starters,’ Sharon pointed out, ‘you were all wet when you got back.’ Her eyes narrowed. ‘Did you go skinny-dipping?’
‘ No .’ Lena’s fork clattered to her plate.
‘Then what?’
With a groan of resignation, Lena confessed everything and Sharon whistled low and soft. ‘What colour underwear?’
‘That’s your first question?’ Lena’s jaw dropped in disbelief.
‘Come on.’ Sharon wiggled in her chair. ‘Just tell me what colour?’
‘Red.’
She let out a whoop and hit Lena on the shoulder. ‘You naughty girl.’
‘Keep your voice down.’ Lena glanced around as several heads bobbed up.
Sharon giggled. ‘I’m sorry but, honey, what were you thinking?’
‘Clearly, I wasn’t,’ Lena retorted grouchily, knowing that she wasn’t going to sleep very well that night.
And she didn’t – waking every couple of hours with bad dreams involving being fired in her underwear. Red underwear. Maybe it wasn’t her lucky colour any more. In any event she wasn’t in the least bit refreshed the next morning. Sunday’s holiday spirit was by now a distant memory. As soon as she walked into the site office at six am she felt the stress of the day ahead settle firmly on her shoulders.
Today is the day I will be fired.
But seven am came and went. Eight am followed uneventfully.
Carl did not storm into her cubicle demanding why she had stolen the TCN flag. He was too busy welcoming the new deck engineer, called Lance. Apparently, the two were old friends and the second he arrived Carl took him off to show him the wharf.
Sharon had met Lance on his way in and was singularly unimpressed. ‘He’s fishy,’ she reported to Lena at the first opportunity.
‘As in suspicious?’
‘No.’ She shook her head. ‘As in fishy. The first thing he asked me when I picked him up from the airport this morning was, “So where do you dip your rod for a bite?”’
Lena grinned. ‘What did you say?’
Sharon shrugged. ‘I told him the truth. I don’t. At which point I think I sank very low in his estimation.’
Lena absorbed the information, but didn’t spend too much time worrying about it. After all, she wasn’t going to have much to do with Lance. Gavin would have to interact with him more because the deck went on top of his piles.
In any case, the possibility she might not have this job for much longer and the question of how she was going to get a new one were more pressing concerns. Which engineering firm would ignore the black marks Bulldog was going to apply to her name?
Lena Todd.
Structural Engineer.
Notorious stealer of client flags.
Inappropriate displayer of red underwear.
Incredibly slow installer of headstocks.
By the time nine am came around, Lena was so highly strung that she jumped a mile when Gavin stuck his head over her computer and said, ‘Any word about the flag?’
Lena pressed a hand to her chest. ‘You scared me.’
‘Sorry I –’
He broke off as they both heard heavy footsteps behind him.
‘Which one of you pissed the shit through Bulldog?’ Carl demanded.
Gavin and Lena looked at each other. This was it.
Gavin spoke first. ‘Er . . . Why do you ask, Carl?’
‘Bloody dickhead’s suddenly full of orders, crapping on like an arsehole after fuckin’ chilli con carne.’
Lena’s eyes smarted at this analogy and her speechless state continued. Fortunately, Gavin wasn’t so incapacitated. ‘What’s it about this time?’
‘Well, for starters he’s cracking down on fuckin’ PPE. Reckons we’re too complacent.’ Carl grunted indignantly. ‘Like fuck.’
Gavin and Lena looked at each other again. PPE was Protective Personnel Equipment. It was the stuff they were supposed to wear on site – hard hats, reflector vests, steel-capped boots and safety glasses. It had nothing to do with Bulldog’s flag. Could it be that he wasn’t going to raise it? No pun intended.
‘Okay,’ Carl demanded. ‘What have you two fucked up?’
‘Nothing,’ Lena
‘ No .’ Lena’s fork clattered to her plate.
‘Then what?’
With a groan of resignation, Lena confessed everything and Sharon whistled low and soft. ‘What colour underwear?’
‘That’s your first question?’ Lena’s jaw dropped in disbelief.
‘Come on.’ Sharon wiggled in her chair. ‘Just tell me what colour?’
‘Red.’
She let out a whoop and hit Lena on the shoulder. ‘You naughty girl.’
‘Keep your voice down.’ Lena glanced around as several heads bobbed up.
Sharon giggled. ‘I’m sorry but, honey, what were you thinking?’
‘Clearly, I wasn’t,’ Lena retorted grouchily, knowing that she wasn’t going to sleep very well that night.
And she didn’t – waking every couple of hours with bad dreams involving being fired in her underwear. Red underwear. Maybe it wasn’t her lucky colour any more. In any event she wasn’t in the least bit refreshed the next morning. Sunday’s holiday spirit was by now a distant memory. As soon as she walked into the site office at six am she felt the stress of the day ahead settle firmly on her shoulders.
Today is the day I will be fired.
But seven am came and went. Eight am followed uneventfully.
Carl did not storm into her cubicle demanding why she had stolen the TCN flag. He was too busy welcoming the new deck engineer, called Lance. Apparently, the two were old friends and the second he arrived Carl took him off to show him the wharf.
Sharon had met Lance on his way in and was singularly unimpressed. ‘He’s fishy,’ she reported to Lena at the first opportunity.
‘As in suspicious?’
‘No.’ She shook her head. ‘As in fishy. The first thing he asked me when I picked him up from the airport this morning was, “So where do you dip your rod for a bite?”’
Lena grinned. ‘What did you say?’
Sharon shrugged. ‘I told him the truth. I don’t. At which point I think I sank very low in his estimation.’
Lena absorbed the information, but didn’t spend too much time worrying about it. After all, she wasn’t going to have much to do with Lance. Gavin would have to interact with him more because the deck went on top of his piles.
In any case, the possibility she might not have this job for much longer and the question of how she was going to get a new one were more pressing concerns. Which engineering firm would ignore the black marks Bulldog was going to apply to her name?
Lena Todd.
Structural Engineer.
Notorious stealer of client flags.
Inappropriate displayer of red underwear.
Incredibly slow installer of headstocks.
By the time nine am came around, Lena was so highly strung that she jumped a mile when Gavin stuck his head over her computer and said, ‘Any word about the flag?’
Lena pressed a hand to her chest. ‘You scared me.’
‘Sorry I –’
He broke off as they both heard heavy footsteps behind him.
‘Which one of you pissed the shit through Bulldog?’ Carl demanded.
Gavin and Lena looked at each other. This was it.
Gavin spoke first. ‘Er . . . Why do you ask, Carl?’
‘Bloody dickhead’s suddenly full of orders, crapping on like an arsehole after fuckin’ chilli con carne.’
Lena’s eyes smarted at this analogy and her speechless state continued. Fortunately, Gavin wasn’t so incapacitated. ‘What’s it about this time?’
‘Well, for starters he’s cracking down on fuckin’ PPE. Reckons we’re too complacent.’ Carl grunted indignantly. ‘Like fuck.’
Gavin and Lena looked at each other again. PPE was Protective Personnel Equipment. It was the stuff they were supposed to wear on site – hard hats, reflector vests, steel-capped boots and safety glasses. It had nothing to do with Bulldog’s flag. Could it be that he wasn’t going to raise it? No pun intended.
‘Okay,’ Carl demanded. ‘What have you two fucked up?’
‘Nothing,’ Lena
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