on the Kittiwake too. Still, anything I can tell him for
you&
I decided on formality. Maybe Aaron didn t want his
colleagues to know that his feckless, ungrateful gay lover
was running about seeking any last desperate chance to put
things right. Okay. Thank you. My name s Dr.
Dr. Barnes? I blinked at him. Before I could open my
mouth to say no, he set the heavy kit bag down. Ah right.
The new medical assistant. I get it. He was meant to meet
you and escort you out, I bet. Oh, that s typical Westie
great guy, the best, but if it s not about hydrogen fuel-cell
tech, it doesn t really register& Well, don t worry. I can
give you a ride. Is that all your kit? Did you have your stuff
sent out ahead?
I gave a kind of affirmative grunt. I heard it with
astonishment. What the fuck was I doing? My new friend
Dave Wycliffe, he told me over his shoulder, lugging his
bag off the floor once more and heading towards the lift
didn t give me a chance to insert another word edgeways,
and I rode in the slipstream of his chatter all the way down
to the ground floor and into the car park. When I was sitting
in the passenger seat next to him, I finally allowed myself to
realise my intentions. My blood ran hot and cold at the same
time. Christ& I d end up shot or tied up on the next boat for
G Bay&
82 / Life After Joe
Wycliffe was starting the engine. He glanced across at
me. You all right, son? Been out on the rigs before? I
shook my head, unable to trust my voice. You ll be fine.
It s the chopper ride you want to worry about. Fucking
horrible. He seemed to find this hilarious and roared with
laughter as he gunned the car out onto the road. I hope they
pay you lads triple time for the Santa shift, as well.
I had to say something. Is that why Aaron Mr.
West& Is that why he does it? For his family, like you? I
immediately flinched and regretted it. Calling him Mr. West
didn t make the question any less personal, any less likely to
come from a stranger. But Wycliffe didn t seem to find it
odd burst into laughter again. Family? Westie? Not very
likely, Doc. He leaned forward, squinting against
headlights, then eased into the traffic stream flowing south
to the High Level Bridge. Not your family man, so to
speak. I don t know what you d call it these days the
politically correct term. Confirmed bachelor, shall we say.
Nice enough lad, though. Don t know how he gets away
with it, with all us roughnecks out on the rig, but nobody
messes with him, anyway. What about you, Doc? Wife?
Kids?
I didn t have the strength to invent any. Mercifully,
before I had to explain the incurable nature of my own
bachelor status, he had pulled a photo off the dash and
started telling me about Mrs. Dave and his many offspring,
and after that I only had to listen.
The guard at the Baltic Road docks checkpoint was
unimpressed with my frantic search for Sunsol ID in the
pockets of my jacket and jeans. I didn t think I was doing
too badly, considering I knew I d never find it. Putting a
good deal of worried sincerity into the act. I m sorry to
keep you waiting. I&
ID and appointment note, the guard repeated for the
third time, his head stuck through the wound-down
Harper Fox / 83
passenger window. A sense of total unreality swept me.
Whatever I was playing at, this was the end of the game. I
opened my mouth to hurry it along. But Wycliffe leaned
suddenly in across my lap. Oh, come on, Finch, he said.
Don t be an arse. This is the new medical boy. Westie was
supposed to pick him up, and the dozy sod s forgot all about
him and gone off. Probably got his papers too.
I mimicked relieved surprise. Oh God. Yes. That ll be
where they are. I gave them to him the other day, and&
All right, all right. The guard gestured forward, clearly
bored of the exchange. Go ahead, Dave. Merry fucking
Christmas to you.
The car bumped over pitted tarmac. Around me, I began
to see vast industrial shapes emerging from the darkness. I
didn t know what to expect of an oil company s shore
terminal, but perhaps the Kittiwake s new AMO was
expected to be pretty green, and the good-natured Wycliffe,
having run out of family to describe, contented himself with
pointing out the various processing towers and storage units
along our route. My mind was floating somewhere up
among the arc lights that illuminated the whole bleak,
superscaled scene, but I found myself trying to retain some
of the names and functions. In case I need to make polite
conversation later on, I thought, a bit hysterically, and
decided I should add in some good manners at this point.
It s very good of you to bring me down here, Mr. Wycliffe.
I d have been stuck otherwise.
Dave, he corrected me, slowing up as we passed a flat
expanse of concrete behind wire fencing. No trouble at all.
They re lucky to get a decent medic out on that old tub.
Well, there she is your chariot for the night. AS332 Super
Puma, pretty reliable& He paused, face twisting oddly,
then shook his head. Most of the time. Looks like they re
warming her up. We d best get moving.
84 / Life After Joe
I followed Wycliffe through what felt like miles of neon
corridors and into a locker room, where he sized me up with
a glance and tossed me the kind of coveralls I recognised
from TV programmes as a survival suit. I dragged it on with
fingers almost too damp and numb to do the job and had to
stand, looking into the middle distance, while he pulled tight
for me its various straps. Any minute, I knew, I would either [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]