Offshore (2 page)

Eddie
slung his bag over his shoulder. “If you’d like to follow me
please.” Like they had a choice.

In
single file, like chicks trailing a mother hen, the others fell
into line behind him, the random clumping of their boots against
the metal grille plating underfoot settling into synchronous rhythm
with his as he sloped his way down the tight corridor to the main
locker room.

A pair
of gull-crap encrusted skylights provided sufficient gloom to see
by … just.

Black
rubber matting lay on the floor like a burnt waffle, cut to fit
round a pair of wooden benches, their slats worn shiny by countless
backsides sliding against them, gouged by the soles of boots rested
there while laces were done up.

Banks of
lockers lined three of the four walls, in various sizes according
to use, their red, green and blue doors trying forlornly to add a
splash of colour to the dreary grey. Most doors were closed, some
stood ajar, others were so bent out of shape they would never do
either again.

A
cynical person might think they got that way by the application of
the business end of a size 9 boot - and they would be
right.

Adjacent
to the door through which they had just entered a notice board hung
askew, a few faded informative notices still attached:

SAFETY IS
NO ACCIDENT.

SEE
SOMETHING, SAY SOMETHING

WEDNESDAY
NIGHT IS MOVIE NIGHT

MAIN
LOUNGE 20:00 HOURS – DRESS CASUAL

FEELING
SUICIDAL – THE SAMARITANS ARE ONLY A PHONE CALL AWAY

The
pinups of the bare breasted beauties had been prudently
removed.

Each
crew member plonked their allowed single piece of essential luggage
onto the floor and planted their bright orange survival suited bums
onto the benches to await the wise words of their not so esteemed
leader.

Eddie
put his bag on a nearby chair, pulled out his notebook, and
frowned.

“
Whatcha got there?” he asked, indicating the four foot long
green cotton bag tied up with string that Brewer was hanging on
to.

“
Sea fishing rod,” Brewer said proudly.

“
Really?”

“
Yep. I intend to take advantage of the good weather, if
there is any, and hook a nice fat cod or three to take home.
Believe it or not there are still some to be had if you know where
to look, and out here is ideal.”

Rather you than me
.

Eddie's
familiarity with anything piscatorial ended at a fish supper from
his local chipper - a substantial slab of cod coated in batter,
deep fried, and served in newspaper with fat greasy chips, the
whole meal slathered in salt and vinegar.

“
And if do you hook
the big
one
, what
are you going to do with it?” he said.

“
Have you seen the price of cod lately?” said Brewer. “One
good specimen to the right monger will pay my petrol bill for over
a month.”

“
Depends what you drive, doesn’t it?”

“
For a Range Rover, it’s worth the effort.”

A
vehicle that size would drink a tankful of petrol at least once a
week, at more than a hundred pounds a throw. An average cod weighed
in at eleven kilos, a rare but still possible big ‘un could be over
fifty kilos, and would change hands for around £12 per kilo. Eddie
did the maths.

“
Bugger me.”

“
Quite,” Brewer grinned.

Eddie
took up position at the front of the room, waiting for the hubbub
of conversation to subside enough to allow him to speak. It didn’t.
He cleared his throat. “If I can have your attention folks,
please.”

The
clamour continued.

“
HOY! Listen up.”

Silence
fell.

“
Thank you. Right ho, here we all are, lady and gentlemen,
welcome to Falcon Bravo, your home for the next ninety-nine
days.”

“
Yeah. Home sweet home, be it ever so ‘umble,’ piped up Daz
Reynolds from the back of the throng.

“
Thank you, Mr Reynolds,” said Eddie. “Now, first and most
important news of the day – if any of you have any regrets about
signing up for this jolly, I’m afraid it’s tough tittie for you.
Here you are and here you will stay.”

“
We in prison then?”

“
Kind of. I have to advise you that due to what Longdrift
are calling ‘operational constraints’...” Pause for effect.
“...There is no support vessel out there to sweep you away into the
sunset and home to yer mammies.”

“
They can’t do that!” burst out Cameron,
drowning out the other gasps of disbelief. “They can’t leave us out
here without backup. It’s against regs, against the law.
They
have
to provide a boat. There
has
to be a support vessel.”

“
You know that, I know that, the company knows it, yet look
outside...”

“
But what if something goes tits up and we need to get us
off sharpish?”

“
We use the lifeboats, call the coastguard and wait for
someone to come and pick us up. I think we should all hope that
never happens. Until the chopper comes back we’re out here on our
own, so unless you sprout wings, or fins and a tail, you’re stuck
here for the duration.

His
feeble attempt at levity fell on deaf ears as a grumble of discord
rippled through the group; the first, Eddie suspected, of
many.

Only ten minutes on board and he had already poked a large
stick into an angry hornet’s nest and given it a good stir. This
was going to be a long
long
tour. He pressed on regardless, flicking over the
pages in his notebook.

“
I know you’ll all be keen to crack on and get started,” he
said, “because the sooner we start the sooner we’re finished and on
our way home in time for Christmas, but there are some details
which the company insist I go over again in case you are a bit
rusty.”

Reynolds
said, “Fuck the company if that’s how they’re going to treat
us!”

Eddie
held up his hand to stem another low rumble of dissent. “So what
I’m going to suggest is that when we have stowed our junk here, we
migrate to the accommodation block and do it there. It will be a
bit more comfortable. You can find a cabin that suits, change into
your overalls, and then relax for a bit. Have a chat. Get to know
each other. Okay?”

At last,
a murmur of approval.

“
Not for too long though” he said. “There’s a bit of work to
do before we can eat, but if you put some effort into it, it
shouldn’t take long and hopefully we’ll get it all done before it
gets dark. Okay?”

Silence.

“
Okey doke, now I suggest you get out of your survival suits
and get them stowed properly over there—” He indicated a row of
hangars on the wall to his left. “And hope to God we don’t have to
see them again until we’re ready for the flight back. You’ll keep
your outside gear in here, your hard hats, eye and ear protection
and work boots. For those of you who are colour blind, the green
doors are next to the red ones.”

Dead
air.

“
Any questions?”

“
Yes.” Lydia’s hand went up. “Where do I change?” All eyes
fell on her as if she had just asked for a bucket of steam. “I’m
assuming you do know the regulations regarding provision of
separate facilities for women,” she said.

“
I do indeed, Miss Ellis,” said Eddie. “And there are
dedicated female facilities available on Bravo.”

“
So where are they?”

He
grimaced. “Ah. Well. Unfortunately they are situated in a
Portakabin on the other side of the main deck. If you want to use
them, feel free, but to be honest I wouldn’t advise it.”

“
Why not?”

“
Because they have never been used for their intended
purpose and have been utilised as extra storage. The truth, Miss
Ellis, is that you have the dubious honour of being the first and
only female ever to set foot on this platform.”

The
group of men broke out into spontaneous mocking applause and
whistling.

Lydia
had more to say, “So what am I supposed to do?”

“
You can get yer kit off right here,” brayed Reynolds. “We
don’t mind, do we boys?”

“
What, and have you creaming your pants at the sight of my
lacy whites? I don’t think so.”

Reynolds
grabbed his crotch suggestively and thrust his hips. “Oh be still
my raging boner.”

“
More like Needledick the Bugfucker.” Lydia waggled her
little finger in obvious mockery of his manhood. “Seen more meat on
a butcher’s pencil.”

Reynolds
face flushed scarlet and contorted into a scowl fit to curdle milk.
He opened his twisted mouth to issue some retort, but not before
Eddie stepped between them, calling a halt to their insult trading
before it got out of control.

“
HOY! That’s enough!”

He
turned his back on the furious Reynolds to address
Lydia.

“
Miss Ellis, I’m sorry. In a perfect world we would have the
facilities for you, but unfortunately we don’t, and I feel terrible
to have to suggest this but, on this occasion would you
mind...using a lavatory cubicle to change?”

The look
on her face said it all; yes she bloody well would mind and why
didn’t he suggest she lick the toilet bowl clean for good measure.
Her hard eyed disgust prompted him to apologise further, despite
the situation being out of his control, and offer a
compromise.

“
I’m sorry, but it’s the best I can offer at the moment. If
you’ll give me some time I’ll work on rigging up something more
suitable. Until then you have the choice, here with us or out there
on your tod, although for security’s sake I would prefer we all
stayed together.”

She
puckered her mouth and jutted her chin. “Looks like I’ll be staying
here then.”

“
Thank you.” Her hand went up again. “One more
thing?”

Patience, Eddie.

“
Yes Miss Ellis.”

“
Are you going to do something about getting some heat on in
here sometime soon? You tough guys might not notice the cold, but
my nipples have gone as tight as Scammell wheel nuts in
protest.”

“
I certainly have noticed, Miss Ellis, and you’re right,
they are … it is.” A faux pas realised far too late. “I didn’t mean
... I wasn’t referring to your nipples obviously, of course,
because that would imply I looked ... I didn’t, because it would be
rude … to look … to stare ... although I’m not saying they are not
very nice nipp–”

Over her
fixed unwavering glare Lydia’s censuring eyebrows disappeared under
her hat. “I think it’s time you stopped digging now, Mr Capstan,”
she said. “This hole is deep enough, don’t you think?”

Eddie clamped his lips closed and he swore furiously inside
his head as he tried to banish from his mind the crude imagery of a
pair of rock hard nipples standing proud of her breasts like chapel
hat pegs. At least
he
tried. Others hadn’t. Reynolds grinned openly.

McDougal
swallowed down a snigger. Brewer harrumphed to clear a whole
throatful of frogs. Lonny, bless him, simply looked on,
bemused.

Eddie
plastered on a smile of well meaning imbecility, hoping it might
dampen her ire a little, and apologised for the third time in as
many minutes.

“
I’m very sorry Miss Ellis. As soon as I’ve changed I’ll be
on my way to get the generators fired up and the lights and heating
on. Okay?”

She
returned the smile, without the warmth, turned on her heel and
marched into the lavatories, slamming the door behind her so hard
it rattled in its frame.

Eddie’s shoulders slumped.
Great. Just sodding great. Way to go,
Eddie.

“
Touchy sort in’t she?” said Lonny Dick, shattering the
ensuing silence. “Are they all like that?”

Eddie
looked up at the big man. “I’m afraid so, Lonny. I’m afraid
so.”

Within
ten minutes they were all sitting around in their every day clothes
- hands thrust deep into pockets of jeans in various stages of
disrepair, necks pulled down protectively into sweatshirts, hoodies
and thick cable knit sweaters, like turtles retreating into their
shells, shoulders hunched, faces sour, breathing out their own
personal fog banks. Nobody had risked changing into their
work-a-day overalls, because stripping off even one layer of
clothing risked inviting frostbite.

Lydia
Ellis still had on her beanie hat and the sourest expression of all
as she wiped at her startlingly scarlet nose with a crumpled
tissue. She had hit the nail squarely on the head with her
observation.

It was
Baltic in there - flesh sprouted goosebumps, breath puffed out in
visible clouds and testicles retreated into abdomens, seeking
somewhere warm to hide before they turned blue and dropped
off.