by Mark Tufo
‘Right.’
‘So what’re you doing?’
‘What?’
‘To the house. What you plannin’?’
‘Complete overhaul by the time I’m done. The place needs gutting. Heating, wiring... Got some structural stuff to do first. Couple of walls to knock through, that sort of thing. Probably replace the kitchen and bathroom, maybe add a conservatory... like I said, pretty much a complete renovation.’
He nodded thoughtfully. Scott waited for him to say something, and had to wait a little longer than was comfortable. ‘You need to talk to Barry,’ he eventually said.
‘Barry?’
‘Barry Walpole. This is his yard, see. I don’t know what terms he’s doing at the moment. We just shift stuff about for him, he likes to do all the figures and the sellin’ himself.’
‘I’m not looking for any favours.’
‘Good. Barry won’t do you any.’
‘So where is he?’
‘Just gone out in the van to kick a supplier up the arse. Bugger short-changed him.’
‘Not a good move?’
‘Nope. You don’t upset Barry. You should come back later.’
‘Okay. Any idea when he’s due back?’
‘Nope.’
‘Right.’
‘Give it an hour.’
‘Okay. Is there a number I can get him on?’
‘He has a mobile.’
‘Great.’
‘But he leaves it here. Doesn’t like carrying it.’
‘Isn’t that why they’re called mobiles? So you can carry them around?’
‘Like I said, give it an hour.’
Scott turned to leave. He wasn’t getting anywhere. He started back towards the driveway and passed a grubby caravan he’d barely noticed on the way in. It was obviously being used as an office, and equally obviously had been parked in the same spot for some considerable time. There were piles of bricks propping it up at either end, the tyres were flat, and the curved roof had been stained green by fallen leaves and bird muck from the overhanging trees. In the window was a handwritten sign. It simply read ‘Driver wanted’. Scott looked back at the man and pointed at the sign.
‘Talk to Barry,’ he said.
‘Warren says you’re lookin’ for work?’
‘That’s right.’
‘And you’ve got experience?’
‘I can drive a truck, if that’s what you mean.’
‘It’s not. You know about the trade?’
‘Absolutely. I’ve had more than fifteen years experience, both working for myself and being employed on plenty of sites. Small scale domestics right up to large corporates. I was a project manager with—’
‘Fair enough. That’ll do.’
Barry Walpole chewed the end of an already well-chewed pen and watched him. Scott could handle himself, but Barry was an imposing character. Six feet tall and probably the same wide, he’d had to turn sideways just to get through the caravan door. The floor had groaned under his weight. The usual fitted furniture had either been stripped out of the van or had worn out, and Barry sat on a threadbare swivel chair behind a desk piled high with unsorted papers. There was a filing cabinet in one corner and a key cabinet screwed to the wall. The door of the key cabinet swung open several times and he slammed it shut as though he was swatting a nuisance fly. He took a swig from a mug of coffee, then put the cup down on a mountain of invoices. The silence was increasingly uncomfortable. Scott felt obliged to try and fill it. ‘So, how long have you been in business here?’ he asked.
‘Long enough.’
‘Trade good?’
‘S’all right. Shouldn’t complain but I usually do.’
‘Getting any business from that fracking thing over the way?’
‘Nope,’ he said and he leant forward and stared into Scott’s face. ‘Listen, this is one of those interviews when I ask the questions, right? So tell me this, why you here?’
Trick question? ‘Because you need a driver...?’
‘No, not here, here. Why d’you come to Thussock? Warren says you’ve bought Willy’s old house. Why d’you do that?’
‘We wanted a change of scene. A change of lifestyle, I guess.’
‘Just you and the missus?’
‘Three kids. One son, two step-daughters.’
‘You from the Midlands, ain’t you?’
‘Yep.’
‘Then I call bullshit.’
‘What?’
‘You heard me. I don’t buy it.’
‘I don’t really care if you—’
‘Look, man, I don’t really give a shit who drives the bloody truck for me. Thing is, I don’t do bullshit, that’s all. No one moves their entire bloody family to a place like Thussock for the fun of it. Be straight and honest with me and we’ll get along fine. If you ain’t, then we won’t get along at all.’
Scott took a deep breath. Obnoxious fucker. Did he really need this? He was on the verge of walking out. For fuck’s sake, this was just some two-bit driving job. This Walpole bloke could shove it if he was going to be this anal. But he stopped himself. It was pride swallowing time. He needed cash, and this would do until he found something better or got the business up and running again. Lay it on thick, he thought, make him think you’re pouring your heart out. ‘I took on too much. Over-stretched myself. Lost a couple of blokes, defaulted on a loan payment and the bank threatened to pull the plug. I wound things down before they could wind the business up. Same old same old... happens all the time.’
Barry nodded and chewed his pen again. ‘It don’t take much these days. Never trust banks, me. Try and avoid them.’
‘Bit late for business advice now.’
‘So why Thussock?’
‘Why not?’
‘I could give you a hundred reasons.’
‘Fair enough. Distance, I guess. We wanted a clean break. It’s over three hundred miles. Six hour drive.’
‘You runnin’ away?’
Scott shook his head. ‘Like I said, clean break. Fresh start.’
‘So how do I know you’re not gonna throw a wobbler and disappear? Go back to wherever you’re from?’
‘I won’t. We bought the house. Sold the assets of the business and paid cash. We want to settle here. Every penny we own has been sunk into that place.’
Barry rocked back on his chair again. ‘There’s not a lot of work going round here right now.’
‘I’d noticed.’
‘You might have had it shitty in Birmingham or wherever you’re from, but it ain’t much better up here.’
‘I didn’t expect it to be.’
‘I need someone I can rely on, understand?’
‘I get it.’
Barry locked eyes with Scott and wouldn’t look away. Scott held his gaze, figuring this was some kind of bizarre initiation test. It was. ‘It’s important to be able to look the other fella in the eye,’ Barry said after he’d been staring a little too long.
‘Is it?’
‘Absolutely. Key to a man’s soul.’
‘That right?’
Barry didn’t answer. He hunted around the desk for a scrap of paper to take down Scott’s details. ‘You’re a lucky bugger, Scotty lad. Right place, right time, an’ all that.’
‘You’re giving me the job?’
‘I’m giving you a try-out. When can you start?’
‘As soon as.’
‘This afternoon?’
‘Why not. I’ll need to go home first, tell the missus. She’ll need the car to get the kids from school.’
‘Fair enough. Pick up some ID, your bank details, national insurance number, drivin’ licence, all that crap, and make sure you’re back here by one.’
‘A good day all round then,’ Michelle said at dinner. ‘All our furniture’s in, you two have settled in at school, and Scott’s got a job.’
‘I wouldn’t say we’re settled in,’ Tammy said quickly, keen to put her straight.
‘No, but your first da
y’s over. That’s something.’
‘Made any new friends?’ Scott asked.
She glared at him. ‘Hundreds. You?’
He ignored her sarcasm. ‘They must think I’m stupid. I can’t understand a bloody word they’re saying half the time.’
‘What’s your boss like?’ Phoebe asked, wolfing down her dinner.
‘Miserable bugger,’ Scott replied. ‘Huge, he is. Gave me a right grilling too. Asked all kinds of questions about why we’d moved and why we’re here.’
‘Were you honest with him?’ Tammy said.
‘Give it a rest, Tam,’ Michelle said, interrupting before the conversation degenerated into another fight.
‘Is it a nice place?’ Phoebe asked him.
‘Is where a nice place?’
‘The place you’re working?’
He shrugged. ‘It’s a yard. They’re all dumps. It’s not that far from your school.’
‘And they liked you?’
‘They want me back in the morning, so I guess so. That reminds me, you’ll have to drop me off, Chelle. You can do it when you take the kids to school. And I’ll need picking up after five. Okay?’
‘No problem. It’ll be nice to have the car. I was going to walk into town with George anyway.’
‘What for?’
‘Shopping, register us all at the doctor’s surgery, that kind of thing. All very exciting.’
‘More exciting than school,’ Tammy moaned. Michelle ignored her.
‘It’s all coming together nicely,’ she said. ‘If things are going this well after a couple of days, just think what it’ll be like in a few weeks.’
Later, lying in bed together, lights out, Michelle felt Scott’s hand on her under the covers. She’d almost been asleep, but she was awake again in seconds. ‘Hello you,’ she whispered.
‘Hello you.’
‘You all right?’
‘I’m fine.’
He slipped his hand under her nightie uninvited, cupped her breast.
‘Starting to feel good, isn’t it?’ she said.
‘It is to me.’
‘I’m not talking about my boobs, I’m talking about us... about being here. The girls seem more relaxed tonight, and you’ve managed to find some work. I’ve got a good feeling. This is going to work out, you know. If you’d said a couple of months ago that we could have all this, I’d never have believed you.’
‘I don’t let you down, Chelle. You should know that.’
‘I do. It’s just that sometimes you have to take a few steps back to start moving forward again, don’t you?’
‘Nice cliché.’
‘It’s true. Seriously, love, if you’re happy, I’m happy and the kids are happy, it doesn’t matter where we’re living. I’m really proud of you, you know... just walking into a job like that.’
‘It’s no great shakes. I’m just driving a knackered old truck around, delivering bricks and shit.’
‘It’s a start. You never know, your boss might let you have stuff cheap, make it easier to do all the things you were talking about doing to the house.’
‘Doubt it. You haven’t met Barry Walpole.’
‘I’m sure he’s lovely.’
‘He definitely isn’t. You are, though.’
His compliment took her by surprise. Before she could react she felt him kiss the side of her face. He climbed on top and pushed against her. ‘I’m tired, love,’ she said.
‘I’m not.’
Chapter 54
THE YOUTH HOSTEL AT GLENFIRTH
It never ceased to amaze Mairead how little respect folks had for the property of others. This building was here for the good of the community as a whole, and yet people seemed perfectly content to use and abuse the facilities without a care.
The old farm had stopped being a farm more than two decades ago now. After falling into disrepair, the one remaining habitable building, this two bedroom cottage, had been renovated and re-opened as a very basic youth hostel, catering to the needs of visitors attracted to the area by the hills and the hiking. On the whole people usually abided by the basic rules of the facility: pre-bookings only, clean the place when you leave, collect and return the key to Mairead down the road. But the girl who’d used the place last night hadn’t returned the key and Mairead needed it back as three lads from Newcastle were due later this afternoon. She had better things to be doing with her time than chasing around after bloody kids who thought the world owed them. She’d put all her cleaning stuff in the back of the car before she set out. If the lass couldn’t be bothered to hand back the key, she thought, then she sure as hell won’t have cleaned up.
The cottage door was open. The building was cold, but then again, it usually was. Mairead leant in and called out. ‘Hello... Hello, is anyone here?’
No answer.
Agitated, Mairead put her Hoover down by the door. This had happened all too often this season. The remains of a meal had been left on the table. Slovenly. It made Mairead cross. And she could smell tobacco too. Bloody hell, how large did she have to make the No Smoking signs? There was one stuck on every interior door. Was that not enough?
The kitchen could have been worse, she supposed. There was a little washing up left on the draining board, and a pile of clothes which had been washed and rinsed but never hung out to dry.
‘Hello...’ Mairead shouted again. ‘Are you here, Miss? I’ve come for the key. I’ll have to make a charge for the state of the place. It’s really not good enough.’
She picked up a waste-bin and carried it over to the bedroom door. She knocked and waited for a reply. When she moved again, the floor was tacky beneath her shoes.
Mairead looked down and saw blood. More blood than she’d ever seen before.
Chapter 55
‘It’s not my fault. I didn’t take your order. No good shouting at me, mate.’
Kenneth Potter pointed accusingly at Scott. ‘Then who else am I going to shout at? And I am definitely not your mate. Good grief, what’s Barry doing employing folks who can’t even load up a van right?’
‘Listen...’
‘No, laddie, you listen. Barry and I go back a long way. I taught him and most of the men who work in his yard. I’ve never had any problems before, and I don’t understand why I’m having one now. Fence panels, concrete, sand and fence posts. Did you not stop to think? Christ’s sake... how am I to repair a fence if I’ve not got any bloody posts? Should I just balance the bloody fence panels on their side and hope the wind doesn’t blow them over? I mean, come on... it’s not rocket science.’
Scott bit his lip. He’d been warned about this little fucker. He wondered if the blokes at the yard had done this on purpose, screwing up Ken Potter’s order as some kind of fucked-up initiation? Or had they done it to get back at Potter himself? He’d noticed them all muttering to themselves when the order had come through. Ah well, I’ve handled worse. Remember that job in Alvechurch when they set your boots in the concrete...
‘Well?’ Potter demanded. Scott knew he had little option but to take this one on the chin and head back to the yard to get the missing posts.
‘I’ll go and get the rest of the order,’ he said, making little effort to disguise his frustration. ‘I might as well unload what I have for you, then come back. It’ll take about an hour.’
‘I’ll not sign for any of it.’
‘Whatever.’
‘Anything you leave here remains your responsibility until I’ve received everything I’ve ordered, understand?’
‘Loud and clear.’
Scott started to unload the truck, working around Potter who watched him, arms folded, eyes following his every move. No one was going to pinch any of this stuff. As Potter himself had said, what good was a fence without posts? And anyway, there was no one else here. No other houses for miles.
The morning had been going reasonably well until then. He’d had a number of small loads to deliver, all going to folks in locations which seemed to be bo
th miles from the yard and miles from each other. He’d been starting to think that this job, although hopefully only temporary, might not be as bad as he’d originally expected. Out here alone in the truck he had time to think, to try and work everything out. At home there was always something – someone – who wanted something from him, but his time out here was almost his own. His mobile signal dropped regularly and Barry Walpole didn’t believe in satnavs, apparently, so it looked like most of the time it was just going to be him, his maps and the open road. It was surprisingly relaxing. It could have been a lot worse.
The job was way beneath him, though. He’d managed complex projects before now where he’d had to coordinate large numbers of staff and trades to hit specific deadlines, so this was easy by comparison. Getting five bags of sand to one location, then a number of timber joists to the next... it was all straightforward. But one thing had taken him by surprise, and that was the sheer scale of everything. Before they’d come here, he’d imagined Thussock and the surrounding area to be twee and small. The reality was very different. The landscape was immense, unending. This was a vast, sprawling place, often with many miles between communities, sometimes between neighbours. In the half hour or so it had taken him to get to Kenneth Potter’s house from his last drop off, he’d seen only two other cars and a solitary hiker walking along the side of the road. He’d driven along an otherwise empty road which ran along the foothills of a mountain he couldn’t even see the top of. Even the largest landmarks back home would be dwarfed by this enormous mound of rock. It was awe-inspiring, strangely humbling.
The practical differences between this place and Redditch had been hammered home last night when he’d tried to get petrol. It was past ten, and the only filling station in the town had been shut. He’d managed to get online using his phone, and had located another station some thirty-five miles away. He’d probably had enough in the tank to get there, but he’d decided not to risk it. It was strange just how isolated it had made him feel. What if that one was closed too, or what if he got lost and took a wrong turn which led him down another endless road where he might have run out of fuel and ended up stranded? He’d given Michelle the money instead, leaving her with instructions to fill the car up in Thussock later.