to the gym?’

‘Sometimes,’ Lena answered distractedly.

‘When?’

‘Does it matter?’ she returned in exasperation. She turned back to Mike. ‘The fact is, Mike, we’re running ten per cent behind and we need to pick up the pace a bit.’

‘Like that’s news,’ Mike smirked.

Lena squared her shoulders and tried to infuse authority into her voice. ‘Mike, I didn’t come out here to argue with you. I came to warn you.’

‘Really.’

‘If you don’t cooperate with me, I’ll fix this without you.’ She held her breath.

Mike threw back his head and laughed. Lena just stood there watching him. She was, in fact, glad to have confirmation that he was abandoning her. She would never
be able to prove her ability with Mike constantly acting as a roadblock.

When he finished laughing and she remained silent, he left her and climbed down the ladder to stand on the walkway, sea side of the skid.

Good riddance.

Fieldmouse finished winding up his rope and looked at her with some sympathy.

‘Don’t worry.’ Lena smiled. ‘I’ve got a plan.’

He grinned back. ‘Mike is old school, Madame E. He doesn’t like taking orders from females.’

‘And I don’t like putting up with rude men,’ she retorted. ‘Tell me how things have been going out here.’

‘Slow.’ Fieldmouse nodded.

‘How long does it take you to get the headstock in?’

‘Five hours.’

‘That is slow.’ Lena rubbed her chin. ‘What part of the installation takes the longest?’

‘Moving,’ Fieldmouse told her without hesitation.

‘Moving? You mean skidding.’

‘Sort of.’ Fieldmouse squinted at the sky as he considered the question. ‘It’s the access platform that takes the longest to move.’

‘You mean the access platform under the girders,’ Lena said.

‘That’s the one.’

Lena couldn’t see this platform because it was under the jetty. But she knew it was clamped to the main girders via some hanging struts. The men needed it to stand on when they welded the extension beams, called headstocks, to the main jetty girders. Except for this, there was nothing under the deck but piles and a fifteen-metre drop to the ocean.

‘Okay, start at the beginning,’ Lena said. ‘Let’s go through the current method of installing headstocks.’

‘First we wait for the truck to bring one from the yard,’ Fieldmouse explained. ‘The truck parks next to the skid and
Radar and I work the crane. We pick the headstock off the back of the truck, lift it over the skid and lower it into position.’

‘Then the boys on the access platform weld it in place,’ Lena finished for him.

‘Yup. That takes an hour, give or take.’

An
hour
?
That’s
it
?
Out loud she said, ‘At which point you’re ready to move on to the next position. The skid is winched to the next bent. How do you move the access platform?’

Fieldmouse grimaced. ‘We have to unclamp it and lift it onto the deck of the skid with the crane. It stays on the skid during the move. Then we have to reinstall it with the crane at the next bent. That takes time ’cause it’s fiddly.’

Irritating and dangerous as well, Lena was prepared to bet. Well, that was the crux of it. How could she speed up moving the access platform, apart from telling the boys to get their skates on – which would just cause unnecessary stress and workplace accidents?

‘Listen, Fieldmouse,’ Lena said, ‘can you pass a message to the rest of the skid boys?’

‘Sure,’ he agreed.

‘Tell them,’ she said, ‘that I want to see all of them today.’

‘All together?’ Fieldmouse looked a little dubious.

‘One at a time,’ she corrected him. ‘Just tell them that sometime today when they’re not so busy they have to come see me in my office and if Mike chucks a sad about it, just tell him it’s my instructions.’

Lena walked over to the railing and looked down at the man in question, wondering whether she should tell him herself. But he was shouting an order at the men on the access platform and she figured he’d probably tell her to get lost anyway.

She turned back to Fieldmouse. ‘While he’s distracted, do you mind talking to me for a little longer? I’d really like to hear your opinion on our current use of the winch for moving the skid.’

‘No worries,’ Fieldmouse replied, clearly chuffed even to be asked. He proceeded to tell her this and a whole host of other things. Lena furiously scribbled notes until she saw Sharon approaching with the bus from the land. She looked at her watch. She’d been on the skid a whole hour and Sharon was doing her next run. As the bus could only travel in one direction, Lena knew it meant she’d have to go to the end of the jetty before she could go back to the office. She didn’t really mind. They’d driven three more piles since her last visit, which would be interesting to see. So she waved Sharon down.

As they approached the end of the wharf, Sharon, Lena and the rest of the guys on the bus noticed that there was some sort of commotion going on near the portable loos. A bit of a crowd was gathering around one of the large blue plastic demountables, which had its door flung wide. Due to the number of men pointing and jeering, Lena couldn’t quite see what was going on inside it. Sharon parked the bus in its usual bay and they all got out and pushed to the front of the crowd.

Lena could not believe her eyes.

There was Leg, kneeling on the floor of the toilet cubicle, his sleeves rolled up and his right arm elbow-deep in the bowl. His head wasn’t too far behind either.

Lena choked back a gag. ‘Leg, what the hell are you doing?’

But he didn’t hear her.

Sharon nudged one of the amused spectators next to them. ‘What’s going on?’

‘He dropped his wedding ring in the dunny.’

‘Oh no,’ Lena exclaimed. She knew that Leg wore his wedding ring around his neck on a piece of black string. It was quite beautiful: two toned, with white- and yellow-gold segments. He had his wife’s name engraved on the inside of it. He’d told Lena that his hands got so grubby during the day, he was reluctant to wear it in the traditional spot, which she thought was a fair enough call.

‘How on earth did he drop it?’ Lena wondered out loud.

The man beside her sniggered. ‘The string came undone while he was working but he didn’t know. Anyway, so he goes into the loo, pulls out his shirt and the ring flicks out, straight into the dunny.’

‘Leg, don’t.’ Lena stepped forwards, covering her nose with her hand. ‘Your wife will forgive you.’

This time he heard her, looked up and grinned. ‘Don’t worry, Madame E, I’ve put my hands in worse.’

As he finished speaking, Gavin jumped out of the office donga a few metres away with a pair of large pink rubber gloves. He came running towards the group but was seconds too late.

‘Found it!’ Leg cried out and withdrew his large rather brown-looking hand from the bowl.

Everyone, Lena included, took a giant step back as he held up his prize. You could barely make it out – it looked like he was holding up a piece of mud.

‘Shit, Leg!’ Gavin swore, putting one hand over his nose.

A laugh rippled through the crowd at Gavin’s unfortunate pun. He waved the gloves at his unrepentant subordinate. ‘You could have waited.’

Leg lowered his hand and turned passionately towards him. ‘And disrespect my wife? Nothing on earth would allow me to leave this ring in there for a second longer than necessary.’

While his actions inspired horror, Lena couldn’t help but sigh over the sentiments behind them. Would she ever meet a man who would do anything for her?
Anything
. It seemed like an impossible dream.

She bent her head towards Sharon’s and said softly, ‘How romantic.’

Unaware that she’d spoken loud enough to be heard by anyone else, she was surprised when Gavin’s gaze snapped from Leg to her. ‘The guy just shoved his hand in a pile of shit and you reckon it’s romantic?’

‘Well, in a way . . .’

‘Women,’ the man beside her groaned. ‘No wonder we can never please them.’

‘I don’t know.’ Gavin jokingly rolled up his sleeve and made as if to join Leg by the violated toilet. ‘Whatever it takes.’

A jovial cheer rose from the men. ‘Go, Gav, go! Go, Gav, go!’

Lena grabbed his arm and pulled him back. ‘Don’t you dare!’

He looked back at her with a twinkle in his eye and sighed, ‘You say that now.’

She let go of his arm immediately and shoved him. ‘You deserve a fistful of shit.’

There were guffaws and knee-slapping. ‘Whoa ho ho! Kitty’s got claws.’

Gavin laughed but turned back to his men. ‘Okay, guys, show’s over, back to work!’

Reluctantly, they dispersed.

Lena sighed with relief and turned around to find Sharon studying her.

‘What?’ she demanded.

Sharon’s eyes narrowed slightly. ‘He was flirting with you.’

Lena frowned. It seemed to her that Gavin was being more of an idiot than anything else. She placed a reassuring hand on Sharon’s shoulder. ‘No he wasn’t. He was just joking around. Gavin being Gavin.’

‘Are you sure?’

‘Of course.’

‘I don’t know.’

‘Come on: it was toilet humour, literally.’ Lena removed her hand. ‘Besides you know I have no interest in him. Like I said, maturity of a ten-year-old.’

Sharon’s clouded countenance lifted slightly. ‘Hey,’ she protested, ‘some girls like a boyish charm.’

Fifteen minutes later the bus was repacked with men wanting to return to land, including Leg, who was being sent home to shower. No one sat next to him.

When they arrived back at the land office, Lena headed for her desk and waited for the instructions she’d left on the skid to be carried out.

Radar was the first to respond and he seemed pleased as punch to do it. She was beginning to notice that she wasn’t the only one Mike bullied. His men were dying for an opportunity to overstep his power. They wanted their say as much as she did.

Radar and Lena spoke for a good hour. Some of it was whining but the rest was quite useful. She took notes, lots of notes. When another skid boy came along to see her, she did the same thing with him. By the end of the day she had a notebook full of ideas and suggestions, some of which were her own after examination of the facts. Her confidence was building: for the first time she’d fixed a problem by herself. No boss to guide her; no Kevin to bail her out. This one was a hundred per cent Lena Todd, and boy did it feel good.

The following day was Sunday – the big day off. After two weeks of solid slogging most of the staff of Barnes Inc were going to get the rest they’d all been craving. Lena cursed the fact that she wasn’t one of them. She and her fishing party of twelve were leaving at the crack of dawn instead.

What was I thinking?

She should have known how exhausted she’d be. But no, she had to be out there proving that there was more to life than work.

The closest she’d ever come to fishing in the past was going out for dinner on Fremantle Esplanade and watching the hardcores sitting on the edge of a five-metre-long jetty with a bucket and rod. She’d never envied them. Never thought,
Geez, what fun; wish I could do that someday.

But there she was in Wickham, living in a box, constantly covered in red dust, treated like a sex object and scorned by her subordinates.

What’s a slimy fish in the grand scheme of things? If anything, it’s a step up.

Of course, the initial fishing trip plan she’d conjured up with Radar, Leg and Sharon had kind of escalated. The trouble started when she’d asked Carl for a ute.

‘What the fuck?’ He looked at her incredulously. ‘You think I’m running a free shuttle service?’

His loud protest brought a couple of other interested faces into his office. Gavin’s was one of them. ‘What’s this I hear about a fishing trip?’

‘Now look what you’ve done!’ Carl pointed an accusing finger at her. ‘Next you’ll be wanting a fuckin’ barbecue lunch to take with you.’

‘Hey, you know what?’ Lena’s face lit up. ‘I never thought of that.’

She felt Gavin’s hand on her shoulder. ‘I wouldn’t,’ he warned as Carl’s expression progressively blackened.

Lena swallowed. ‘Maybe not.’

‘Besides,’ Gavin added, ‘we can have fish for lunch.’

‘Yeah,’ said a draftsman who had come in behind him.

‘We should ask Harry too,’ said Lena. ‘He’s so quiet, he’d never say so, but I know he’d love to come.’

‘Fuck!’ Carl exclaimed, making her start and look quickly at him. ‘Whose fuckin’ office is this?’

Lena winced. ‘Sorry, Carl, I –’

‘Fuck it.’ He waved a hand in dismissal. ‘Just take the bus. Looks like you’re going to need it.’

Her spirits lifted. ‘Did you want to come too?’

Carl’s eyes narrowed on her. ‘Are you deliberately trying to piss me off?’

‘No, I –’

‘Bulldog’s gone up a fuckin’ tree. I’ll be working tomorrow, thank you very fuckin’ much. Now piss off, the lot of you, and give a man some fuckin’ peace.’

They pissed off.

So in the end there were about twelve of them going, including Harry, who was indeed very pleased to be invited. Lena had left it up to the experts to choose their destination and in the end one of the cluey draftsmen had nominated Cleaverville. It was about half an hour’s drive from camp and supposedly a prime fishing spot.

‘Geez, there are so many of us,’ Lena told Sharon. ‘Do you think there’ll be enough fish in the water?’