Scarred by You Page 8

“I’ve got the car.”

  “What, and suddenly my spare room isn’t good enough for you?” Yvette scolds as she closes the door behind me.

  I hold my hands up. “I’ve been slapped by enough women today. I’ll take a beer.”

  I settle back into the sofa, legs spread, one arm hanging over the back, and I drop my head against the cushions behind me. “God, I love it here.”

  “Home from home?” Yvette asks as she sits down in a striped chair and swings her legs beneath her, turning the volume down on the flat-screen TV.

  “That, and far less hostile than every other place I’ve been this week.”

  Teddy hands me a cold bottle of Bud. “No one wanting to beat the shit out of you?” he asks.

  “And no one telling me I’ve destroyed the family name or broken their heart. No one verbally smacking me in the face because I defended her. No shale moguls smiling to my face while secretly wanting to outbid Layton Oil.”

  Teddy slumps down onto the sofa perpendicular to mine, his own beer in hand. “I don’t mean to belittle your shit, Clark, but they sound like first-world problems to me.”

  “Aaaaand you brought them largely on yourself,” Yvette adds.

  I look at them both, mull over those statements, then laugh through a swig of beer. “Christ, you’re right. I’m a fucking mess,” I confess.

  “I hate to tell you, but that’s not news to us,” Yvette says, jesting, I think. “I take it the broken heart refers to Constance. Have you seen her?”

  “Today. She’s… God, I didn’t mean to hurt her.”

  “It was inevitable, Clark. Better hurt her as your fiancée than your wife,” Teddy says.

  “That’s what I thought. Now I’m wondering whether I should have just kept up the façade to the grave.”

  “What about the other one? Did you see her on Thursday?” he asks.

  Yvette arches a brow in my direction. “Other one?”

  “Not like that.” Ted jumps to my defence.

  “I don’t get it,” she says.

  I let my head fall back again so I’m staring at the beige lampshade hanging from the ceiling. “He’s talking about Dayna.”

  “Dayna? Our Dayna? Why would… that’s the reason you broke it off?”

  I close my eyes and lift my empty bottle. “Do you have any more of these?”

  “Help yourself,” Teddy says, giving me a justification for leaving the room. When I return with two open bottles of Bud, Yvette and Teddy are having a whispered debate. “Everything okay?”

  “Fine,” Teddy says hastily — too hastily. “I was just thinking you could do with getting away from here for a while.”

  I feel my brow crease. That came out of nowhere. And it doesn’t explain the heated discussion. “I can’t. I’ve got that tender due in tomorrow, and the top three bids that go through to the next round are announced on Friday. As much as I’d love to get away, I’ve got too much to take care of here.”

  “Well… we’re actually going away next weekend. Friday to Monday, that’s all. The bid would be in, and you’d have Wi-Fi to check if you’re through to the next round. We were thinking you could come with us? There’s a group of us going.”

  So that’s what the discussion was about. “I’m good. I don’t want to step on any toes,” I tell them.

  “You’re not stepping on our toes, Clark,” Yvette says, although I sense some reservation in her tone. “It would be nice for us if you came.”

  “Where are you going?”

  “Skiing. Verbier. There’re seven of us. Why don’t you bring Spencer?” Teddy says.

  I nod. “I’ll ask.” I like a good challenge on a black slope, and not many people give me a serious run for my money, but Spencer definitely can. “Have you got a place to stay?”

  “Ahh, not yet. One of the others is sorting it today.”

  I sit back into the sofa cushions. “I’ll see if my family’s chalet is free. There’s no point paying if our place is available.”

  Teddy leans in to clink his bottle against mine. “Nice one.”

  ARTHUR STANDS BY my office window, hands in his pockets, and I sit in my desk chair, facing him.

  “So you don’t think we have a chance of ranking in the top three?” I ask.

  “I didn’t say that. I said your bid is too low to win, in my opinion. These are big players with a lot of money, Dayna, and they’re ruthless. They won’t be budgeting as much for emergency and preparedness planning as you have. They take the risk that in the event of a disaster they’ll get off the hook or have enough insurance to cover it. If they don’t, the hit won’t kill the company.”

  “Like it did SP.”

  He looks at me, his grey hair thinner than I’ve noticed before and darkness beneath his eyes. “You are the only reason SP still exists. You’ve rebuilt this company with integrity.”

  “But?”

  “This industry is founded on deceit and corruption, not integrity. They’ll stop at nothing to get what they want. You know that.”

  “If I win the well, fair and square, they’ll have to live with it. More than that, they’ll have to accept that SP is back.”

  He smiles, but it only turns one side of his mouth. “Let’s see, kidda.” He presses his palm to my shoulder before leaving the office. He doesn’t believe I can do this. That, or he doesn’t want me to. I know this industry is black, but I’m here, with my family’s name to defend, and I’m damn sure I’m going to do that. SP won’t be seen as the weakest link any longer, and getting this well is the first step towards change.

  I resume looking over the CVs of candidates for the new Head of Trading post and pull up my calendar to give Rachel potential dates for interviews.

  “Ah, Rach, why is my calendar showing that I’m out of the office Friday and Monday?”

  She appears at the door. “Because you’re not in the office Friday or Monday.”

  “And why is that?”

  “I told you on Saturday. I’ve arranged a birthday surprise for you.” She flashes me a coy look and ruffles her hair.

  “I thought you just said that to get my mother off my back?” At first, I giggle, unable to contain my excitement. No one ever surprises me. “What are we doing?” Then reality dawns on me. “I can’t just take two days out of the office last minute.”

  She walks into the room and plants herself on the arm of my sofa. “To your first question…” She taps her index finger against the side of her nose, which makes me laugh again. “To your non-point, we’ll have Wi-Fi, and you don’t have any meetings scheduled.”

  “The tender bid results are due back on Friday. And I’m at the crude conference in Dubai on Monday, I’ll need to—”

  “Relax. You can pick up the results on your phone or laptop, it won’t change where SP ranks, and I’ve booked your return flight straight to Dubai on Monday morning.”

  I take a moment to absorb that. Okay, she’s thought of everything. I know she’ll have it all covered. And I’m taking a break! Mentally, I do an excited jig. “Soooo we’re flying somewhere?”

  She shrugs and stands on her skyscraper heels to leave the room. “Oh, you should probably pack your ski gear. And be ready to go to Heathrow at five on Friday morning.”

  As she closes the door behind her, I allow my feet a short, giddy dance under my desk before I get back to work. At twelve thirty, I see Rachel has turned on my automatic email replies, and I pack up my things.

  “Rach, I’m heading off now. I’ll be back online after three-ish, but I’ll be working from home.”

  “Say hi from me,” she says with a gentle smile that forms a lump in my throat. I nod.

  Duncan is waiting outside the main entrance.

  “I’ve picked up the bouquet for you, Dayna; it’s in the back.”

  “Thank you.” I dip into the Mercedes and sit next to the large arrangement of white flowers, boxed with water and covered in cellophane to protect the petals from the harshness of the late-November weather. “T
hey’re beautiful,” I say to no one in particular, inhaling the scent of a lily.

  I take a small bottle of brandy from my handbag and hold it, with the flowers, on my lap until we reach the cemetery.

  “Take as long as you need. I’ll be here,” Duncan tells me as he helps me out of the car.

  I walk the long tarmac path of the cemetery. My father’s headstone rests next to my grandfather and grandmother’s. The two plots sit beneath a large willow tree, now leafless under the grey sky.

  I set down the flower box and brush fallen autumn leaves from my grandparents’ grave then lay a plastic carrier bag on the grass in front of my father’s stone and sweep the foliage from him too.

  I press two fingers to my lips then against the words Beloved Father. “Hi Dad,” I whisper. “I brought you this.” I nestle the miniature brandy between the flowers and the engraved black marble. “It’s a small one. I don’t want you getting into trouble on your cloud.”

  I kneel onto the carrier and rest back on my heels. “Four years, six months ago to the day. Can you believe it? I still remember it like it was yesterday. Everything. The sights, the sounds, even the smell. Sometimes I think I can taste the stench of methane and burning flesh. I can hear the whirring of the chopper coming in to land…”

  I hold my hands over my ears as I run off the helipad, further onto the rig, Little Princess. I keep my hands in that position until the chopper has risen back into the clear blue sky and left us out at sea, the rippling Persian Gulf twinkling like aquamarine.

  “My girl.”

  I turn into my father’s arms. “Roger.”

  “Would you please call me Dad?”

  “Not at work.” I ruffle his mass of messy grey hair as he drapes an arm across my shoulder and leads me up to the captain’s balcony, where we look down over the rig, finally in full operation.

  I watch the movement of parts in the rig’s derrick. The men working down there are hot and sweaty as they play their roles in the extraction process.

  “Are those shoes really the most appropriate you could find for the rig?” My dad asks, offering me a chilled bottle of sparkling water.

  “They put me on the same level as every man on here, so they might not be appropriate, but they are necessary if you want those guys to take me seriously.”

  We lean on the balcony rail. “Actually, that’s why I got you out here. I want you to see your new position, if you’ll accept it.”

  I look at him. His eyes are alive, excited. “I don’t get it.”

  “I want you to take control of SP someday, and you need to understand how everything works. Not just the office stuff; you’re already an ace at that. I want you to see the operations, get involved in managing extraction, refining, blending.”

  My eyebrows rise as I connect the dots. “You want me to take control of the rig? Take control of Little Princess?”

  He nods. “She is named after you. But only if you want to. I recognise it would be quite a challenge, and you’d have to spend a lot more time out here. Not full time, but a week or more a month, I think.”

  I look out across the complex operation in front of me. “Dad, I can’t do this.”

  He rocks sideways, nudging his shoulder into mine. “Is it because of him? The Layton kid?”

  “Clark?” I scoff. “No. Actually, we’re over.”

  He shifts his weight onto one arm and twists his body to face me. “I honestly thought I’d lost my girl to that one. I’m not sorry I haven’t. Why did you end it?”

  I look out to the horizon and blink against the stinging in my eyes. “I didn’t. He did.”

  Dad shakes his head and wraps an arm around my shoulder. “Then he’s as crazy as his goddamned old man.” He drops his temple to mine. “You’re too good for a Layton anyhow.”

  “Thanks, Dad,” I tell him through a forced smile.

  “So, you’ll take the job?”

  “I just don’t know that I’m ready for it.”

  “We all have to start somewhere, Princess.”

  I nod, unsure whether I’m agreeing to the position or the sentiment.

  After an introductory afternoon and a roughneck dinner of pie and mash, I wash up and head to my bed for the night. Bed is a single metal frame in a room I imagine is no bigger than a prison cell, with my own sink and small wooden dresser.

  I wish I could sleep, but I can’t stop thinking about yesterday. Being left in my bed, alone, after I told the only man I’ve ever loved how I feel about him. I’m staring at the ceiling when the ground rumbles beneath me and rocks the bed. I reach out on instinct, gripping the bedframe.

  A low growl is followed by another shudder. I hear male voices shouting in the corridor, then running feet. I quickly switch my pyjamas for skinny jeans and a shirt and head into the corridor, falling into the stampede of men in overalls.

  “What’s happening?” I ask my dad when I’m on the balcony we stood on just hours earlier.

  “Shut her down!” he’s yelling. “Shut her the fuck down, now!”

  “The pressure settings in the valves are fucked,” Arthur says as he hurries out to the balcony.

  “I can’t shut her down, Roger, the pipes are gonna burst!” a voice hollers out from the control room.

  “Dad, what can I do? Tell me what to do!”

  “Sound the alarms, start to get everyone o—”

  He’s cut short by a blow so loud it rings in my eardrums and knocks me to the floor. I scramble on my hands and knees to the control room and sound the emergency alarm as another thunderous roar rocks the rig.

  Oil sprays from the top of the derrick, and metal parts fly from the highest point of the structure.

  “Lower the life rafts and send a distress signal!” My dad yells above the sound of the alarm. “Everybody off the rig! Everybody off!”

  “Dad, let’s go!”

  He grabs me by the tops of my arms. “Get yourself to a raft, Dayna. I need to see everyone off. Go!”

  “No. Come with me. I won’t leave you.” As I’m looking into his eyes, I start to sniff—the putrid scent of methane. “Do you smell that?”

  “Get off the rig! Get off the rig! Arthur, take her. The whole thing could blow!”

  Arthur grabs me, pulling me away from my father, but I tussle, fighting back until a force lifts me off my feet. It’s an invisible power so strong it throws me yards back from Arthur’s hold. My head cracks against the steel ground and my ears ring again. My vision is blurred as I crawl to my knees, but not so blurred that I’m blind to the colours of burning orange and flame red.

  “Dad!”

  He too crawls to his knees. “Go, Dayna, go now! I’ll be right behind you.”

  I pray that’s the truth as I make my way down the steps to the rig floor. Dozens of people are jumping onto almost lowered rafts. I go to one and brace myself to jump, but I hear a scream. “Please! Help me!”

  Julie, one of only two females working the rig, stands on the lip of Little Princess, crippled by fear. Fire blazes close to her, but there’s a path if she moves now. I glance at the boat and leave it, running to her end of the rig, thirty feet or so from the rafts. “Julie, come through, you can do it. Come on!”

  “I… I can’t…”

  “You have to, Julie. Run.”

  “I can’t!”

  There’s a bellowing blast, and a large ball of flame rolls across the rig towards us. “Julie!” I scream as I run through the closing gap and pull her shoulders, taking us both crashing into the Gulf.

  I lose hold of her hand. I can’t see a thing as I kick up helplessly, finally breaking the surface with a desperate breath, coated in the greasy sheen of fuel.

  “Julie, I’m here, I’m here.” I reach out to her. “Can you swim?”

  She nods, oil streaking her face.

  “We have to get to the boats.”

  She whimpers until we’re hauled onto a raft. Finally, seated, I take long, shuddering breaths. “Have you seen my father? Has anyone s
een Roger?” I ask frantically to no response.

  I hold a hand across my eyes as if it might shield them from the heat of the blaze and look up to Little Princess. I see him, approaching the edge with Arthur. He can jump from there. But as my heart begins to calm, another raucous explosion rips across the rig and knocks them both back to the ground.

  “Dad!” I scream. I shift to leave the raft, but strong arms pull me back.

  Dad’s hands curl over the rim, then he pulls up to his feet. I cry out with happiness. He looks around, panicked, and I realise Arthur isn’t there. Another, smaller bang makes him start and put his hands over his ears. I will him to come, but I know he’ll go back.

  A wail cuts through the frenzy of shouts and the blazing rig. I realise it came from me. I tug against the arms holding me, to no avail. Then I wait. And wait.

  “Please, Dad. Please.”

  I fall to my knees, finally released from the binding hold.

  “He’s there! He’s there!” I hear.

  And he is there. My father holds Arthur’s floppy body across his shoulders and jumps into the sea of oil.

  My raft drifts slowly towards the first ship that must have responded to our distress call. All the while, my eyes are fixed on the burning structure that will spill millions of barrels of oil into the Persian Gulf and eventually sink.

  “I miss you,” I whisper as I watch a rogue tear fall from my cheek and land on my father’s gravestone.

  “DOCTOR HOLLAND IS ready for you now, Dayna.” The receptionist holds open the door to Louise Holland’s office — otherwise known as a torture chamber.

  “Take a seat,” Doctor Holland says, standing from behind her mahogany desk. “I’m sorry to keep you waiting. I’m afraid we’ve had a bit of an emergency situation.”

  “Like a straitjacket situation?” I ask, removing my wool coat and nestling into the corner of the sofa opposite her. The leather is cold even through the tights I’m wearing under my dress.

  She regards me coolly. “You’re angry,” she says matter-of-factly.

  I rub my hands across my face. “I’m sorry, it’s just not been the best afternoon.”

  She sits, and that reprimanding look dissipates. “Have you been to visit your father?”