by Emma Nichols
‘Yes.’ Ash admonished herself for her clipped responses. It wasn’t Iman’s fault she had fucked up. It wasn’t Iman’s fault she’d drunk herself into a stupor. ‘It’s going to be hell on the rig,’ she added, planting a forced smile. Her eyes softened with sadness, and her heart thumped hard, envisaging her time alone in the desert and away from Iman.
‘I often wonder what it might be like.’ Iman said, offering a slight smile. She made daily trips to the base to provide the workers with their lunch; the rig itself though wasn’t a part of their catering remit. ‘It sounds tough. Tarek always complains about the heat… and gets excited about the dangers.’ She shrugged at his bravado. ‘My father thinks if he experiences a blow-out he wouldn’t feel quite as thrilled about it,’ she continued. ‘Is it really that dangerous?’ she asked, suddenly curious to know Ash’s perspective.
Ash sensed Iman’s irises darken as she spoke and another wave of something - guilt, remorse - hit her, as last night’s memories came flooding back. Muhammad al Maghout was well respected among the expats. His experience, knowledge and wisdom had, saved more than one rookie supervisor over the years. ‘It can be,’ she said. ‘I guess, that’s why we’re there, knowing what we’re doing, training, preparation, it all helps make the rig safe.’
‘Are you ever scared?’ she asked, the intensity of her gaze confirming the genuine sincerity in her question.
‘Sometimes, maybe.’ She screwed up the paper in her hand and let it fall into the footwell. ‘But I think I’d be in more danger working an oven,’ she added light-heartedly. Iman’s laugh had a quality of openness to it that made Ash’s heart dance with joy, and she couldn’t help but be drawn in. Its resonance coloured her cheeks, and she smiled warmly.
Iman shifted suddenly. Holding the cloth-covered tin through the car window, ‘I made this for you,’ she said. ‘I hope you don’t mind. I know you like sweet things, and these will last you… While you’re on the rig I mean. I can make some more when you get back.’ She was babbling and couldn’t seem to stop, all thoughts of Ash with Kate temporarily resigned to a distant memory.
‘Wow, thanks. Food’s awful out there.’
Iman laughed heartily, folded her arms around her body, and took a short step backwards, placing her hand over her mouth.
Ash’s fingers delicately traced the textured material around the tin, fighting the twisting in her gut. ‘It’s beautiful. Thank you.’ She didn’t need to ask its provenance. Everything about the tin had Iman’s touch written all over it. A touch that felt so… beautiful. Fuck!
‘Stay safe, Ash.’
The passenger door thundered open, and a paper bag landed in the middle seat. Craig climbed into the passenger seat, juggling two steaming mugs. As he landed, the 4x4 tilted and the hot drinks sloshed.
The aroma of sweet pastries and coffee enlivened Ash’s senses, and she licked her lips. ‘I will,’ she said, through the pressure in her chest and the gripping pain in her gut. ‘And I’ll look after twinkle toes here too,’ she added, with a mischievous grin. She placed the tin in the middle seat next to the pastries and revved the engine.
‘Bye!’ Iman waved. ‘Bye Craig.’
‘I’m gonna miss yer food,’ Craig said, with a coy smile.
‘Me too,’ Ash remarked, but she was going to miss much more than that.
Iman turned and made her way back to the kitchen and Ash continued to watch her until she was out of sight. ‘What’s that?’ Craig asked, housing the drinks in the cup holders and pulling out a packet of Camels, throwing one between his lips.
‘That, my friend, is mine.’ She put her arm around the tin and pulled it closer, shifted the gear stick and eased her foot on the accelerator, mindful of not spilling their drinks.
‘Gonna be like that is it?’ He teased, trying to peek into the tin. She slapped his hand and flicked her fingers at him. He passed her his lit cigarette and lit himself another one. ‘I am seriously jealous,’ he said, after a few hundred yards. ‘She sure ‘s the best cook I’ve come across, and she’s a looker!’
‘Yes, she is,’ Ash said, screaming inside with the sharp pain of regret preying on her mind.
*
Iman stepped into the kitchen’s restroom and leaned against the wall. She breathed in and out deeply, allowing her heart to settle. Well done! She’d managed to give Ash the tin, and maintain her dignity. God that hurt! She looked down at her shaking hands and lowered herself into the seat, waiting until the trembling had eased. Standing abruptly, she forced a smile, walked back into the kitchen, and started gathering ingredients. The distraction of preparing lunch would help, she hoped.
Niomi looked up from her workstation, a sad smile on her face, her eyes glassy. Holding Iman’s gaze, she nodded.
‘Thank god,’ Iman said, breathing a sigh of relief. The medication worked. With increasing vigour, she rubbed the flour and butter together. ‘Let’s cook,’ she said.
The white elephant in the room, the absence of Zack and Ash that neither of them wanted to speak of, resulted in silence. Iman’s hands moved diligently, her passion for food lifting her spirits sufficiently.
Niomi’s hands worked slowly, every movement effortful. ‘Do you think they’ll be okay?’ she asked eventually.
Iman looked up and smiled kindly at the worried expression on Niomi’s face. She was in love with Zack. ‘I’m sure they will,’ she said. She rolled out the dough. Niomi was still staring at her, vacantly. ‘You okay?’ Iman asked.
‘Not really. You?’
Iman held her gaze intently. ‘Not really,’ she whispered.
*
Kate turned in the bed, Ash’s scent hitting her senses and setting off the throbbing between her legs. Pleasantly tender; she moaned at the intoxicating memories of Ash’s sensitivity that had brought her quickly to climax. How much she had missed the intimacy between them. Nothing, no one, had come close since the year they had shared at Uni. But something niggled at the back of her mind. She groaned at the thumping in her head, distracting her from her concerns, and eased out of bed. Heading straight for the Aspirin in the kitchen cupboard, she gripped at her temples.
She played with her tongue; it’s rough surface clinging to the roof of her mouth; the taste causing her to dry retch. Yuk. She filled a glass of water and gulped hungrily, emptying the glass in one go. She refilled it and swallowed the two tablets. Finishing the second glass of water, she headed for the bathroom and put on her swimsuit. She would hear from them if there were a problem. But for now they would be on the road, and she needed to do something to alleviate the raging hangover and the other dull feeling sitting in her gut, before heading out to the base.
*
Iman sat on the garden seat, entranced by the intermittent hissing from the sprinklers, the chirping of crickets, and the sweet aroma drifting from the flowered borders to the lawn. She poured the tea and sipped from the cup, savouring the delicate mint flavour on her tongue. She glanced around at the broad reach of the olive tree, shades of red and lilac, interspersed with white, dotted around the garden beds, and the dark green, manicured lawn that seemed to frame the picture. So beautiful, yet her heart felt empty and hollow. Her mind was made up.
‘Immy, you want to speak?’ Muhammad approached with a broad, soft smile, and she poured him a cup of tea.
‘Yes, I need to talk… about something.’
His light-brown eyes settled on the cup in his steady hand, and he sat slowly. He sipped unhurriedly and placed the cup back on the tray. She set her empty cup next to his. Turning to face her, he spoke softly. ‘Whatever you have to say, it will all be fine you know.’
His compassionate tone did very little to stem the anxiety sitting just below her ribs and beginning to spill into her stomach. ‘I…’ she started.
He reached out, delicately taking her shaking hand with his warm touch. His large palms enveloped her with tenderness, comforting her, drawing her attention to him. ‘I understand,’ he said.
She nodded
, aware of the physical strength lying beneath the rough, calloused skin, squeezing lightly, providing the support she needed. The tears started to slip down her cheeks, and she didn’t sweep them away. ‘I’m sorry,’ she said.
He released her hand and pulled her into his arms. ‘Immy, you have nothing to be sorry for. Love does not know the boundaries we create through our insecurities, religious beliefs or dictated rules.’
He ruffled her hair, reminding her of when she was a child. He hadn’t done that in as many years as she could remember.
‘I worry about you, that’s all. I’ve always wanted you to think freely; maybe I’m to blame.’
‘No.’ Iman pulled back and held his eyes with her own. Studying him closely, she cupped his bearded cheeks. ‘No, you did nothing to create me this way. Mum did nothing. You cannot blame yourselves.’
He kissed the inside of the palm of her hand. ‘I hope so,’ he said.
The vulnerability in his tone didn’t escape her, and she pulled him into her arms, holding him tightly. Releasing him, tracking his eyes, ‘I want to go to Paris,’ she said.
His gaze lowered to their joined hands. ‘I don’t want that for you,’ he said. ‘I don’t want you to feel that you have to run away from your home and those you love to be who you are.’ Looking up at her, he failed to smile.
Iman’s heart shattered at the tears forming in his eyes. She had never seen him cry. She took in a deep breath. ‘I’m not running away,’ she said.
‘But you will be Immy, like the others before you.’
‘No. I’ve decided, I want to train to be a proper chef.’
He released her hands, placed his palms into his eyes and rubbed. The tears stopped, the lines that had been evident before receding. ‘Oh,’ he said, tilting his head back and forth. ‘I didn’t know…’
‘I didn’t know either until I thought about it,’ she said, with renewed enthusiasm. ‘I’ve been doing some research at the Embassy, and I’d like to train properly, in Paris. I’m a good cook, Dad.’
‘You are the best,’ he said, starting to smile. ‘Paris eh?’
‘Yes, or maybe London.’
He released the air from his lungs and studied the grounds around them.
‘We will all miss you,’ he said.
She lowered her gaze, rubbing her clammy hands together. I’ll miss you too. ‘I will come back regularly,’ she offered. She couldn’t admit to herself how much she would miss them all, and especially Ash, or she would never leave.
‘I’ll see what I can do,’ he offered. ‘We have friends; maybe we can help you find somewhere to work.’
Iman leapt into his arms, nearly throwing him off the seat. ‘Thank you, thank you, thank you,’ she said, squeezing him with all her strength.
‘Is there anyone special?’ he asked as they walked back to the house.
Iman stalled. Her voice was soft, tender. ‘Sort of.’ Her eyes dropped.
‘Ah…’
‘I… there was’ Iman struggled to speak. She couldn’t say what she didn’t want to believe.
‘Is she, Syrian?’ he asked tentatively.
Iman looked up, holding his concerned gaze. ‘No.’ She stared directly into his pain and couldn’t lie. ‘It’s Ash,’ she said, feeling the swell of hope in her heart, followed by the dark cloud of truth.
His eyes held firm, and his smile was genuine. ‘She’s a good engineer,’ he said, approvingly.
Iman nodded. ‘She’s with someone else,’ she said, her lashes darkening with the water forming on their surface.
‘Oh!’ He brushed the tears that were spilling onto her cheeks. ‘I’m sorry Immy.’
She smiled through the sniffles, kissed him on the cheek and tucked her arm around his back. ‘I’ll bake some ma’mul,’ she said.
He smiled, but his eyes remained distant. Patting his flat stomach, ‘You make great cookies Immy,’ he said. ‘But now you want to go and make them for the French,’ he teased, shaking his head and beginning to chuckle.
She laughed past the sadness that was trying to drown her.
‘Let’s go and talk with your mother,’ he said.
13.
‘You need a hand with the rig up?’ Craig asked with a wry smile, watching Ashley strain connecting the heavy metal pipes.
‘Fuck off,’ she said, standing, raising her middle finger, with a broad grin. Tarek was laughing. She pulled up from the sand, sweat dripping from her face. ‘Do something fucking useful and pass me that crossover,’ she said.
Craig pulled the metal linking joint out of the basket and handed it over.
Levering the threaded end to the pipe, she started turning. ‘Urrgghh, fucking thread’s knackered.’ She dropped it to the floor and kicked it. Craig dipped into the basket for another joint. ‘We already used the spare,’ she said.
‘Fuckin’ piece a shit,’ he said, picking up the broken joint and assessing the crushed thread. I’ll see if we can get it filed down, or another one sent out.’
‘Jeez it’s fucking hot,’ she moaned, shaking her head to avoid the sweat running into her eyes. She groaned with the physical exertion of standing. ‘Right, at least the choke manifold’s connected.’
Craig nodded, assessing the metal in his hand. ‘Tarek, get this piece a crap to the workshop ‘n’ see what we can do with it?
‘I’m on it.’
‘You okay?’ he asked, eyeing Ash suspiciously. She’d been on edge since heading out to the rig, and that was out of character.
She grimaced and squinted into the sun. ‘I’m fine.’ She fixed her eyes on his and forced a smile. ‘I’m starving,’ she said, fiddling with her safety hat.
‘Right y'all, let’s take a break.’ Craig waved across to Dan and Zack, fitting the piping for the oil line. Dan nodded and raised a thumb.
‘Thank fuck!’ Zack said, wiping across his brow. ‘It must be nearly forty-fucking-five degrees out here.’ Dan slapped him on the back, and they made their way to the canteen.
Ash removed her protective gear, stepped into the air-conditioned cabin, and stood under the cold flow of air. ‘Ahhh.’
Craig grabbed a glass of water and slumped into the chair, his eyes firmly fixed on the paperwork in his hand. ‘Should be rigged up by mornin’,’ he said. ‘Assumin’ we get that crossover fixed by lunchtime.’ He slapped the paperwork on the table, stood, and approached the food counter.
Ash had already stacked a plate of stew and a mug of coffee onto her tray and was heading for the table he had vacated. ‘Looks shit,’ she said, as he passed her and reached for a tray.
‘Uh huh,’ he said, with a smile that revealed his crooked teeth, loading his plate anyway.
Ash leaned back in her seat watching Zack and Dan as they scarfed their large plates of stew. They looked fresher than she felt. The strain of nearly two days rigging up was testing her muscles to the limit of their thirty-two years. She rubbed her lower back and moaned.
‘So, how is it?’ Craig asked, noting Ash’s half-empty plate.
‘As predicted,’ she said, picking at something stuck in her lower teeth. She gazed out the cabin window towards the tall metal structure reaching into the clear blue sky. An image of Iman’s beautiful smile and soft light-brown yet intense eyes interrupted her, and a wave of electric heat shot through her body, settling low in her gut.
‘Uh huh,’ Craig commented, shovelling the stew into his already full mouth, his grin widening.
Ash glared at him, but couldn’t stop the gleam in her eyes. She hadn’t spoken about Iman or Kate. She hadn’t wanted to talk about Kate, and he hadn’t asked about either of them.
‘How ‘r’ those sweets?’ he asked, his skin wrinkling at his eyes with the depth of the smile on his face. Ashley flushed. ‘Ya gonna share?’ he asked, directing his attention to his food and filling his mouth again.
‘No,’ she said. ‘I might trade some,’ she added.
‘I’m in,’ he said, and he was serious. The best he could get otherwise
would be a chocolate bar from the small shop run by the catering company, and that didn’t come close to the standard of Iman’s handmade sweets. ‘How’s Kate?’ he asked, his smile retracting.
Ashley crossed her arms over her chest and slouched into the hard plastic chair. A deep sigh released from her chest and her eyes scanned the ceiling, searching for the words she needed to say. She pulled herself up in the seat, placed her elbows on the table and rested her chin in her hands, rubbing her fingers across her eyes.
‘Thought that might be it.’
‘What?’
‘Ya‘s been distracted, ‘s all.’ He rubbed his hand across his mouth and sipped at his drink.
She sighed. ‘It’s complicated.’
‘She’s into ya, yer know. Big time.’
‘That’s not fucking helpful bud.’
‘I know. Just sayin’.’ He shrugged his shoulders and shovelled more food. ‘Ya…’ He was tilting his head and looking up at her through the top of his eyes. ‘Ya slept with her.’ It was a statement. He observed Ashley’s response.
Ashley raised her hand to cover her eyes and pressed her fingers to her temples. The conversation they had avoided since leaving for the rig was about to happen, and she didn’t much feel like contributing. ‘Yep,’ she said, through tight lips.
‘Yer in a mess o’ deep shit then,’ he stated. ‘Shoot! I thought us guys had the market cornered in that department, but you ladies are just as fucked, darlin’,’ he said, with a slight smirk.
‘Fuck off,’ she teased. ‘What the fuck am I going to do?’ she asked in a whisper, leaning across the table.
‘Y’all looked good together,’ he said, sipping his coffee. ‘I thought ya was reeal into her,’ he added. His eyes had withdrawn in thought.
Ashley shuddered. Looks could be so deceptive. ‘Right,’ she said. Kate’s face, contorted in ecstasy appearing in her mind’s eye, a surge of anxiety firing into her stomach. ‘It’s complicated,’ she repeated.