“Dale, it’s—” I begin.
Surprisingly, it’s Eryk who cuts me off, not Dale. “Don’t, Deano. We’re all getting our pay cut this month because of him. It’s ridiculous, man.” He looks back at the TV screen, at an old man wearing glasses, running his fingers over a Japanese vase.
I consider picking up where I left off, telling Dale that it’s not worth getting into a fight in the chamber, that we should talk about it once we get out, but the thing is, Dale’s right. If Rich has been experiencing blackouts, then there’s no way he should be allowed to dive. After this, I should think, Rich will be banned from commercial diving for life. Eryk’s right about losing our pay too. We haven’t even been in the chamber for three full days, and we’ve already had to start decompressing so Rich can get medical attention.
Losing out on all that money is a nightmare, but what’s even worse is having only managed two days of work. I don’t have another dive scheduled for seven months. I honestly don’t know how I’ll handle the wait.
“Look, mate, I’m really sorry,” says Rich. “I’ve been having problems. My wife. She’s not handling the dives very well. This is—was—only my fifth dive, but it’s already ripping us apart. The fainting episodes only started happening after she—”
“We’ve all got relationship problems,” interrupts Dale. “I’ve been divorced three times. Eryk’s right hand has been his only girlfriend for thirteen years.”
Eryk lifts the aforementioned right hand and gives him the middle finger.
“That’s diving,” Dale continues. “Comes with the territory. You want a happy marriage? Want your kids to love you? Go and get yourself a nice little office job.”
Rich slumps over the table, and I can’t watch any more. I head for the sleeping chamber. Cal is lying on his bunk with his headphones on, and Tai is nose-deep in his book.
I sit on my bunk. Dale is right. Diving breaks up families. And it’s no wonder. Working in conditions like this, being away for weeks at a time.
Suddenly, I realise that I’m crying.
I reach into the back pocket of my rucksack, but instead of feeling the smooth, polished lump of malachite that Anouk gave me, I find fragments.
The stone has shattered.
What was Anouk’s warning? If it turns to dust, watch out.
I stuff the pieces under my pillow, and I lie in the foetal position. It can’t mean anything. It must have had air pockets in it, which exploded at blowdown.
I take my phone out of my pocket and call James. Eight rings before he answers.
“I’m in the middle of a half sleeve,” he says. “Okay if I call you back in three hours or so?”
“Three hours,” I say. “Sure.”
“Is everything all right?” he asks. “Dive going well?”
“Yes,” I say, laughing for some reason.
James hangs up, and I put my phone under my pillow next to the chunks of stone. I think I’d put my whole life under a pillow right now if I could.
Tai looks up from his book. “Everything okay, Solvig? You keep sighing.”
“Yeah,” I say, not very convincingly. “Just taking stock.”
Tai’s gaze wanders down to my open rucksack, and with a jab of horror I see the prenatal vitamins lying in full view. “Pregnacare,” it says in fancy letters on the box.
“So, um, how’s your mum?” I blurt, quickly closing my bag.
Tai looks at the floor. “Not good. She’s on her second cycle of chemo.”
I wish I’d asked him about chopping wood. “I’m really sorry,” I say. “I’m here if you ever want to talk.”
“Thanks.” He focuses on a page of his book.
Tai, I want to say. I know you’ve got enough to deal with right now, but . . . help me.
Instead, Tai speaks. “There is something I’d like to talk about. I’m trying to make a decision.”
My heart skips a beat. “I’m trying to make a decision too.”
“Should I do a course on French cabinetmaking?” Tai asks. “Or learn to build string instruments?”
“Oh,” I say. “Instruments?”
“Specifically, learning how to craft lutes.”
I frown, then surprise myself with a laugh. “Nobody plays the lute any more.”
Tai snorts. “Sting plays the lute.”
“Sting? Okay. You’ve convinced me. Go with the lutes.”
“I think you’re right,” Tai replies. “So . . . what was yours, then? The thing you’re trying to decide about?”
I look over at Cal. He’s facing the wall, still wearing headphones. It’s how he deals with stress: to check out. In fact, it’s how he deals with dives in general. He’s a good bloke, but nobody really knows him. I once asked him what kind of music he was into and he said novelty ragtime.
I look back at Tai and prop myself up on my elbows. “There’s this thing I’m doing at the moment. But there’s this other thing I want to do. It’s not easy to do both things at once.”
“Is it something to do with those tablets?”
My cheeks burn. “That’s not the thing I’m thinking about giving up.”
“What is it, then?”
“Do you ever feel selfish?” I ask. “For doing what we do?”
“Everything is selfish,” Tai says. “Diving is selfish. Having children is selfish. You can feel guilty about anything if you try hard enough.”
“Is making lutes selfish?”
Tai laughs. “Most definitely.” He turns back to his book.
I send James a text to say I’ll talk to him tomorrow; then I put my phone away. The light in the chamber is so bright that it takes me a long time to get to sleep.
11
What time is it? I grope for my phone, but it’s not there. This isn’t my bunk. I remember now.
After an awkward five-and-a-half-day wait, we got out of the saturation chamber. The cold winds of the North Sea slapped me in the face, but they were welcome.
I decided not to go home. I rented a car and drove out to the Cairngorms. The original plan was to find a room with a view, but, tired as I was, I couldn’t bring myself to
