Chasing What's Already Gone (Second Chances Book 1)

by Michael Ross

  “Congratulations, Pat, you deserve it. Ten percent salary increase and a nice little van to drive around.”

  Before he shakes my hand, he yells at me,

  “You bastard, you absolute bastard. I thought I was for the chop.”

  “Whatever made you think that, old boy?”

  “You bastard. Is that why you’ve been away for a few days?”

  “One of the reasons. The company has built a new depot and they want me to move and run it as soon as possible. You’ve had all your annual leave, haven’t you?”

  “Yes, yes, all done and dusted.”

  He is a good man, is Pat. I know for a fact he has at least three days holiday due to him. “Okay. I’ll ring Head Office by the end of the week and see how soon we can do the handover.”

  “Thanks, Danny. I owe you one.”

  I get a feeling that was a good-natured threat.

  I loved doing that. Passing good news on makes us all feel good, does it not? Interspersed with all this happiness is a yearning to speak to Jess. I am literally missing her already. What a wimp—no matter how hard I try, I cannot rustle up an excuse to ring her. I have her proper visiting card now and I turn it over and over between my fingers. Eleven-fifteen. I wonder if she has had her coffee yet. I am about to take a wander around the warehouse when my office phone rings. It’s Patrick.

  “It’s Head Office on the phone. Buck Osborne wants to speak to you.”

  Oh, Pat, you have to be sharper than that. You’re not going to catch me out that quickly. Buck Osborne, indeed. I know for a fact he is in Chicago this week. Here goes. I wonder who in the warehouse thinks they can do a decent Buck Osborne impression. Oh well, I had better play along with their games.

  “Okay, Pat, put him through.”

  “Mr. Pearson. Dawn Miller at Head Office here. Can you hold the line, please?”

  She sounds deadly serious, none of last week’s banter. Oh my dear God, they’ve changed their minds. Everything has gone to pot. No promotion. No job. No Cotswold Lodge and probably no more Jessica. Who wants a homeless, unemployed, ex-warehouse manager as a boyfriend? That dream was short-lived. That’ll teach me for winding up Pat. I deserve all the crap I get.

  “I’m putting you through, Mr. Pearson.”

  Don’t bother. I can see my own way out of the building.

  “Morning, Danny.” It is Buck Osborne, so he is nowhere near Chicago this week.

  “Good morning, Buck.”

  “Good morning, Danny. There has been a change of plans.”

  I do my best to take my occupational execution with dignity. I will leave with my head held high. When they talk of me they will say, “That Danny Pearson—he left with dignity. There was not a dry eye in the house…”

  “Pardon, Buck, could you repeat that?”

  “I said there has been a change of plans. The contractors down at the new place have been falsifying invoices. There is something like a fifty-K discrepancy already, and we have only just started double-checking. We need you to drop everything, and I mean everything, and get down there. We need the old contractors off the site and a new team in there as soon as possible. Your new salary and expenses start as of now. Book into the best hotel in the area and we will carry the cost. I’ve got to go now, but I will call you by the end of the day.”

  I remain seated whilst I try and take it all in. Eventually I go to my office door and call out into the warehouse,

  “Has anyone got today’s paper?” I need to have a good look at my horoscope. There is something most peculiar going on with the alignment of my planets and stars over these last few days.

  ***

  “Well?”

  “Well what?”

  “Honestly, JB, do I have to drag it out of you?”

  “I thought I told you to call me Jess.”

  “So you did. How did things go on the weekend, Jess?”

  Jess has been dying for Gemma to cross-examine her all morning, because of the long Bank holiday weekend, it seemed like ages since she had spent time with her assistant, and it is not until eleven-fifteen and coffee time that either of them gets the chance to talk about anything other than office matters.

  “Quite well.”

  “Only quite well?”

  “Well, quite a bit better than quite well.”

  “What! Even better than quite well? But not as good as bloody fantastically better than good.”

  “Yes, I think it was exactly that—bloody fantastically better than good.”

  “Oh, JB—Jess, I am so pleased. What did you do?”

  “Well, first we went house-hunting, and then we took his little nephew to the beach.”

  “Whoa, Jess! Can you stop there? I think I need to sit down. You firstly went house-hunting, and then you took his nephew to the beach. He sounds like one hell of a fast mover. Do you think you’re safe? I mean what next—a doubles chess tournament? Can your body take it? Is there any adrenaline left in your blood system? Sit down. I’ll pull the blinds down so you catch up on your sleep.”

  “Ha, ha, ha. How very droll of you.”

  “Sorry, but you must admit it does sound rather dull. I always thought that when I met your boyfriend, he would be a billionaire with his own private jet and that you might well have finished up island shopping. Get that look off your face. I don’t mean it. Danny looks like a great guy.”

  “I think he is. There is no drama with him, like you get with some men.”

  Gemma can guess to whom she is referring, but refrains from commenting. Gemma’s low opinion of Paul Clement has been well documented and discussed at length; there is little point in hijacking the conversation by referring to that scumbag.

  Jess is still trying to express her thoughts about Danny.

  “What you see is what you get; there’s no pressure. And his nephew is a sweetie. Hang on—I took some photos on the beach. Here he is, the little charmer.”

  “He’s got purple highlights!”

  “Wouldn’t you say they were more like maroon?”

  “He’s got maroony—purple highlights and Elton John’s white glasses.”

  “Cute or what?”

  “I think the company’s medical officer should be called.”

  “What, don’t you think he’s cute?”

  “Of course I do. You are definitely a bit on the defensive today. I think Mr. Pearson, or at least his nephew, has made a mighty big impact this weekend.”

  “Do you think I should call him? Thank him for a nice time?”

  “Not if I was you. He is probably in a recovery room as we speak, having his blood pressure checked. Good God, the man sounds like a human dynamo. He can only live so long at this pace!”

  “Gemma, I could really learn to hate you.”

  “No, you couldn’t. Maybe call him just as you finish tonight. Best not to appear to be too interested. But not too late; you might disturb him drinking his cocoa.”

  By the time Jess can find a weapon in her desk, Gemma has safely closed the office door behind her.

  Chapter

  Thirty-Two

  I have never worked beyond seven p.m. in my life. It is now eleven-thirty, and I have not stopped. It seems that nice man, Mac, had a lovely little scam going on for him and his mates. The agreement the company had signed with the contractors was for a set figure for man-hours worked, plus a fifteen percent mark-up for materials used. A visual spot check by one of Buck’s team at the end of last Friday quickly highlighted the fact that although Buck’s man had only witnessed sixteen workers on site all day, their paperwork claimed for twenty-three people. Multiply that over six days a week through a seven-week period, add it to a bundle of missing materials, and I reckon the company has been ripped off for not far short of a hundred thousand pounds.

  The first decision I have made is to sack the security company. They might well be kosher, but my gut feeling is that they are somehow involved. My fear that any company I contacted would feel they had me over a barrel and co
me up with inflated quotes has turned out to be wrong. Our profile locally is strong, we are bringing in employment to the area, so by five o’clock I have given the contract to a locally based company, who have two staff on site within the hour. I have therefore decided that I will only work with locally based companies from now on. These larger national units are not capable of giving me the hands-on service I have decided I need.

  The boss of the security company has recommended to me a small building contractor, Edwin Pedlar, who says he wants the work but has admitted he needs a week’s grace to juggle his workload around.

  I like the man’s attitude, so I try to stay positive.

  “I’m not too concerned when you start, but I am one hundred percent focussed on when the work is finished.”

  He does not respond instantly, but sounds reasonably upbeat when he does.

  “The best idea is for me to meet you at the site in the morning. You can spend thirty minutes telling me what you need, what your budget is, what your completion date is, and I’ll tell you on the spot whether it is possible or not.”

  “Good enough for me. Nine o’clock?”

  “A lot earlier than that if possible.”

  “Okay. What we’re you thinking?”

  “Seven at the latest.”

  Bloody hell! At least it will give me a whole day to look for alternatives if we cannot come to an agreement.

  “Sure, no problem. See you then.”

  At the time, I was quite excited. With the clock ticking towards midnight, I’m feeling shattered and even the prospect of eight hours’ sleep does not seem long enough. I’ve got to drive over to the hotel, shower, grab something from room service and be up at six to get back and open up the site for the meeting. Driving back to the hotel, I have a plan gelling in my head, and I would make some phone calls now if I had not left my mobile back on site. The mobile phone with the flat battery, which I could be charging up in the car right now!

  ***

  “Good morning, JB. I have just had a phone call from Paris. The meeting for next Monday is cancelled. I was asked to let you know that Mr. Clement will ring you at three to update you on the changes.”

  “Thank you, Monica.”

  Gemma looks over at her boss, who she knows has been dreading this moment and makes a smiley face by putting a finger in either side of her face and pulling outwards. It does not relieve the stress and Jess cannot manage a smile in response.

  “It was always going to happen, Jess.”

  “I know that.”

  “You have the grumps today.”

  “No, I don’t.”

  “Of course you don’t—but you do.”

  Jess is not the easiest person in the world to extract information from, but her PA has developed a technique which involves a myriad of facial expressions. She throws her best hangdog look across the room.

  Jess eventually reacts.

  “Oh, it’s nothing.”

  “Which in Jess-speak means it is something. Go on.”

  “Well, I took your advice and did not ring Danny until after eight. He did not answer, so I finished up leaving a couple of messages, with no reply. I gave him one last call at ten-thirty and he had turned his phone off.”

  “I knew you had worn him out.” It is the best response Gemma can come up with at such short notice. It did not generate the slightest chance of a smile from Jess. “I’m sure there is nothing to it. Didn’t you say he had a big promotion? Maybe he got diverted on a work thing.”

  “I know that, but one of the things I liked about him is that I got the feeling that personal and family matters were more important than jobs and careers.”

  “Jess, I hear all that, but could you repeat that sentence but replace ‘liked’ with ‘like’? He has not gone away. Trust me, because I trust your first instincts about him. Have a bit of faith in yourself. Paul Clement is a one off? Vile men like him only cross a girl’s path once in a lifetime. Don’t even dream of comparing the two. They’re like chalk and cheese.”

  ***

  What a clown! There is only one hotel in the area of note, and driving by on my way to the site, it seemed to be built out of all proportion to the size of the local population. Therefore, I presumed, arriving at reception just after midnight, that I could sign in and be in bed within thirty minutes.

  “I am sorry, sir, we are full tonight.”

  “You have got to be kidding me. How many bedrooms have you got here?

  “One hundred and two sir, and they are all occupied.”

  He is loving this.

  “Hang on, you have got one hundred and two rooms, here in the middle of nowhere, and every single room is taken.” I have made his week. This is what he gets up for in the morning, a chance to mock and humiliate.

  “I’m sorry, sir, but I don’t think we are ‘in the middle of nowhere,’ and surely we cannot be if all our rooms are let.”

  There are one or two people milling about, which is the only reason he is still living.

  “So what do you suggest I do?”

  “Well far from me to be suggestive”—he has gone all camp on me now—“but if you had rung us this afternoon, we could have informed you that we have a convention taking place all this week, and to try elsewhere. But be assured we will have vacancies this Friday…if you book now.”

  I would rather sleep up a tree than come back to face this pompous clown again. He thinks he has won by a clear knockout, but I won’t take this lying down.

  I take my revenge by squashing down on the back seat of my car—in his car park. Take that!

  It is daylight by five-thirty, so I go over and take a peep through the reception doors. He is still on duty. Surely if he is on night shift, he must be clocking off soon. I need to have a wash in the gents’ cloakroom. but there is nothing I can do so I go back to the car and close my eyes. Sleep is impossible, or so I think.

  Suddenly there is a knocking at my car window and standing over me is my nemesis. I’m sorry, mate. I have no stomach for a fight. There must be a McDonald’s somewhere where I can at least splash some cold water around my face. I reluctantly wind down my window, ready for the humiliation, but he reaches with both arms above my head and produces a tray loaded with fresh orange juice, a couple of croissants, and a small bunch of grapes.

  “The gentlemen’s cloakroom is free at the present sir. If you can be in and out within ten minutes, it would be appreciated.” I cannot even manage a “thank you,” I am so moved by this simple generosity. I always tell my staff not to judge a book by its cover. Well, Danny Pearson, you start this day with a simple lesson; never judge a book by its cover.

  Later, he feigns not seeing me as I leave the emptied tray on a coffee table and sneak into the gents and beautify myself. A couple of cleaners are arriving for work as I leave, so I stop them and ask, “What is the name of the man behind the reception desk?”

  “Oh, that is Oliver, sir. He is the manager.”

  Surprise number two.

  “He’s a good man, isn’t he?”

  “Oh yes, sir—a very good man.”

  Books and covers, Danny. Well, at least I am going to get to the unit well in time to meet Edwin Pedlar.

  ***

  Taking into account his name, Edwin, and the sound of his voice on the phone, I expected Edwin Pedlar to be in his sixties. In fact, he is probably a couple of years younger than me.

  “Good morning, Edwin. I was expecting someone much older.”

  “Good morning, Mr. Pearson. Don’t worry, I get that all the time.”

  A firm handshake and a glint of humour in his eyes—I take an immediate liking to Mr. Pedlar.

  “Call me Danny. Come on through and see what we have to get done and dusted within seven weeks.” We go through to a space that one day will be my office, and I open up the plans for him to look at.

  “The thing is, Edwin…”

  “Ed. Call me Ed.”

  “The thing is, Ed, these plans look good on pape
r, but in practical terms they are nonsense.”

  He looks over my shoulder and makes an immediate observation. “You’ve got a reception area at the back of the building.”

  “Exactly. Whoever drew up these plans expected customers to drive all around to the back of the building and park their cars and vans here.”

  “You’re not expecting to do much business then? Well, at least by the look of these drawings, you’re not.”

  He has spotted, within a minute or two, things that did not occur to me for a few hours. I already know that if his price is half reasonable, he is my man for this job. I open up to him.

  “Most—no, all of the changes I want to make to this plan are internal, so I cannot see a planning problem.”

  “Agreed.”

  I reach into my pocket and pull out an A5 envelope. “You will have to undo some of the work that has been done, but here is the other company’s quote.” He spends a few minutes looking over the quote. Eventually he puts it down and smiles at me.

  “They’ve baffled you with science. They lost me after the first dozen lines. Let’s stop shadow boxing here and get down to the nitty-gritty.” Edwin then spends a few minutes carefully going through all the work I need done, with an emphasis on the deadline.

  “I must have it ready for that opening weekend.”

  “Of course. So what is your budget?”

  I think about it and decide there is no point in “shadow boxing” so I give him a figure, just keeping ten thousand back from Head Office’s revised budget.

  He stares at me, looks down at the floor, then speaks.

  “My only problem is I need a site supervisor, someone who can run a slide rule over the work, keep on top of the workforce for those six weeks. My best men are already snowed under.”

  “So that’s the only thing stopping you?”

  “Well, that and I would need another six K.”

  I thrust my hand at him. “Deal! Don’t worry, I have someone who can supervise. He will be perfect.”

  “Yes?”