This is chapter 1 of a 3 chapter story.
Sincere thanks to CWatson, for his editing efforts on this large job. I've made a few changes since he reviewed the draft so its likely any 'clangers' are mine.
(
A Swag is a canvas bed roll, usually including a basic foam mattress and blankets.)
*
Don had worked hard this morning, and thought he'd earned a break-- that's what he reckoned anyway -- earned this coffee for sure. He had to get ready for Libby's inspection. She'd be here soon makin' sure he was ready to take her on her field trip next week. Libby was a boss, their senior environmental scientist, and last week she'd booked him for next week to help her check how much pollution there was on this quiet little river she told him about. His job was to get her there at the start, get her home at the end, and keep her safe in the middle. And drive the boat. And anything else she wanted. Libby always double-checked his prep, even after all these years. Always paid to be ready for Libby, that left more time to tease her a bit. What a great lady Libby was; he was still amazed how happy she was to be seen being friendly with a rough and blunt labourer like him. She was bright too, the brightest person he ever knew. But he could still make her blush, he smiled to himself, and wondered how long it would take him today. He thought about it a bit, then bet himself one chocolate biscuit that he could do it in four minutes, no, he'd make that two minutes. As long as no one else was listenin' she'd let him get away with things a good labourer should never say to a boss. He had heard a new joke too -- one about the gynaecologist that wanted to be a priest -- that might be worth a go, he'd have to see what sort of mood she was in.
Great coffee! Mm-mm-mmmm, fan-fuckin'-tastic! And fancy a loser like him bein' trusted to look after a lady like Libby. Made him feel good: all the work he'd done since he was a deadshit useless teenager was worth it, he had done good! School dropout, not worth giving a job to, barely read or write, and a pussy whisker away from going to gaol. Lots of girls' dads had beaten Don up rather than let daughters go out with him. Now, people liked him; he was a dad, a husband and the trusted guide of classy professional people, like Libby. Done good Don! Damn nice coffee too. He never stirred the sugar all the way in, so the last mouthful was always sweet. He weren't proud of his past, but it couldn't be undone now. Don's dad should have been pullin' him into line, that's what dads were for; but his dad had worked in an asbestos makin' factory forever -- and he was dyin', just when Don needed him most. His Mum, rest her, shoulda done more, shoulda kept him out of trouble, but she had been too busy lookin' after his Dad to do more than weep at his latest fuck-ups. Even Junior Rugby went bad: opposition forward packs learned what a temper he had and could set him off when ever they wanted, especially when the ref was lookin', too many scrums and rucks blew up with the whistle blowin', Don swingin', and his team bein' penalised. Then he got thrown out of the club for thumpin' an opposition captain that was only tryin' to help him. His mum had got
really
sad when he told her he weren't playin' Rugby no more. Luckily a friend of his grandfather, old Will, took him into his boxing gym, so someone was tellin' him to behave sometimes.
Upending his box of batteries he found some Libby would definitely want next week and put em onto the recharger. His life had been rearranged one night. He'd been up to no good, as usual, with a couple of equally-useless deadshit friends, stealin' cars, squealin' rubber, yahooin' down back roads. They'd flew past a car wrapped around a tree, they were doin' twice the speed limit when grim-faced highway patrolmen chased em, boxed em in, dragged em out and handed em over to angry policemen from the crash scene. With their hair griped in strong fists, they'd been marched up to the wrecked car and held, shocked and sobbin' at the horror inside.
Were those really people?
The cops had let them go with a blunt, '
You little basteds 'll end up like that too if you don't think about what you're doin'',
and for a change
they weren't beaten up. Don still remembered that night like it was yesterday; he'd got home, gone to bed and lay awake -- still shakin', thinkin' up things he could do to those scumbag police -- for most of the night.
He was a good boy
. It wasn't fair, what they did to him! But later he'd started to think on what those poor rescue and fire guys were trying to do to get those cars apart and the bodies out--Don used better gear than that at the factory for fuck sake; bigger saws, petrol-powered gear, bigger winches. Why not tie the car to the tree and pull the side off with a winch? Must be a reason, why would they want to do it so slowly?
Don rummaged through some shelves for boxes of filters for Libby to chose from, collapsed a whole fuckin' god dammed shelf load of them with his elbow, swore, and started fixin' up the mess before Libby came in and saw. The morning after the crash he had been late for work -- common for him then, but this time 'cause he'd waited at the local Volunteer Rescue Service office when they opened, and asked about 'enlistin'. He was too young, unless a parent signed him in. His mum had cried, happy this time, and asked if his bedridden father could sign the application. Don joined. Got a uniform, got some trainin, and the older men at the factory all of a sudden wanted him to eat lunch with them. It made his tired Mum smile when older men from work and the rescue service started callin' round at home, actually comin' inside, and drinkin' her tea or coffee with them then takin' Don out for a few drinks -– you could have a real good night and not get shitfaced. They'd talked to him about workin' good, treatin' people properly, and
not shittin' in your own nest
, and what
goes around comes around
, and then explained what it all meaned. That was over twenty years ago -- twenty years as a good useful citizen.
The filters were cleaned up, he started loading some of the camping gear in the boat, Libby wouldn't waste time checkin' that.
He had kept doin' boxin' and rescue trainin' until he fucked up with a lifting hoist and chain at the factory and crushed off the end two bits of his index finger. Old Will said sadly that he'd never make it in competition boxing now, and that was the end of that. He'd stayed in the rescue service, and as soon as his hand stopped hurtin' he'd kept going to all the training and to every incident when they called. Mum didn't mind him burnin' rubber in the middle of the night when it was to help people. Got merit certification for being a conscientious rescue worker, not long after that he came home one afternoon and a pretty girl he used to know from school was having a cup of tea with his mum, and his mum said with a strange smile that Sarah had called round to see how his dad was, and Mum also said "
I think you should ask her out, Don.
"
So he did.
They went out for lunch the next Saturday, and then he cut some firewood for Mum at the same time. On their second date -- to a rodeo – Sarah said she always liked Don, but thought he was gunna end up in gaol, and now she was very happy that the stories about him coming good were true. After their third date -- huntin' rabbits -- she let him kiss her. And after their fourth date (or maybe it was the fifth), to a car race, she give him her cherry, swapped it for the right to boss him around it seemed. It was a change to be with a girl that wanted to have sex with him -- nice, she even 'took precautions', so he could cum where he wanted -- and with her blunt but loving bossin' he had become a even better man. He and Sarah now owned their twice-extended house, had some modest savings, loved their two kids Christy and Mark; Don didn't think it could get much better.
Fancy getting to camp on a river bank with a lady like Libby and having all night, every night talkin' with just her. For a whole week. No other bosses around. Drive a boat all day too. She'd told him to bring his rescue assignments for her to look through: she knew he was actin' unit captain, but he'd had to promise to do some leadership and training study, which was pretty tricky. And she would make wonderful noises as she ate his cooking, especially roasts; and if he got lucky, and if she said the water was clean enough, he might catch some fish. They'd talk about their kids, and the good stuff and bad stuff about being married. And
getting paid to do it
. The
A team
they were, him and Libby: never said no to a job, never left a job not finished. She enjoyed his company, and outside work wasn't embarrassed about introducing him as her friend. There was a few times when him and Sarah were fightin' when he'd start to wonder a bit about if Libby and Brett ever broke up--would she ever think about being with a crude blunt labourer? There was nearly a chance once; but no point wasting rare brain cells thinking about that too much…
And anyway, Sarah had been pretty friendly this mornin', an early cuddle got real interestin' before he got up to go to work.
Good coffee and empty swingers,
not bad uhh?
Suddenly he realized that Libby had come into his shed while he was daydreamin' and potterin' with the camping gear. She'd been watching him, and a fond grin grew on her pretty face. Libby always dressed professionally, but from when he refilled her shower bag and scrubbed her back, he knew underneath she was damn fine lookin': fit, firm, with nice brown hair at both ends. A lotta women in a little container; not bad for late thirties, nearly Don's age, and two kids of her own. He figured out for himself that when they was campin' it was better to ask her to refill his shower bag with hot water first, then he'd get dressed before he'd refill hers - so that she didn't blush and have to pretend
