She quickened her step. There was one advantage to happy hour. While the guys were busy with their beer, the gym was usually empty and she wanted to make the most of the time. It was Ethel who had tipped her off about that. The rude camp receptionist was slowly changing her tune. Ever since she’d seen Lena’s efforts with her site uniform, as ineffective as they had been, she had started giving Lena some modicum of respect. In fact, every time Lena ran into her, she seemed to drop a new hint.
‘They’re making steak tonight so get to the mess early.’ Or ‘The washing machines in C block are brand new.’ Or ‘There’s mobile reception in the car park.’ These tips were always pronounced in a gruff voice as if torn from her against her will. She never waited for a reply, just kept walking as if she was worried someone would see them together. Lena regarded the gym membership as a lifesaver. Having nothing but work in her life had been taking its toll. The gym gave her some personal time that wasn’t spent confined to the four walls of her donga.
The equipment was old and the room was small but she had it all to herself. It was finally an environment where she had control. For the last three days she’d been there every night, working off the stress of her new-found responsibility.
The pride and bane of her life.
She wished she was ready for it.
Carl had been right. Lena was as green as a golf course – and getting greener by the minute. She had spent the last couple of days researching her position, going through files and reading correspondence. All she’d found out was how much she didn’t know. She had so many questions and no one to answer them.
Not that she wanted to be spoonfed. She knew the dangers of that better than anyone. But just a hint or two would be nice. Carl never had time for her. He was always too busy putting out fires. It was going to be a teach-yourself job and doubts assailed her.
Can I do this? Can I really do this?
How will I know if I’m doing it right? Do I have to wait till some piece of the jetty falls off to find out?
Sometimes the fear almost paralysed her; other times it kept her moving like day-old meat does a hyena. All she could do was keep trying – and hope and pray that she was making the right calls.
Another anxiety which constantly plagued her was stuffing up again in front of Dan Hullog. The client. Every time Lena thought about their first meeting, she cringed. Had she intended to give him a complete lack of confidence in her, she couldn’t have done a better job of it.
‘Don’t worry about it,’ Sharon had tried to reassure her. ‘He’s not worth impressing.’
But Sharon didn’t understand. Sharon didn’t know what was at stake. Sharon, as far as Lena was concerned, had the mentality of everyone else in Barnes Inc. It was like a religion with them, a fanatical belief that all the Barnes Inc personnel followed. The project was divided into two teams. Us and Them.
Dan Hullog was the leader of the foe, the nemesis of the Barnes Inc project. If Lena had any sense of loyalty to her people, she would hate him on principle.
There was no love lost between Barnes Inc and TCN, whose staff worked in a smaller set of office dongas on the other side of site near the start of the jetty. They watched Barnes Inc’s every move like white-bellied sea eagles.
‘Nitpicking bastards,’ Leg ruthlessly labelled the lot of them. ‘Don’t know a nut from a bolt and they want to tell us how to do our jobs.’
Sharon often delivered the mail between the two offices during her bus runs and was one of the few Barnes Inc personnel to have actually been behind enemy lines. ‘They’re a lot tidier than we are,’ she told Lena, as though it was proof that they were hiding something. ‘You wouldn’t think it was a site office with Bulldog’s floors so clean.’
That’s what Barnes Inc staff called Dan Hullog – Bulldog. Apparently, once he got it between his teeth, he didn’t let go – a perfectionist with impossible standards. Apparently, he had an overly critical eye and a penchant for finding the tiniest flaw in anything.
Like that was supposed to make Lena feel better.
She was surprised to learn that he lived in the camp. Carl chose to live in a proper house in Wickham, so Lena would never run into him on the way to the shower. She was grateful for that. It was good to have a bit of distance from her boss after knock-off and at least Carl had the common decency to give it to his staff.
Not Bulldog.
He lived right in among Carl’s staff and his own. The Barnes Inc boys said it was to keep his nose to the ground – sniff out any insurrection or laziness. He wanted them on their toes day and night.
‘Does his laundry every Monday at six-thirty pm in laundry donga seven,’ Radar tipped her off one day. ‘All the guys know it’s the place to avoid at that time, if you know what I mean.’
Despite the instructions on how to evade him, Lena saw Dan at breakfast the day after their run-in on the wharf and then at dinner that night. He didn’t acknowledge her and she made sure to ignore him, but it didn’t stop her knowing more about him than she cared to. At camp, titbits about the personal life of Dan and his staff were not only available, they were sought after. Gossip was the most common form of entertainment. After all, there wasn’t anything else to do. People couldn’t go down to the local cinema and catch a movie. Project workers got their soap operas and dramas at work.
Word on the street was that Bulldog had a secret.
It made Lena roll her eyes. A secret? What did that mean and why was it a crime?
Hell, she couldn’t point fingers. If Barnes Inc knew her history, she’d be fired on the spot: no notice, no questions asked. So how could she judge a man who kept his cards close to his chest? She couldn’t. That being said, it didn’t stop her from being curious with the rest of them or speculating at his expense. She listened in when his name came up at the dinner table and followed the stories about his eccentric behaviour with an interest that she couldn’t resist.
Generally, if she didn’t see Sharon, Lena would sit with Radar and Leg for dinner. They were the only two guys who had taken an interest in her that wasn’t sexual and even then she couldn’t be certain. Leg was an outrageous flirt. However, she found out over the course of several dinners that he was married with a five-month-old daughter. So it seemed unlikely that he was really in the market.
‘Don’t you find that hard?’ she asked one time. ‘That you only see your family ten weeks of the year?’
But he’d just grinned. ‘Makes them appreciate me more, doesn’t it?’
Leg was right about Radar. The man always had something to report back at the end of the day. Sometimes it was about one of the riggers or a barge boy, but more often than not, it was about Bulldog.
‘Heard he’s not taking his R and R,’ he told them towards the end of the week.
‘Not taking his R and R,’ Sharon scoffed. ‘The man will go nuts.’
Lena nodded. ‘The only thing that’s keeping me going is the light at the end of the tunnel. If I didn’t know there was a week off after five, I’d go mad.’
‘So would most guys,’ Radar agreed. ‘Bulldog’s a workaholic, or maybe there’s nothing at home to go back to.’
‘Hasn’t he got a family?’ Lena enquired, unable to picture them even as she asked it. A wife and kids, brothers and sisters, Christmas at home and Mother’s shepherd’s pie just didn’t seem to fit with Bulldog’s hard-nosed persona.
Radar lowered his voice as though imparting something he normally wouldn’t give away. ‘He ain’t married. But I think there’s a woman in his life.’
Despite herself, Lena’s curiosity jack-knifed. ‘He’s dating someone?’
Radar shrugged. ‘Maybe. He’s always on the phone to someone back in Perth or at least that’s what my sources tell me.’
Sharon rolled her eyes. ‘Geez, can you imagine it? Dating him, I mean. “I’ll pick
you up at eight, dinner’s at nine, sex is at ten. I will review everything in the morning and get back to you about the possibility of a repeat.”’
Leg sniggered. ‘“But if you’re successful, you’ll get a list of improvement requirements with the go-ahead.”’
Radar laughed. ‘Ain’t that the truth.’
‘Speaking of having a personal life,’ Lena said. ‘What are you guys doing Sunday?’
Every two weeks Barnes Inc had a Sunday off. Lena’s first experience of this was in three days and she was counting the minutes.
Leg and Radar shrugged. ‘Nothing.’
‘Come on, guys.’ She scanned their faces for a hint of enthusiasm. ‘What do people do here for fun?’
‘Fun?’ Sharon joked. ‘What’s that?’
Lena persisted. ‘Seriously. Don’t you guys have plans?’
‘What do you think this is?’ Leg said. ‘New York City?’
‘I have a plan,’ Radar said. ‘Pick me up a carton, a few girlie mags and the newspaper, then sit in the shade under the gum behind the mess for a few hours.’
‘More drinking.’ Lena frowned. ‘Aren’t you an alcoholic by now?’
Radar grunted with greater satisfaction than contrition. ‘I’m working on it.’
Lena closed her eyes, conjuring her perfect day off – a half-price sale at Georgette’s, followed by a Caesar salad and a skim latte at Dome with Robyn. But she had to work with what she had. Opening her eyes, she looked at Sharon. ‘What do you normally do?’
Sharon shrugged. ‘Read . . . sleep.’
‘You’ve got to be kidding me.’ Lena sat back in her plastic dining chair, arms folded across her chest. Her stubborn streak was digging in its heels again. ‘I refuse to stay in this camp. I’ve got to get out of here. Come on, guys,’ she protested. ‘There’s got to be something we can do to get us away from these bloody dongas. What do the locals get up to?’
‘Well,’ Radar said slowly, ‘there’s always fishing. Pilbara’s bloody ripe for it.’
‘Hmmm.’ Lena thought it over. Fishing was only a slight step up from drinking. Generally she wasn’t into playing with her food besides being strictly a deadatarian. As in, she only ate stuff that was already dead the first time she saw it. The thought of pulling a slimy wriggling fish from a hook and chopping its head off so that she could cook it gave her the heebie-jeebies.
‘Anything else?’ She scanned Radar’s face with faint hope.
‘Nup, that’s it.’
Lena sighed and glanced at Sharon.
‘Hey, I’m willing if you can muster up a vehicle.’
She had no choice. It was this or nothing. ‘Fine.’ Lena blew at her fringe. ‘Let’s go fishing.’
The safety induction Carl had booked for Lena took most of the following day and bored her senseless. She was further disappointed by the fact that it took place in a small community hall in Wickham instead of in the client’s site office – she’d hoped for a chance to check out the forbidden building. The unnatural need made her realise that the Pilbara was starting to get to her. Even so, her brain had not yet hit madness, like Gavin’s. His return to the office coincided with hers.
She saw him jump off the bus from the wharf, his face red with sweat and annoyance.
‘You’ll never believe what they’ve done now.’
‘Who?’
‘Who do you think?’
The client. ‘What have they done?’
‘They’ve erected a bloody flag on their front donga.’
‘A flag?’
‘Big blue thing with their emblem on it.’ Gavin wiped the sweat off his brow. ‘It’s giving my men the shits.’
She laughed. ‘It’s just a flag.’
‘It’s a bloody offence is what it is,’ Gavin said. ‘The boys reckon we should wait till nightfall, steal it and erect a Barnes Inc one in its place.’
Lena raised her eyebrows. ‘You’re kidding, right?’
He was silent.
‘Gavin,’ she began slowly. ‘You can’t do that.’
He hesitated. ‘You’re right. It’s not enough. We need a bigger flag if we’re going to make a statement.’
‘You’re not serious.’
‘I’ll need a 200 CHS for the pole at the very least.’ Gavin was already striding past her. ‘I’ll go see Tony.’ Tony was one of the yard foremen. He was in charge of all the fabricated steel that arrived on site, storing it and distributing it to the correct area of the job.
Lena watched Gavin head for the donga that housed Tony’s office and could tell he had already forgotten her presence. Shaking her head, she entered the main donga in search of Carl. She had to ask him about getting a ute for Sunday among a score of other things.
‘Good afternoon, Carl.’
He looked up from his computer screen as she walked into his office. ‘Since when?’
Lena smiled. ‘Bad day?’
‘The fuckin’ worst. How was your induction?’
‘Boring.’
Carl shrugged. ‘Bulldog likes ’em very thorough. What can I do for you?’
‘I’ve done my research. I just want to know where we’re at in terms of progress and how I take it from here.’
‘Best to talk to Mike about that.’
Lena’s heart sank. ‘Mike Hopkins?’
‘He’s in charge of the skid frame. He’ll be your site supervisor.’
Lena’s heart plummeted even further.
It couldn’t have been more unwelcome news. The first image that popped into her head was Mike’s contemptuous smirk as he handled her luggage at the airport.
The last thing she wanted was a subordinate who had zero faith in her. She needed an ally. Someone who was willing to work with her and respect her suggestions. Mike Hopkins wasn’t going to do that. If anything, he was going to make things as difficult for her as he could.
‘Listen, Carl,’ Lena began, but the phone rang and he picked it up instead.
‘What? Fuck! No! Who told you to let fuckin’ Eric drive the crane? You know he’s fuckin’ incompetent. Me? Get fucked. I didn’t tell you shit!’
He shook his head at Lena, waving his hand in dismissal. It was clear her questions weren’t a priority. She bit her lip and exited his office. The only thing left to do was meet trouble head on.
She looked at her watch. There was one last bus run for the day. Just enough time to get out to the skid and talk to Mike. Who knew? He might be reasonable.
So she donned her hard hat, safety glasses and reflector vest and caught the bus out to the wharf to find him. The skid frame was about five hundred metres down the jetty. Lena got a glimpse of it as soon as the bus left the land. It was a giant steel table-like structure that straddled the existing conveyor belt. She could see the men working on top of it while the conveyor operated normally beneath. They had a little five-tonne crane bolted to the deck and were lifting a beam over the side to attach to the main girders below the jetty deck. This was one of many that would be used in the first step towards broadening the wharf.
She wasn’t sure why they called it a skid frame until she got close enough to see that the legs of the table were attached to long steel beams that could act like skis. ‘Oh I see.’ She nodded. ‘It skids along.’
‘Yeah,’ said Sharon. ‘It’s pulled by winch along the deck.’
Sharon dropped her off at the base with a smile and a wave. Lena straightened her hard hat, pulled her vest into place and walked over to the ladder on the side of the skid. Seconds later, she was standing on the checker plate.
‘Here’s trouble.’ A rat-faced little man tipped his hat at her.
‘Hi,’ she greeted him.
‘Mike,’ he called out over his shoulder. ‘Seems we have an engineer on board: a mada
me engineer.’
Mike turned around and squinted at Lena. He made a noise between a snort and a grunt and then returned his gaze to the ocean.
‘Lena!’
She saw a head pop up over the other side of the skid. ‘Radar.’ Lena smiled. ‘You never told me you got transferred to the skid team.’
He shot a mischievous glance in Mike’s direction. ‘And spoil the surprise? Not on your life.’ He hauled himself up onto the skid.
‘Word about town,’ he told her rat-faced companion, ‘is that Lena here is our new leader.’ Again he glanced over his shoulder with a grin. ‘Mike’s new boss. Isn’t that right, Mike?’
Lena ground her teeth. Trust Radar to stick his spoon in the pot first. She glared at him, mouthing, ‘Cut it out,’ as Mike continued his silent vigil.
Mike didn’t turn around so she joined him by the hand-railing at the edge of the skid.
‘Mike,’ she began, ‘has Carl spoken to you about my new appointment as the engineer for the skid? I just thought we should touch base and –’
‘There’s nothing to talk about,’ Mike said roughly, without looking at her. ‘As you can see, I have everything under control here.’
‘I don’t think Carl would have appointed me if he felt there was nothing for me to do,’ Lena said firmly, suppressing her anger as it attempted to flare. The trick was to stay calm. Calm and rational.
‘Maybe he just wanted to get you out of his hair for a while by palming you off on me.’
She gaped at him. ‘You’ve got some attitude, Mike. And what I can’t figure out is what I’ve done to deserve it.’
‘Do you know how many years I’ve been in this industry?’
‘Er . . . I don’t know.’ Lena winced. ‘Ten?’
‘Fifteen,’ he snapped. ‘The very last thing I need is you.’
He looked away. Clearly, her sex wasn’t his only problem. How was she supposed to get the experience she needed if she got this at every turn?
‘Listen, Mike,’ Lena began, but he wouldn’t look at her. ‘Mike,’ she tried again in vain.
The Girl in Steel-Capped Boots Page 5