He’d joked with me that the riggers called them inhuman resources. I wondered if Robert and I would ever share a joke again.
I dialled the Aberdeen number. All I got was the number unobtainable tone. Janet Cox looked at me enquiringly.
I shrugged. ‘It was probably five or six years ago when Robert gave me this,’ I said. ‘Maybe the number’s changed.’
‘Yes,’ agreed Janet Cox vaguely. ‘It was Amaco you said, didn’t you?’
I nodded.
She used her mobile to dial directory enquiries, asked for Amaco UK in Aberdeen, scribbled the number on the shopping list which I’d earlier dropped onto the worktop along with my bags of shopping, and began to dial again.
‘It’ll be out of office hours now,’ I said.
‘Yes, but this is the oil industry...’ she began, then stopped to listen.
‘There’s a recorded message giving a number for a duty officer,’ she said, as she wrote that number down.
I used the house phone again to dial the new number, explained briefly to the duty officer who I was, that I had a terrible family emergency, and that I needed desperately to get through to my husband Robert Anderson.
There was no urgency at all in the young male voice at the other end of the line. Indeed, it seemed to me, not even much interest.
No, I didn’t know which platform Robert was on. I hadn’t realized it mattered. I’d never had reason to ask, not before. Anyway, as a drilling engineer didn’t he move from rig to rig?
I was pretty certain the voice sighed.
‘Anderson, did you say? I’ll need to go through our lists and cross-refer. It may take a minute.’
I thanked him, though for what exactly I was unsure.
‘Oh here, I have him,’ said the voice, returning quite quickly. ‘Anderton, Rob. A derrickman. He’s out on Jocelyn, that’s Moray Firth—’
‘No,’ I said, the frustration of it all adding to my distress. ‘Anderson. A N D E R S O N. And it’s Robert. He’s never called Rob. He’s one of your senior engineers.’
‘I’m sorry, I can’t find an Anderson at all—’
‘But he’s been with your company for nearly twenty years,’ I interrupted, wishing I could reach down the phone line and slap the owner of this still disinterested-sounding voice.
‘All right, hold on then. I’ll have to check the complete database...’
I waited for what seemed like for ever. Then my mobile rang. Robert’s Skype number flashed at me from the display panel.
I ended the call to Amaco without bothering to explain or even to say goodbye. In any case, once again, there was no one on the other end of the line.
‘Robert,’ I said. ‘Oh, my darling Robert...’
I stopped speaking abruptly simply because I was unable to continue. I just could not find the words. I glanced across at PC Cox. She was looking down, fiddling with her mobile phone, unwilling, I thought, to meet my eye. Distancing herself. I didn’t blame her. There was, in any case, no way she could help me with this.
Down the line I could hear Robert’s anxious voice.
‘What is it, Marion? Whatever is wrong? Marion? Marion?’
‘I–I don’t know how to tell you,’ I said eventually.
‘Tell me what?’
‘I–I c-can’t, I don’t know how to—’
‘Just tell me.’ There was already a desperate note in his voice.
‘It... it’s Robbie,’ I said.
I heard his sharp intake of breath.
‘Yes?’
I think Robert knew before I spoke again. Finally I just blurted it out. There were, after all, no words in the English language that could soften the blow.
‘Our beautiful son is dead,’ I said. ‘Robbie is dead.’
There seemed to be a very long silence.
‘What? B-but how, what... what happened?’
‘It’s just so so awful—’ I began.
‘Was there an accident? Was it his bike? The car? Are you all right?’
‘Yes, I’m all right. But no, no, worse than any of that. So much worse. I came home and found him...’
I stopped again.
‘What do you mean, you found him?’ queried Robert. ‘I don’t understand.’
‘H-he was hanging, hanging from the beam in his room.’
‘Oh my God,’ Robert said.
I told him all of it then, in a jumbled burst.
Robert seemed as unable to take it in as I had been.
‘Suicide?’ he asked eventually, his voice high and squeaky, not sounding like him at all. But then, I already knew I didn’t sound like me.
I mumbled something incoherent.
‘It can’t be suicide, it can’t be,’ said Robert, suddenly stronger, almost authoritative. ‘Why on earth would Robbie want to kill himself?’
‘I don’t know.’ I half whispered the words. ‘I don’t know. It’s all so awful. And then I couldn’t get you. And I so needed you. I called Aberdeen. They didn’t even seem able to find you. Why couldn’t they find you, Robert?’
‘Oh, Marion, our business is like every other — they’ve sacked half the proper people and taken on children for a fraction of the wages. Especially in areas like human resources. They’re all worse than useless nowadays... Dammit, Marion, does it matter?’
‘No, no, of course not. Just come home, Robert. Come home quickly.’
‘Yes. Oh God, yes. Straight away.’
There was a pause. I could hear Robert’s voice, as if in the distance, and other people talking, but I couldn’t understand what they were saying.
Then Robert spoke directly into the phone again.
‘Look, Marion, it’s dark already. You know the new regulations. They don’t fly from our rigs after dark. Health and safety. Plus one of the transporter choppers is out of action at the moment and the other one’s on some op for head office. I don’t think I’ll be able to get out until the morning. Anyway I’ve already missed the last flight from Aberdeen. I’m so sorry...’
I hadn’t thought it possible to feel any more desolate than I already did. But I realized that even now I was looking forward to the comfort of having my husband with me. Robert was a calm man. A typical dour Scotsman my dad had once said, though that had been when Robert had done something, I could not remotely remember what, to annoy him.
I didn’t know if Robert would be able to be his usual calm self, nor indeed whether he would have the inner strength to be able to offer anyone any comfort right now, even me. But I did so desperately want him with me.
‘Please, just get here as fast as you can,’ I said.
‘I’ll do my absolute damnedest and I’ll call you as soon as I have some news,’ he replied.
We said an awkward goodbye, almost like strangers, and I clicked my phone off.
PC Cox had unfortunately got the gist.
‘Probably won’t be able to get back tonight, then?’ she said.
I nodded, feeling numb.
‘Are you sure there’s no one else who could come over? Just to be with you until he arrives?’
She wasn’t going to give up, was she? I racked my brains.
Suddenly it dawned on me. There was Bella. She seemed to have become fond of Robbie too. She had often actively sought out his company and, unusually, as our son had inherited his father’s lack of interest in outsiders, Robbie had seemed to quite like having her around. Not that she had been to the house many times. But more than anyone else, that was for certain.
Bella was, I suppose, what people nowadays call ‘my new best friend’. I’d only known her for just over six months. We’d met on Exmouth beach at the end of April just before the summer dog-walking restrictions came into force. I’d had to take Robbie into Exeter to buy some stuff for school which we couldn’t get locally, and as it had been a decent day we’d loaded Florrie into the back of the car and driven on to Exmouth to take her for a run. She was not a young dog, but she still loved to scamper about on the sand and play in the sea, jumping over the waves.