Offshore

by Lucy Pepperdine

  “Waste not, want not.”

  A flick of his tongue, the tiniest pucker of the lips and the merest phoot took in the precious gem. The membranes of a billion red corpuscles broke down, releasing their contents, no more than a microscopic volume of bitter haem to sting his tongue like needles, but he savoured its very essence as if it were the finest vintage port.

  The blood had by now crept around her head, forming a liquid halo. It would go no further. Her heart had stopped pumping. She had no more to give. He looked down on the crumpled corpse and smiled.

  At last, after his enforced diet of the masculine, tainted by the sourness of testosterone, sweat and semen, he would get a taste of the feminine, sweetened by the honey of oestrogen, powered by the potential of menses. Now he would take his time and savour every moment of his absorption of the one true life force - the female.

  Oh, the ecstasy…!

  Euterich snapped awake from his dream, his pulsing cock standing at full mast, spilling its load into his hand, waves of painful rapture coursing through it from his balls, the phantom iron and salt taste of Lydia Ellis’s spilled blood on his tongue.

  So real he could taste her, could feel her essence flowing through him, her orgasm of death tensing his muscles and burning his brain.

  Like an alcoholic deprived of drink, or a junkie needing his next fix, he craved her. He needed her. No matter what it took, he would have her!

  He had been idly rolling snooker balls back and forth across the table for the last quarter of an hour, mind drifting, planning his next move, when his musings were interrupted.

  “What’s the matter with you? You look like a wet weekend in Fraserburgh.” Messrs McAllister and McDougal were standing at the opposite end of the table, and, it appeared, had been for some time.

  “None of your business,” Euterich said flatly. Roll. Clack. Red against yellow.

  “Well you’d better shift yourself and find somewhere else to sulk, because we want to use the table and you’re in the way.”

  Click. Blue against green.

  “Did you hear me, Reynolds? We want to use the table. So if you wouldn’t mind.”

  Euterich picked up two red balls in one hand, and clicked them together. “Actually, yes I would mind. I was here first, and I’m busy. So why don’t you and your girlfriend here go and suck on each other’s balls, and leave me the fuck alone.”

  He gave one of the red balls a noisy, salacious, sucking kiss before rolling it toward the white. It missed and rebounded off the cushion, back to his hand.

  McAllister gave him a sideways look. “Excuse me?”

  Euterich caught the rolling ball and dropped it and its partner into the corner pocket. Click. Clack. “You heard.”

  A stiff index finger prodded him hard in the chest. “What the hell are you trying to imply, Reynolds?”

  McDougal made to step between them. “Leave it, Jock.”

  Another prod. “You calling me a poofter?”

  Euterich smirked. “If the Dutch cap fits.”

  “Ye dirty wee piece of shite!”

  McAllister’s full fist connected with Euterich’s chin, knocking him backwards against the snooker table. A swift punch to his unprotected crotch doubled him over, allowing McAllister to grab him by the hair and yank his face hard down onto an upcoming kneecap. Unbalanced, Euterich dropped to one knee. McAllister’s boot then struck him hard in the ribs, knocking the wind out of him, rocking him sideways.

  “Break it up guys!” McDougal yelled. “Come on!”

  “Why?” said Euterich, regaining his feet. “When we’re having so much fun!”

  With a lighting strike, he punched McAllister in the mouth, splitting his lip and knocking him back into McDougal’s arms.

  “Ayabastard!” McAllister broke free from McDougal’s restraint, and with a roar launched himself at Euterich, wrapping brawny arms around his waist and barrelling him into the wall with his shoulder, bouncing his head against the drywall so hard it caused a dent.

  A chicken like jerk of his forehead cracked the bridge of Euterich’s nose with a perfectly executed Glasgow kiss. Blinded by stars, Euterich staggered, blood streaming from his nose and through his fingers, tripped over his own feet and sat down hard on the carpet.

  McAllister, himself bleeding from a cut over his right eye, snatched a snooker cue from the tabletop and raised it above his head, ready to pile drive the broad end into the top of Euterich’s skull.

  “PUT THAT DOWN!” Eddie, alerted to the fracas by McDougal’s shouting, grabbed the cue on its backswing and tugged it. “Let it go Jock.”

  McAllister held onto it.

  “Let-it-go, God dammit!”

  McAllister released his grip and Eddie threw the cue onto the baize.

  “What the HELL is going on here?”

  McAllister wiped blood from his eye, Euterich got to his feet, clutching at his side, McDougal stood back, looking at the floor.

  “Well? Anyone care to explain why I can’t have a cup of tea in peace?”

  No response.

  He turned to Euterich and his rapidly swelling cheek and squint leaking nose. “Get yourself down to sickbay and have that looked at. You’re bleeding on the carpet.”

  Please don’t throw me into the briar patch Brer Fox…

  “Whatever you say, boss.”

  On his way out, Euterich paused in the doorway just long enough to blow a suggestive kiss in McAllister’s direction and rewind the red haired man’s spring.

  McAllister’s face flushed scarlet and he made a grab for the cue to finish the job he’d started. “Come here, ya–!”

  “HOY!” Eddie’s yell and restraining hand on McAllister’s chest made him stand his ground, allowing Euterich to flee.

  Safely away from the affray Euterich permitted himself a chuckle of smug self-satisfaction.

  He’d enjoyed exploiting this particular aspect of Reynolds’ personality, so easily able to goad the hapless, innocently affronted McAllister into a scuffle. He hadn’t been in a fight for a long time.

  Short and sweet it may have been, with not too much damage done, but by God it felt good. The pain, the adrenaline, they made him feel … alive.

  And now, to make it even more worthwhile, he would get to spend a few moments alone with Lydia.

  True, she hated the sight of Reynolds, but when she saw his bruised and battered body, she would have to overcome her revulsion and act decently and kindly toward him in his hour of need, to talk nice to him, to soothe and comfort him in his pain.

  In short, treat him like a human being.

  She would have to touch him, whether she wanted to or not, and goosebumps broke out all over Euterich’s body at the prospect of her feeling for and tending to his injuries with those soft lily-white hands, and their smooth as silk fingertips. Touching him, caressing and stroking him. Oh, such wondrous sensations…

  He ducked into a nearby broom cupboard, having only seconds to spare to finish off what his imagination had already started, bringing himself to ejaculatory orgasm with Lydia’s fantasy touch on his skin and her name on his lips.

  Safely purged, and a little flushed, he continued on his way to sickbay.

  Chapter 23

  When Reynolds had gone, Eddie turned to McDougal standing back from the fray. “You hurt?”

  McDougal shrugged. “Nae, boss.”

  “Then make yourself scarce.”

  “Aye, boss.”

  Alone with McAllister, Eddie tipped his head toward the former mini shop behind them. “A private chat if you don’t mind, Mr McAllister.”

  “I’m bleeding here as well, boss, can’t it wait. I need sickbay too.”

  “No it sodding well can’t wait.” Eddie pushed open the door. “In. Now.”

  McAllister stomped his way inside; Eddie let the door swing closed behind them and stood in front of it, arms folded. “Care to tell me what that was all that about?”

  “Nothing.”

  “Don’t give me
that. You don’t try and brain someone with the fat end of a snooker cue without good cause. Spit it out.”

  McAllister chewed on the inside of his cheek. “It’s him. Reynolds,” he said. “He winds me up. There’s something about him that makes my skin crawl. I don’t know what it is, but every time I see him I just want to put his lights out. This time–”

  “This time, what?

  “He went too far. He made … insinuations.”

  “About?”

  “Rather not say.”

  Eddie locked him in a steady gaze. He wasn’t going to get out of that room any time soon unless he told all.

  “He made some lewd implications about …” Pause. “… my sexuality.”

  “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 li
ar?”

  “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.”