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Offshore

Page 11

by Lucy Pepperdine


  In answer to his question the red lights stopped turning in their upended glass bells and the klaxon fell silent, although it continued to echo in his ears until his brain registered it had stopped.

  “It’s okay, Guv. It’s a false alarm,” said Shaw. “There’s nothing wrong. Don’t launch the boat.”

  “You need to be absolutely sure, Matt. Over.” Eddie realised his voice had a fraught edge to it and made a conscious effort to calm it down.

  “I’m sure,” said Shaw. “We don’t need to abandon ship. Everything’s okay. Stop the launch!”

  He had to trust Matt’s judgement and started yelling at McAllister before his head poked through the hatch. “Jock! Stop the launch. I repeat NO LAUNCH!”

  McAllister, right hand on the steering wheel, left hand hovering over the launch handle, looked for confirmation of the order, as did the rest of the crew, all strapped snugly into their rear facing seats by five point harnesses, all except a startlingly pale Lydia, still fumbling with hers.

  “Shut down the Duck and secure her, Jock,” Eddie said calmly. “We’re not going anywhere. It was a false alarm. I’m going up to the control room to see for myself, but you can all stand down.” He pointed sharply at a glassy eyed Lydia. “Except you, madam. You stay right where you are.”

  As per drill regulations, the crew had to wait until McAllister shut down the motor and deluge pump, and depressurised the vessel.

  With everything secure, he gave them the nod to free themselves from their restraints. The sense of relief was palpable, and smellable when Cameron let rip a fart so loud and noxious, even his suit could not contain it.

  “What?” he said, innocently. “None of youse ever had nervous gas?”

  The tension shattered, harnesses were released and hands were waved in front of faces to disperse an appalling smell of part digested onions and cheese that wasn’t far short of being weaponised.

  In the control room, Eddie found Shaw writing up the event in the daybook.

  “Talk me through it, Matt. What tripped the alarm?” he said.

  Shaw pointed to one particular status panel, flickering a gentle shade of green.

  “When I got here, the inclinometer alert was flashing red and beeping fit to bust,” he explained. “It showed the rig listing at 10 degrees to starboard, which is a fair old slope and would mean that at least two of the anchors had come adrift. I knew it couldn’t be right because I would have been walking uphill all the way.”

  Eddie took a second to appreciate his surroundings, trusting his instinct. Everything was as it should be; as level as it could be under the circumstances.

  “Go on,” he said.

  “I asked the computer to recheck. It had a little think and then came back with normal across the board. Green lights everywhere. All anchors are in place. All movement within accepted tolerance. We’re as steady as a rock … well, as good as.”

  “Aye, a rock made of jelly. Thanks Matt. Good job.” Eddie then scrubbed at his cheeks and blew out a breath.

  A frowning Shaw picked up on his boss’s frustration. “Wassup skip? Crisis is over … unless there’s some other problem?”

  “Oh, there’s a problem alright.” Eddie put out a hand at approximately Lydia’s height. “It’s about yay big, and gobby with it.” Sigh. “You can stand down now, Matt. Get some sleep. Busy day tomorrow.”

  “Don’t think I could sleep,” said Shaw, unzipping his suit. “I feel like I’ve just had ten thousand volts up my arse. I haven’t felt this wired since–” Cough. “Well … you know?”

  Since what? Sex? Drugs? Rock and roll?

  Eddie let it hang unexplained. “Me too,” he said, and made to leave. “‘Night, Matt. Don’t forget to put the lights out. Save the leccy.”

  “Will do. ‘Night boss. Oh, boss.”

  Eddie turned back. “Yeah?”

  “You wouldn’t have gone without me … would you?”

  “You know the drill, Matt,” said Eddie, deadpan. “Fifteen minutes flat. No exceptions.”

  Shaw’s face folded with disappointment, unfolding again when Eddie winked and grinned at him. Eddie would never leave a man behind.

  Chapter 18

  Cameron exited the lifeboat first to return to the locker room and get out of his restrictive orange suit, to let fresh air circulate around his sweating nervous limbs, and also clear away the residual odour of his flatulent outbreak. The rest followed, Euterich/Reynolds outwardly giving the impression of being as relieved at the next man at not having been pitched into the sea, yet inwardly cursing his continued incarceration.

  Oh how he would have welcomed the chance to get away from here, no matter how it was achieved. He couldn’t bear to spend another day in this body, with this mind, having to behave the way he did in the company of these fools.

  He needed to get off - with Lydia. If he could get away from here his chances of having her all to himself without having to leapfrog through the others would be so much better.

  Where was she now? Still in the boat?

  He stole back to the hatch and peered in, to see Brewer leaning over her, stroking her hair and speaking gently to her. What the hell was he doing to her? Touching her up?

  No. He looked worried. Was there something wrong with her? “Can I have a little help in here please?” Brewer called, confirming it.

  Euterich poked his head through the hatch. “What’s up?”

  “It’s Lydia, Miss Ellis … she’s spark out. I think she banged her head when Mr Capstan tossed her in here. We need to get her to sickbay. Help me get her out of here will you.”

  Euterich clambered back down into the boat to see for himself what had happened to his woman. If Capstan was responsible, he was going to pay for it.

  Hampered by their suits, it took both men to manoeuvre the insensate Lydia out of the hatch and up the ramp. However, once in the more spacious corridor, Euterich took control, carrying her with ease the rest of the way to Sickbay.

  Brewer trailed along behind, unable to see the expression of pure delight on the younger man’s face as he held Lydia close, her face nestled against his neck, her warm breath on his skin, his heightened sense of smell picking up every kind of conflicting aroma from her, creating in his mind an image constructed of scent.

  In the medical bay Euterich laid his charge tenderly on the examination bed, but did not wholly relinquish contact with her, keeping a firm hold of a cold hand while Brewer worked quickly and efficiently, using his first aid training to check her breathing and pulse - both strong and regular. Already a large purple bruise was beginning to bloom on the right side of her forehead.

  “Taken quite a knock,” Brewer observed.

  As well as a powerful whistle and locator strobe lights, every suit also had a waterproof torch the size and shape of a pen attached to it, and Brewer used his to shine a narrow bright beam into Lydia’s eyes.

  “Pupils are reacting quickly and evenly, as they should,” he said.

  When he unzipped her suit to check for other injuries, Euterich could hardly suppress a gasp of pleasure. He had expected to see skin tight navy blue thermal undergarments, not naked flesh.

  Brewer claimed he could see no other bumps or bruises, while Euterich took in a long look at the glorious pale orbs of her breasts, forbidden fruits encased in pure white lace. Brewer declared himself satisfied that no major harm had been done to her and zipped up her suit again, to maintain her dignity if nothing else. Euterich could barely disguise his disappointment.

  Lydia moaned and swallowed, and her hand went to the bruise on her head, testing it gingerly with a fingertip. She moaned again, opened her eyes to look at the ceiling, and after a few rapid blinks swivelled them to focus on Brewer and Euterich looking down on her with expressions of intense concern; one real, one manufactured to hide another of pure animal lust.

  “Take it easy,” said Brewer. “You’ve had a nasty bump to your head.”

  “Yeah, you were out cold,” chipped in Euter
ich.

  She tried to sit up. “I can’t move. Why can’t I move?”

  “You’re still in your immersion suit. It’s awkward. Let me help you.” Brewer offered her a hand and eased her into a sitting position. She gripped the edge of the mattress to steady herself. “Dizzy?” he asked, concerned it might be a symptom she had a concussion.

  “No,” she said. “I’m okay. What happened? There was a lot of noise and flashing lights–”

  “That would be the abandon ship alarm. We were scrambling for the lifeboats, but when Mr Capstan noticed you weren’t with us, he came back to find you, in case you got lost. He got you to the Duck and put you in –”

  “Duck?”

  “A silly nickname for a lifeboat,” said Euterich, keen to impress her.

  “Actually, he wanted you to stay where you were after we stood down,” said Brewer. “I think he wanted to speak to you. I don’t think he realised you’d hit your head.”

  She looked down at herself, her suit creased around her like a deflated orange Michelin man.

  “So I can take this off then?” she said, reaching for the zipper.

  “Yes. The emergency is over. We’ll leave you to it.” He put his hand to Euterich’s back. “Come along, Mr Reynolds. Let’s give the lady some privacy.”

  They reached the door just as Lydia’s zipper reached her navel. An unexpectedly cold draught wafted over the bare skin of her stomach and she yelped and shot the zipper back up to her throat at double speed.

  The noise of both squeal and zip turned the men’s heads, and the exchange of glances spoke for all of them. All three of them knew she was all but naked underneath the suit. Silent accusations flew.

  How much had they seen? How far had they gone? Had they taken advantage of her insensibility to have a quick grope? The Prof? Never. He was a gentleman. What about Reynolds? She couldn’t trust him as far as she could spit him.

  A flush of embarrassment crept up Brewer’s neck, becoming more evident by the second.

  “I … tried not to look … too much, but I couldn’t really help it,” he admitted. “I had to make sure you weren’t injured … elsewhere.”

  “Am I?”

  Cough. “No.”

  She turned to Euterich. “What about you? Did you get an eyeful too?”

  He dragged his licentious eyes away from her chest and onto her face, opening his mouth to voice his appreciation, when the sickbay door whooshed open to the limit of its hinges, its handle knocking a metal dish off the worktop and onto the floor with an ear ringing clang.

  Angry boots stamped across the linoleum to the trio, carrying in them a furious Eddie Capstan, face the colour of freshly fired brick.

  “You two. Out!” He jabbed a finger at Lydia. “You! I told you to stay where you were!”

  “If I can explain, Mr Capstan,” Brewer interjected. “It was a medical–”

  “I don’t want to know!”

  Eddie dipped his head toward the door, giving the men their silent instruction. They were to leave, now, and stay not on their going. Explanations would have to wait. Brewer did not hesitate. Euterich took too long in moving.

  “GET OUT!” Eddie yelled, all the while glaring at Lydia, fury in his eyes, his mouth purse-lipped above a tensely jutted jaw.

  The door swished shut behind them.

  “Care to explain yourself?” he growled through clenched teeth.

  She said nothing in the face of his fury, merely looked at him with an air of calmness that only served to inflame his anger.

  “What the hell were you playing at, you stupid woman? You could have had us both killed!”

  She touched the bump rising on her forehead, and winced. “Yet I’m the one who seems to be hurt.”

  Until then, Eddie hadn’t noticed the injury. Had he done that when he pushed her in the hatch? A momentary twinge of guilt stabbed him, and then vanished.

  “I–! You–!” He threw up his arms in despair. “What in God’s name were you thinking?” He doinked his fingers off the side of his head. “What was going on in that tiny little pea brain of yours that made you think you could ignore an abandon ship alarm?”

  “I didn’t ig–”

  “Were you drunk?”

  “What? Of course not–”

  “You looked drunk, you sounded drunk - slurring your words and reeling all over the place.”

  “I was not drunk.”

  “If it walks like a duck and quacks like a duck–”

  “I was NOT drunk!”

  “Then what the hell were you, because you were NOT in your right mind?”

  “If you’d let me get a word in edgewise–”

  “Drugs! That’s it! You were high on something. Jesus Christ! What was it? What did you take? Smack? E? Meth? Helped yourself to something from the cabinet, did you?”

  “Will you stop it!”

  He pushed his face close to hers. “Not until you tell me what you took?”

  She folded her arms and narrowed her eyes. “As you’ve already gone off in half cocked hysteria and leapt to your own conclusions, why don’t you tell me.” She leaned forward. “Enlighten me, do, with your own inestimable wisdom.”

  Eddie backed off, eyes glistening with righteous indignation, jaw pulsing with agitation.

  Silence.

  “I thought so,” she said, and climbed off the medical table. “Now if you don’t mind, I’m going to get out of this suit and slip into something a little more comfortable.”

  She slopped silently around the room in search of her clothes, finding her trainers on the floor in the office, her overalls draped over the back of a chair, one sock in the waste bin, another in the sink and her T shirt slung carelessly on top of the filing cabinet. She collected them together in a bundle and dumped them on the couch behind the modesty screen.

  “Help me off with this will you,” she said, unzipping the suit to her crotch and turning her back.

  Eddie held the suit steady by its shoulders while she wriggled her arms and torso free. When he let go, the suit dropped down her legs and she stepped out of it like a butterfly from its chrysalis, her pale skin cold and lumpy, like a freshly plucked chicken.

  He made a deliberate show of averting his eyes while she gathered up the suit and dumped it in a heap on the examination table, risking only a quick glimpse before she slipped behind the screen to dress.

  Eddie unzipped his own suit to allow a little fresh air to his baking flesh within, and could smell his sweat on a wave of released heat. The suits and thermals were excellent insulators, keeping the cold out, but equally adept at keeping heat in.

  With a sigh of fatigue he dropped into her chair and raked his hands through his hair, before propping his elbows on his knees and covering his face with his hands.

  After five minutes, she emerged from behind the screen, smoothing down the front of her coverall.

  “You calmed down yet?”

  Eddie parted his hands and looked up at her with bleary eyes.

  “You got a bit steamed there,” she said.

  He sat up in the chair. “With good reason, don’t you think?”

  “No.”

  Lydia helped herself to a tumbler of water from the small stainless steel sink.

  “Do you want to know what really happened, or shall we just skip the preliminaries and jump to guilty as charged and you can chuck me in the brig and throw away the key?” she said.

  “I need to know … for my report,” said Eddie. “And we don’t actually have a brig as such. We do, however, have a multitude of broom cupboards.”

  She laughed. “Well I wasn’t drunk, and I wasn’t on drugs … at least not the sort you think. It was down to nothing more noxious or illegal than good old sea sickness pills.”

  Eddie’s face creased with incredulity. “What?”

  “Avomine.” She took a crumpled box from the pocket of her overall and tossed it to him. He caught it mid flight and examined it.

  “I suffer terribly f
rom motion sickness and usually take another brand. Mild but effective,” she explained. “I’ve been using them for more years than I can count. Unfortunately with the bad weather shaking this place like a baby’s rattle I’ve needed more than usual, and I used up my supply. These were all I could find. They have different ingredients to what I’m used to and I had an adverse reaction to one of them. It made me a bit … doolally.” She twirled a finger at her temple. “It’s never happened before and I’ll be more careful next time. I’m sorry if I caused any trouble, but it really wasn’t my fault.”

  Eddie barked out a sharp embarrassed laugh and tossed the packet back.

  In the ensuing silence he remembered the high colour on her cheeks and the icy coldness of her skin, like dipping his hand in a bucket of seawater.

  “I suppose it would account for you looking like death warmed over when I found you?” he said. “Pale, sweaty, eyes like dinner plates, off on another planet?”

  “Sounds about right.”

  “How are you feeling now?” he said. “Any after effects?”

  “Apart from a bit of a headache and some bruises, I’m feeling quite normal, whatever that is. Still a bit cold though. I could do with a brew to warm me up.”

  “There should be some coffee left in the pot in the galley. You can probably reheat it.”

  “Yuk. I prefer fresh.”

  “And you would be the first to complain if it went to waste.”

  She sooked on the cool water. “I suppose I should thank you for rescuing me and tossing me head first into the lifeboat,” she said. “I know you meant well, but you could have killed me in the process.”

  “Are you sure you’re okay?”

  “Mr Reynolds said I was out cold for a few minutes, but I’m fine now, although everything from the last couple of hours or so is a bit hazy. I hope I didn’t say or do anything … inappropriate.”

  Eddie smirked knowingly and she had her answer.

  She groaned. “Oh crap, I did didn’t I? What did I do? What did I say?”

 

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