Operation Transformation a short story

 Like everyone else, he had heard about the events in the rowing boat but unlike everyone else in the room, Sean didn’t believe a word of it. Nuala, the TV Director had taken them to one side after breakfast and with a Garda officer standing next to her, she broke the news to the group.

Looking around the room he believed the rest of the Operation Transformation team had swallowed the news delivered by Nuala without question. The two young women Mary and Aoife burst into tears and fell into each other’s arms. Fred and Pat, two very overweight middle-aged men from Galway looked shocked and seemed to be grappling to process the news. Henry, the Rock, one of the team’s coaches looked grimly straight at Nuala while the series producer, Trevor sat on a nearby table, swinging one leg back and forth whilst staring hard at something on the floor beneath him.

Outside the hostel, Sean spotted the emergency vehicles in the car park, lights flashing, the white ambulance parked with its rear doors swung wide open awaiting its load.

“Are you OK Sean?” asked Nuala interrupting his flow of thought and suddenly he found that everyone was looking at him.

“Yeah, I’m fine” he heard himself say but he knew he wasn’t.

Sean had been Franks bunk-buddy for the last two nights and they’d got on well enough. Frank snored loudly but Sean had come prepared and equipped with earbuds. Frank had given Sean a spare toothbrush and they’d shared their life histories over the past days. I suppose you could say they’d bonded, especially as they were on the same team for the weekend. Both were grossly overweight now but it hadn’t always been the way, at least for Sean. No, it took a hip broken in a car crash fifteen-year ago to turn him into a telly-tubby. He suspected for Frank it had been more of a one-way gradual yet steady decline. Frank had a gastric band and stomach reduction operation carried out ten years back yet the pounds continued to pile on and with the weight came the depression. Sean wasn’t sure Frank could ever have won his battle with food. Now we’ll never know.

Yesterday had been full-on. From the start the teams were walking miles, crawling through concrete pipes and building campfires in the forest, all captured by lythe able cameramen who accompanied them. It had been a subdued tired group that returned to the hostel that night. Darkness had fallen as they walked through the car park and into the lush reception area where they left a trail of muddy footsteps. After a shower and a change of clothes, Sean sat in the bar sipping a tall glass of water while Nuala explained what lay in store for tomorrow. The rest spread themselves about the lounge nippling on a tray of sliced carrots dunked in a vegan dip and sipping low-calorie soda drinks. Now that he thought of it, Sean hadn’t seen Frank at the meeting.

 Maybe he’d already gone? Gone where?

Sean returned to their room once the briefing was over and though he was knackered he had found it difficult to go to sleep with the empty bunk bed opposite. He stuck at it for a few hours and finally, he’d gotten up and had awoken Nuala. Together they’d searched the hostel and that’s when he began to get worried about Frank. The others were allowed to sleep on and he left Nuala on the phone when he just couldn’t keep his eyes open any longer.

They’d all met up again at breakfast this morning and the consensus of opinion was that Frank might have split for home late last night. Just had enough, ordered a taxi and vamoosed, dropping out of the program.

“Feck it!” said Fred “He probably stopped for a Chinese takeaway, spring rolls, chicken balls, fried rice and a can of Coke on the way home.” They had salivated in unison at the image conjured up but Nuala had drained the humour from the room with the announcement that Frank had been found dead, in the last hour, on a boat floating in the middle of the lake with no oars and a paper bag full of uneaten custard cream doughnuts.

“It appears from CCTV footage,” said the Garda “that Frank had been recorded visiting his car and then heading on foot around to the rear of the hostel when he disappeared into the darkness only to reappear at the jetty, a wooden platform located at the edge of the lake. We were just able to make out a figure stepping into the boat carrying a bag of some sort.  No further sighting of Frank was found on the camera footage but it’s safe to assume Frank rowed out into the lake to consume his doughnuts. Subsequently, it appears he lost both oars and died of exposure. An autopsy will be required and the State pathologist is on his way to us as I speak.”

“It appears to have been a tragic accident,” said Nuala “and out of respect to Frank we are abandoning the shoot planned for today.

“How can you be so sure it was an accident?” piped up Sean.

“What do you mean?” said Nuala.

“Frank was terrified of water,” said Sean “He told me yesterday.”

“Maybe that’s why he stayed in the boat,” said the Garda “as many would have been tempted to swim for it rather than freeze to death as it transpired.I know I would have.”

“Then how do you explain that having rowed out there he didn’t eat the doughnuts before he died?” replied Sean.

“Something just doesn’t add up” said Sean with conviction.

Again everyone turned to Sean but this time all the team members nodded their agreement.