Offshore Read Free Page A

of frogs. Lonny, bless him, simply looked on,
bemused.
    Eddie
plastered on a smile of well meaning imbecility, hoping it might
dampen her ire a little, and apologised for the third time in as
many minutes.
    “ I’m very sorry Miss Ellis. As soon as I’ve changed I’ll be
on my way to get the generators fired up and the lights and heating
on. Okay?”
    She
returned the smile, without the warmth, turned on her heel and
marched into the lavatories, slamming the door behind her so hard
it rattled in its frame.
    Eddie’s shoulders slumped. Great. Just sodding great. Way to go,
Eddie.
    “ Touchy sort in’t she?” said Lonny Dick, shattering the
ensuing silence. “Are they all like that?”
    Eddie
looked up at the big man. “I’m afraid so, Lonny. I’m afraid
so.”
     
     
    Within
ten minutes they were all sitting around in their every day clothes
- hands thrust deep into pockets of jeans in various stages of
disrepair, necks pulled down protectively into sweatshirts, hoodies
and thick cable knit sweaters, like turtles retreating into their
shells, shoulders hunched, faces sour, breathing out their own
personal fog banks. Nobody had risked changing into their
work-a-day overalls, because stripping off even one layer of
clothing risked inviting frostbite.
    Lydia
Ellis still had on her beanie hat and the sourest expression of all
as she wiped at her startlingly scarlet nose with a crumpled
tissue. She had hit the nail squarely on the head with her
observation.
    It was
Baltic in there - flesh sprouted goosebumps, breath puffed out in
visible clouds and testicles retreated into abdomens, seeking
somewhere warm to hide before they turned blue and dropped
off.
    “ Right, let’s get this place properly warmed and lit,” said
Eddie, the tip of his own nose feeling decidedly icy, his fingers
displaying interesting shades of purple and orange despite a set of
woollen fingerless gloves making it difficult to zip up his sickly
yellow-green fluorescent jacket. “Mr Shaw, would you put on your
protective gear and come with me please?”
    Shaw
looked up from fiddling with his shoelaces. “Who me,
boss?”
    Eddie
nodded. “Aye. I’ve got a job for you.”
    Mister
Shaw’s chest puffed slightly at being selected for special
recognition, despite not knowing why. “Yes boss.”
    Eddie
reached into his bag again and extracted a plastic pack from which
he took several sheets of paper, on the front face of each were
sketched floor plans of the platform’s work areas and habitat; on
the rear, several paragraphs of close type.
    “ The rest of you stay here,” he said, handing the top sheet
to Reynolds. “We won’t be long, so here’s a little light reading to
keep you entertained while we’re away.”
    Reynolds
screwed up his face. “What’s this?”
    A sheet
went to Cameron. “Read it and see.”
    “ It’s too cold to read. What’s it say?”
    For God’s sake.
    And one
to McDougal. “In short, there’s a map to help you find your way
about, and some health and safety bumph, most important of which is
– there will be absolutely NO smoking anywhere on board, except in
the Smoke Shack. Is that clear?”
    An
order, not a question, one aimed directly at Reynolds, the one he
considered most likely to flout this particular edict for the sheer
hell of seeing if he could get away with it.
    “ Be warned, this rule in particular will be most rigourously
enforced,” he added. He passed around the rest of the sheets,
saving the last for Lydia Ellis. “Don’t wander off while we’re
away,” he said. “Ready to go, Mr Shaw?”
    “ Yes sir.”
    “ Got your gas monitor? There might be pockets of build up
the detectors haven’t picked up on.”
    From his
bag Shaw fished out a square silver coloured gadget with a digital
readout, and fiddled with it. It peeped like a drunken budgie and
he attached it to the breast pocket of his jacket. “Ready,
sir.”
    “ Yes sir, no sir, three bags full sir,” mimicked Reynolds in
a whiny