an instant of time I would happily have traded the rest of my life to recover.
A lock clicked down the corridor behind me, and despite knowing Aaron’s flat was empty, I spun round in stupid hope. A stocky man in his midfifties was lugging what looked like a huge navy kit bag out through his front door. He locked up behind him, shouldered the bag and set off towards me. As he drew near, he gave me a vague but friendly smile. “Evening. You all right? Looking for someone?”
No harm in trying. “Er, yes. Aaron, who lives a few doors down from you…I don’t suppose you know where he is?”
“Aaron West? Works for Sunsol Oil? Yeah, I ran into him on my way in. Said he was going out early for the Christmas shift.”
“On the…on the rig?”
“Yeah. Me too, worse luck.” He hefted the kit bag, grinning. “Mind, the pay’s spectacular. Triple time. Can’t turn that down, not with my brood. Can I give him a message for you?”
“Yes. Yes, please.” I thought fast. What the hell could I say? Just the news that he’d gone back to work instead of the house in the suburbs had lifted my heart, but then again, his work was two hundred miles away on a speck of metal in a dark, howling ocean. Maybe I was more unbearable even than I’d given myself credit for. “I keep trying his mobile, but…”
“Oh, he’ll be on the chopper by now. I’m going out by the second one. You’ll be lucky if he gets a signal once he’s 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…
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
A lock clicked down the corridor behind me, and despite knowing Aaron’s flat was empty, I spun round in stupid hope. A stocky man in his midfifties was lugging what looked like a huge navy kit bag out through his front door. He locked up behind him, shouldered the bag and set off towards me. As he drew near, he gave me a vague but friendly smile. “Evening. You all right? Looking for someone?”
No harm in trying. “Er, yes. Aaron, who lives a few doors down from you…I don’t suppose you know where he is?”
“Aaron West? Works for Sunsol Oil? Yeah, I ran into him on my way in. Said he was going out early for the Christmas shift.”
“On the…on the rig?”
“Yeah. Me too, worse luck.” He hefted the kit bag, grinning. “Mind, the pay’s spectacular. Triple time. Can’t turn that down, not with my brood. Can I give him a message for you?”
“Yes. Yes, please.” I thought fast. What the hell could I say? Just the news that he’d gone back to work instead of the house in the suburbs had lifted my heart, but then again, his work was two hundred miles away on a speck of metal in a dark, howling ocean. Maybe I was more unbearable even than I’d given myself credit for. “I keep trying his mobile, but…”
“Oh, he’ll be on the chopper by now. I’m going out by the second one. You’ll be lucky if he gets a signal once he’s 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…
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
Similar Books
