joke? It’s not as if Nathan actually told jokes anyway, he just had a cool way of chuckling; a sort of yuk-yuk-yukking that was inexplicably infectious. That, and his calm manner, and the cool street talk he could easily slip into at a moment’s notice.
A cold doubt stirred deep down inside him; the thought that his old friend was going to get fed up with him and move on . . . too busy enjoying his celebrity status.
And then you’ll be right on your own, Jake.
Chapter 54
10 years AC
‘LeMan 49/25a’ - ClarenCo Gas Rig Complex, North Sea
Jenny looked up, shading her eyes from the sun. ‘He’s what?’
‘Evicting us,’ said William Laithwaite nodding vigorously. The bent out of shape specs on the bridge of his nose wobbled precariously. ‘He said all the rest of us who aren’t in his church have got to move off his platform this afternoon and find space on one of the other platforms. It’s not right!’
Jenny stood up slowly, emerging from amongst the fruit-laden stalks of the tomato plants. She’d been busy securing the weaker branches of the more wind-battered plants to the cane support frames with lengths of twine. She liked working up here on the roof of the accommodation module and up the steps on the helipad, particularly on such a nice day. One hundred and sixty feet above the sea, it was the highest usable surface amongst the platforms; the highest and most peaceful place to work. It took her mind away from the gnawing concerns of the world below.
‘All right, that’s enough,’ sighed Jenny wearily. ‘I’m not having this. Where’s Walter?’
William pointed down at the empty davit arms below. ‘He’s taken the yacht ashore again. Said he needed to find some more bits and pieces.’
Damn.
He seemed to be trekking ashore more and more often in the last few weeks. He kept coming up with excuses to bugger off; components he needed to source in Bracton for the generator mark II. She really could have done with him being here right now, though. He had the keys to the gun locker.
That thought stopped her in her tracks for a moment.
My God, really? I’m thinking of taking a gun with me?
She realised that’s exactly what she’d love to do. Something small and discreet tucked into the waistband of her khakis. Something she could whip out and level at him whilst she told him she’d had enough of his divisive preaching.
For a while after their last confrontation, Jenny had allowed herself to believe some sort of an uneasy status quo had been established. That Latoc would keep his prayers and sermons to the drilling rig and that the hundred or so followers he’d attracted might have reached its natural cap. But the son of a bitch had recently insisted on segregated mealtimes - one breakfast and evening meal sitting for his followers.
And what had she done about that?
Nothing.
She’d excused herself from confronting him directly about it because it hadn’t caused the disruption she’d anticipated. But also because she’d noticed the mealtimes were fast becoming a recruitment opportunity for them; every sit-down session peppered with pockets of his followers coaxing the others to come along to a meeting and listen to Valérie talk.
Then, last week, he’d decided to move across to the compression platform - against her express wishes, given that he was technically speaking still on probation. And again, she’d argued herself out of confronting him head-on because, even though it was relatively crowded over there, yes, there were still spaces on that platform. What’s more, Latoc had made a private arrangement with Hillary Glossop - one of his flock of course - to swap places. People fancied a change of scenery, or found a neighbour’s personal habits irritating, swapsies like that happened quite often. Provided both parties were happy, Jenny had no obvious excuse to refuse that, since Hillary was quite happy to change places.
But this? Evicting people from there?
‘What are you going to do?’ asked William.
I’ve had enough of this.
‘Going to talk to him,’ she sighed, pulling on her cardigan. ‘He’s gone too bloody far this time.’ She stepped across the roof and grabbed the handrails of the steps down to the module’s third floor gantry.
‘He wouldn’t listen to us!’ William called after her. ‘We told him he couldn’t just kick us out . . . that’s our home for Christ’s sake!’
Across the void between platforms she spotted the laundry group scrubbing clothes in a long trough of soapy seawater on the cooler