Offshore (21 page)

“
Meaning?”

“
Do I
have
to paint you a picture?”

“
In this case, yes, I think you do.”

McAllister’s tense jaw twitched and twisted.

“
He’s got it into his head that there’s something going on
between Craig and me, because we spend a lot of time together,” he
said. “We’re mates, nothing more, but he … he accused me, us … I
mean Craig might be, I don’t know, don’t care if he is, that’s his
business, but I’m not … okay?” His eyes flickered, not knowing
where to look.

“
I see,” said Eddie. “You lost your temper and were going to
beat Reynolds to death because he accused you of being gay? Is that
right?”

“
Aye, but it wasn’t
what
he said, guv, it
was the
way
he said it. Filthy like. You would have done the
same.”

“
No, Jock, I wouldn’t.”

Yes, I would.

“
He had no right,” said McAllister. “I’m not that way. Never
have been. I mean, I don’t care about those who are, makes no
difference to me, let sleeping dogs lie, so to speak, but … I’m not
… okay?”

Eddie
picked up nothing but deep humiliation from McAllister, as well as
the truth.

Executive decision made - let the matter drop.

“
Yeah, okay Jock. No worries.”

He laid
a friendly hand on the man’s shoulder. Feeling it flinch beneath
him, he removed it.

“
A friendly word of advice,” he said. “Now Reynolds knows
there’s something to get your goat, he’s going to have another go.
I guarantee it. Forewarned is forearmed don’t they say? Be ready
for it, keep your cool and let it go. Okay?”

Silence.

“
Jock?”

A sullen
nod. “'Kay.”

“
On your way then. Give Reynolds time to get seen to and get
away, and then get yourself down to sickbay. It’s a nasty cut
you’ve got there.” He took a cotton handkerchief from his pocket,
folded it into a pad and handed it to McAllister to press against
his leaking brow. He stood back from the door, giving McAllister
silent permission to leave.

When he
had gone, Eddie raked his hands through his hair and grunted with
frustration. The crew were already fighting among themselves and
there were still two months left to go.

Chapter 24

Euterich
arrived at the door to the medical suite, raised his hand to knock,
and paused. Instead of rapping on the wood, he deliberately pinched
at the blue, black, and red patch on his swollen cheek, enhancing
its lividity, and stuck a finger up his squint nose as far as he
could, making his eyes water and bringing on a slight trickle of
blood.

Perfect.

Sympathy
would flow from Lydia like a river. An expression of pained
discomfort fixed itself on his face, some of it genuine, and he
knocked on the door.

From
inside, he heard a muffled, “Come in!” He swished open the door and
sloped sheepishly inside, in time to see Lydia emerging from her
little office, licking a stray smear of chocolate from her lip. “No
need to knock Mr Reynolds. I’m always open. What can I do–? Oh dear
…” She led him to the examination table and kicked out the
step.

“
Up you get and let’s have a look at you,” she said, putting
on the overhead spotlights, bathing him in their warm
glow.

He
watched her eyes as they roved over his face, making her
assessments. “Okie dokie. First things first … ”

She
wetted a pad of gauze with sterile water to wipe the blood from his
face in order to see what damage lay beneath. “You certainly have
been in the wars,” she said, dabbing gently. “So … what
happened?”

“
I slipped on the stairs. Hit the edge of a
step.”

A lie,
but sounded better than, “I suggested McAllister might be a fag and
he beat me up.” He didn’t want her thinking him a brute.

“
Did you now?” she said, pinching the bridge of his nose and
waggling it gently.

A
burning coal flared in his face and he winced.

“
Okay,” she said. “I know it hurts, but I don’t think it’s
broken. A bit of sticking plaster will hold it steady while it
heals itself, although you’re probably going to have a couple of
shiners tomorrow. You might want to raid the freezer for some ice.
It should help the swelling.”

She then
examined the bruise on his cheek. “Same here. Anything else I need
to know about?”

Yeah, my balls are really throbbing. Want to kiss them
better?

He laid
a hand gingerly against his left side where McAllister had put the
boot in. “Here,” he said.

“
Any pain?”

“
Plenty.”

Lydia
said, “What sort; a burning sensation like indigestion, or a
crushing type, spreading into your back or your arm?”

“
No. None of those.”

“
Sharp then? One which gets worse when you breathe in
deep?”

He
inhaled, and winced. “Oh yeah. That one.”

“
So I see. Strip off then and let the dog see the
rabbit.”

“
What?”

“
I need to see what you’ve done.”

Be Reynolds. Be awkward. She’s expecting it.

“
Do I really need to? Can’t you just–”

“
How can I tell if the banana is sound if I don’t peel it?”
she said. “There’s no need to be shy. I’ve seen it all
before.”

He
hesitated, zipper tag between his fingers. Something occurred to
him that he hadn’t thought about before - did she know about
Reynolds’ exotic tattoo? Would she notice its absence?

No
reason why she should. These things didn’t go in medical records,
did they? “I’ve got nothing to hide,” he said, and unzipped his
overalls to the waist.

He did
not need to overplay the pain, it really did hurt and he had great
difficulty getting his arms out without Lydia’s assistance, which
made the discomfort worthwhile.

She
rolled up his T shirt as far as his chin.

“
Good grief!” she exclaimed. “The last time I saw anything
that white and straight up and down, it was a length of half inch
rope with a knot in it. You need to get out in the sun
more.”

“
Not like I have a choice,” he said. “I go where I’m posted,
and there’s not much chance of a suntan in a blizzard in the
Falklands. Not everyone can have the privilege of spending the
summer soaking up the rays off the coast of Vietnam like Captain
fecking Marvel you know.”

Another
lie. Eddie’s last posting had been nine months on Bravo’s more
productive sister platform off Newfoundland, Canada, and he knew
it.

No
chance of much sunshine there either, and if he expected a reaction
to him insulting her paramour, he got none.

She bent
closer to get a better look at the cause of his discomfort, a
purple black bruise the size of her hand, livid against the fish
belly white of his torso. She traced the growing outline with her
fingertip.

“
If this had been done by a stair edge as you claim,” she
said, “I would expect it to be long and thin. This one is
round.”

“
Your point being?”

She
turned her eyes to him. “Round … like the toe of a boot. One
applied with some considerable force. Did someone kick
you?”

Her
deadpan expression dared him to deny it.

“
It’s from the step edge. I slipped,” he said, equally
straight-faced.

“
And you are sticking to that story?”

“
You calling me a liar?”

“
Not at all. I’m just trying to ascertain the facts in order
to facilitate the correct treatment.”

Tense
silence.

“
I can’t do an x-ray to confirm it,” she said, “but from the
extent of the bruising and the soreness it’s giving you, I’m going
to hazard a guess that you might have cracked a rib or
two.”

“
Can you do anything for it?”

“
Not a lot. I can put you in a compression bandage which
will immobilise it and give it some support, but what it will need
most of all is rest.”

“
There’s not much chance of that with Capstan cracking the
whip on our backs every minute of every day,” he griped.

This
time her back stiffened and she stood.

They
eyed each other momentarily before she crossed the room to the
dressings store, rooted out a six inch wide roll of elasticated
bandage and removed its paper wrapping. In her office, the
telephone rang.

“
Won’t be a sec,” she said, and went to tend to
it.

Taking
advantage of her absence, Euterich hopped from the table and made
straight for a stainless steel dressing trolley, to an item he had
already spotted, something which might come in useful.

He
snatched up the scalpel and drove its blade into the solid ankle
padding of his boot, covering the handle with the leg of his
overalls.

When
Lydia returned, she found him exactly where she had left
him.

“
Sorry about that. It was Mr Capstan, checking you got here
okay. See. He does care. Now, where were we?”

She laid
the free end of the bandage against his good side and carefully
wound the rest around him, one hand keeping the strapping straight,
the other working it back and forth around him, tight enough to
offer some support to his injuries. Each time she had to reach to
his back it brought her face close to his, and concentrating on her
work she did not notice him taking a deep interest in the line of
her jaw, the shape of her ear, and taking a sniff of her
perfume.

She
fastened the strapping off with a safety pin. “All done. That
should do you. You can get dressed now.”

“
Thanks.”

He
pulled down his T shirt, grimacing as he fitted it
smooth.

She held
his overall as he shrugged carefully into it. “If the pain gets any
worse or you develop any other symptoms, come back.”

“
What sort of symptoms?”

“
More bruising, a cough, coughing up blood; anything out of
the ordinary or which gives you cause for concern. I’ll give you
painkillers to be going on with.”

She took
a bundle of keys from her pocket, selected one and inserted it into
the door of a grey steel wall cabinet. As soon as she opened it, a
red light glowed, indicating the controlled medicines inside were
insecure. She took out a small brown bottle containing round white
pills and checked the label.

“
These should do you,” she said, relocking the cabinet and
extinguishing the lamp. “Take two every four hours. No more than
eight in any twenty-four hour period.”

Lydia
held out the bottle for him to take, and when he reached for it
they both noticed the slight swelling and discolouration to the
knuckles of his right hand.

“
Bashed that too did you … on the stairs?” she
said.

“
Yup.”

She
nodded. “Okay. If you’ll come with me please, we’ll get the
paperwork done.”

Euterich
pocketed the pills and followed her into her little office, where
she sat him down beside her desk as she signed into her
laptop.

“
Right,” she said, fingers poised over her keyboard. “I have
to tell you I am legally obliged to report all incidents,
accidental or … otherwise, and fully and accurately record the
nature of the injury, how it was caused, any treatment administered
and medication prescribed. Everything has to go in the book. So
…”

“
I slipped on the stairs,” Euterich said.

He then
proceeded to spin a fine yarn about how he had lost his footing and
taken a tumble, coming down hard against the edge of a step,
banging his nose on the handrail on the way down and scraping his
knuckles on the chequer plate tread for good measure.

Lydia’s
fingers danced across the keys as she took it all down. So like in
his dream. Her upright posture. Her tip tap typing. Him cutting her
throat from ear to ear –.

“
Thanks very much,” she said. “I think that’s everything.
You can go now. Take care … on the stairs.”

He had
almost reached the door when she called to him. “How’s the other
fella? Did you give as good as you got?”

He
continued out the door. “You’ll find out soon enough.”

Soon
enough she did find out.

Jock
McAllister stopped by sickbay less than half an hour later,
claiming a trip over a badly wound coil of rope had caused him to
topple head first into the safety rail of a catwalk, opening a
small cut above his eyebrow, and causing a split in his upper
lip.

She
bathed his lip with antiseptic, closed the cut to his head with
superglue and three SteriStrips, and entered a second fabricated
story into the incident log.