Sign of the Times

by Susan Buchanan

  Tom gave himself up, in body, to his sister’s remonstrations, but his mind was elsewhere.

  Home again, Tom checked his mobile and saw Shirley had left a message. The radio must have been too loud in the car. Lifting the receiver of his landline, he placed it between his chin and his chest, whilst he searched for the Post-it he’d scribbled her number on. Dialling the number, he’d just started twirling the cord between his thumb and index finger, when Shirley answered,

  “Shirley?” Tom greeted her affectionately. “I just got your message.”

  “How you doing?”

  “Fine. I was at my sister’s.”

  “Oh right. Well, I was phoning to suggest somewhere to meet.”

  “Actually,” Tom interrupted her. “I have an idea I think you’re going to love. But...if you’ve already thought of something,” he added quickly.

  “Well, let’s hear your idea first,” Shirley offered graciously.

  Tom told her about the Aonach Eagach trip. No sooner had Tom finished speaking than Shirley agreed, “That’s an excellent idea. I’d love that. Next Saturday, you said?”

  “Yes,” replied a relieved Tom.

  He told her he’d have Simon book her a room at the Aonach Inn, the principal haunt of all hardened walkers, akin to climbers what après ski offered the skiing community. Half the fun was in getting plastered after the arduous day’s labours. The Aonach Inn was the perfect place to get sozzled.

  When Tom awoke next day, his first thoughts were of the following Saturday. In the meantime, he had work to do. So, yawning and easing himself out of bed, as he’d have preferred to remain under his duvet, he started the day. It was shaping up to be a busy one. There was a problem over at Castlecary, so he had to reschedule a few meetings. He remembered he needed to resolve Joe’s overtime issue. On reaching the site and asking for Jamie’s whereabouts, he was shocked to learn Jamie had been rushed to A&E. A load of wood had fallen on him. And apparently he hadn’t been wearing a hard hat at the time.

  “Jesus,” said Tom appalled. “Why didn’t Cynthia tell me what the problem was before I came over? She just said there was a problem. Is he going to be OK?”

  “Don’t know. He wasn’t conscious when they took him away. The paramedics said he had head injuries,” Willie added as an afterthought. “Sol’s at the hospital with him.”

  “Which hospital? was all Tom managed to blurt out, already striding back to his car.

  “Falkirk Royal, but he might get transferred to the Southern General.”

  “I’ll be back later. Leave a message on the mobile if you need anything. I’ll call you when I have news…and Willie?”

  “Yes, boss?”

  “Stand in for Jamie.”

  Tom drove at breakneck speed to the hospital and was lucky not to have ended up in hospital himself. He swung his Mazda into the car park and barely pulled the handbrake on, before he was marching through the door marked A&E. He glanced round for Sol, but didn’t see him. Flustered, he saw the Triage reception desk, where a young couple were being attended to. Eventually his turn came and he was able to ask about his friend’s welfare.

  “I’m looking for Jamie Patterson. He was brought in earlier with head injuries. Accident at work.”

  The receptionist scrolled through a few screens, then told Tom.

  “He’s been admitted. If you take a seat, I’ll see what else I can find out.”

  Whilst he waited, he listened to the booking-in procedure of the prospective patients. Twenty minutes later, the receptionist called his name.

  “He’s in the ICU. Are you a relative?”

  “No. I’m his boss.”

  “Is his family here?” the receptionist asked.

  Dawn! He didn’t even know if anyone had informed Jamie’s wife. He’d better call her. The receptionist must have been used to dealing with situations like this, as she read his expression well, smiled kindly at him and informed him there was a payphone in the next block, or he could use his mobile outside.

  Tom told Dawn to get a cab and meet him at the ICU. Meanwhile he found out where it was and tried to find someone who could give him information on Jamie’s condition. Luckily he found the consultant within five minutes.

  “Are you a relative?”

  “Yes. I’m his brother,” he lied. “Can you tell me how he is? I heard he’d had a nasty knock to the head at work.”

  “I’m afraid he’s in a coma at the moment. I can’t really tell you much else until we obtain the results of his x-rays and his MRI scan. Once the swelling to the brain subsides we’ll know more.” With that he excused himself and left Tom sitting in the relatives’ room, feeling useless.

  Dawn arrived with her sister in tow. Tom explained what the consultant had said. She listened, tears spilling down her face, streaking her mascara. After a few awkward moments, when Dawn sobbed against her sister, she regained her composure sufficiently to ask Tom what had happened. Tom admitted he didn’t know, but assured her he was going to find out. It had just occurred to him what Willie had said about Jamie not wearing his hard hat. Jamie was a stickler for rules and safety especially and always led by example. Tom couldn’t envisage any situation where Jamie wouldn’t wear his hat.

  “Dawn, I’m going to go back to the site, speak to the guys, see what I can find out. Please let me know if there’s any change.”

  Tom stormed blindly out of the hospital. He couldn’t believe Jamie was in a coma. He prayed he would be all right. He’d known Jamie since he was ten years old. It put everything else in perspective. Ashamed, but unable to help himself, Tom’s thoughts turned towards the business and the further setback it would take as a direct result of Jamie’s no doubt lengthy absence. He called Mike to let him know the latest. Mike took the news calmly, but was deeply sorry about Jamie. The builder’s grapevine was such that Mike had already heard rumours about Jamie’s accident.

  “Tom, if you need to talk…”

  “I’ll phone you later.”

  Arriving back at the site, he immediately sought out Willie.

  “Willie. Jamie’s in a coma. We don’t know yet how serious things are,” said Tom in despair. “Earlier you said Jamie wasn’t wearing a hard hat. You know Jamie, Mr Safety, why wasn’t he wearing his hat?”

  Willie seemed guarded, eventually stammering, “I-I’m not totally sure.”

  “What do you mean you’re not sure?”

  Willie finally blurted out, “Just before the accident, Jamie was arguing with Joe.”

  “What do you mean arguing?” alarm bells went off in Tom’s head.

  “Well, a few punches were thrown and…”

  “A few punches!” exclaimed Tom incredulously. Willie said miserably, “Joe threw the first punch, but Jamie retaliated and Joe smacked him on the head and Jamie’s hat flew off. Next minute the load fell. But everything happened so fast,” Willie backtracked.

  “Where’s Joe?” Tom fumed. “You realise the implications of this? The police will have to be called in.”

  “I haven’t seen him since the accident.”

  Tom went off in search of Joe. He was going to break his bloody neck. But, there was no sign of him. Tom called Cynthia and asked for Joe’s address. He jumped back in his car and raced down the M77 to Ayr to see if Joe was home.

  Chapter Eight

  Tom knocked a second time and a third. The fourth time he hammered on the door, a neighbour came out and asked him to cut it out. Tom apologised and asked if he knew where Joe was,

  “Haven’t seen him, son. He’s working at a site near Cumbernauld, though.”

  Tom thanked the man and returned to his car fuming. Where was the little runt? He sat, staring at the steering wheel, lost in his thoughts. Snapping back to reality, he picked up his mobile and called Mike.

  “Mike? Tom. How about that pint?”

  By the time Tom made it to the pub, Dawn had called with an update. Jamie had been assessed and a brain scan had indicated a considerable amount of swelling.
They were going to have to operate to relieve the pressure to his brain. The medical team would then continue with further tests, but couldn’t yet confirm if he’d have any permanent damage. The next few hours would be crucial. Tom told her to keep her chin up, reminded her Jamie was a fighter and said he’d call her first thing to see if there was any further change.

  Mike arrived shortly after Tom. Tom was just telling Mike about Joe’s involvement in the incident, when he spotted Joe entering the pub. Joe hadn’t seen Tom, as he was headed towards the lounge and not the bar side of The Jolly Japes. Tom excused himself, pointing towards Joe. He crept up on him and was just on the verge of pouncing, when he reeled back as if punched in the stomach. Joe was sitting at one of the trestle tables, with none other than James O’Reilly. Tom began to feel uneasy. He wasn’t aware Joe knew O’Reilly socially. He watched a brief exchange between the two men, heads huddled closely together.

  Tom witnessed Joe hand O’Reilly an A4 envelope. O’Reilly quickly opened it and leafed through the four or five sheets of paper enclosed. A sly grin spread over his face as the blood drained from Tom’s. His worst fears looked to be confirmed as he watched O’Reilly, in turn, withdraw a small packet and hand it to Joe, who accepted it greedily. He opened it and by the way his lips moved, Tom could plainly see that Joe was counting. But like a cuckolded lover in denial, Tom asked himself if it were really possible that Joe would betray him like this, accepting bribes in exchange for Matthews Construction’s plans for tender. Yes - that would explain how O’Reilly was able to undercut him. He swallowed hard and turned away, shocked at this knowledge.

  Tom scarpered back to the bar. He didn’t tell Mike everything, but let him know he hadn’t spoken to Joe and had a very good reason for not doing so. He asked Mike not to let on they’d been in the pub tonight.

  Mike and Tom continued their drinks but Tom was unable to relax. He wished Holly were here. Outside the pub, Tom turned down Mike’s offer of a fish supper. It was a fine night, so he decided to walk. The moon was full and seemed to be smiling, or was it laughing at him? The sky was sprinkled with twinkling stars, so he would have no difficulty finding the path to the farmhouse. He hadn’t had much to drink and the evening’s events had sobered him somewhat. He wished the walk was this Saturday. He needed something to help him clear his head.

  The next thirty six hours flew. Tom called Dawn. Jamie wasn’t out of the woods yet, but the swelling had subsided considerably. The consultant had cautiously indicated that this was a very positive sign. Tom’s relief was palpable.

  Tom spent Friday looking through the latest tenders lost to O’Reilly’s. In the last three months, they had lost nine tenders, each time at prices Tom wouldn’t have believed possible if his customers hadn’t consistently relayed them to him. Tom wondered about the security of the files. Who had access? He’d ask Cynthia. She was the soul of discretion. He was certain only he and she had keys. By now he was a hundred percent sure Joe was the reason he’d been losing so much money and why his company was in danger of going under. He wouldn’t allow it to happen. Grim, but determined, he picked up the Yellow Pages and looked under the section for Private Investigators. He’d soon flush this particular rat out of its hole, but he needed proof. He still had to take Joe to task over Jamie’s accident. He would be expecting to be pulled up about it. With a wry smile, Tom marvelled at Joe’s audacity and sheer stupidity. It would have been easy for him to be discovered through clocking too much overtime. Foolishly Joe had put himself in the limelight, the exact opposite of what Tom imagined a small-time crook such as Joe, should be doing.

  A week later, Jamie was over the worst. Although his recovery would be slow, it looked like he would make a full recovery. With a much lighter heart Tom closed his front door, trailing his camping gear behind him. He was nervous. So many things had happened recently he felt exhausted and overwhelmed. He really needed this break. Arranging to meet Shirley an hour before the others, it was less likely anyone would realise they weren’t really acquainted and there would hopefully be no awkward moments. They had arranged to meet at the Little Chef, just off the A80, a midway point between their two hometowns. Tom had suggested they leave his car at the restaurant and Shirley could drop him off there on Sunday night. She had told him her registration, so he wouldn’t make a complete idiot of himself.

  Tom needn't have worried. Shirley was bent over her boot, pulling out hiking boots and a waterproof jacket, when he drew up. Before she turned around, Tom had a chance to appraise her. She was very slight, around five feet two and lucky if she weighed seven stone. Tom at six feet four found himself thinking of their height difference. Her hair was an ash blonde bob. She was dressed in hiking thermals and dark trainers. No Kylie Minogue, but she was certainly cute.

  Shirley whirled around at the sound of the car stopping. Looking up from beneath thick, unmade-up lashes, she smiled impishly. He was exactly as she'd imagined.

  "Hi," she said shyly.

  Tom got out of the car, then laughed.

  "Sorry. It's just I feel I should shake hands with you or something.”

  God he’s tall. "We can shake hands if you like," Shirley replied solemnly, trying to hide a smile.

  So they did. Her hands were small, with perfect fingernails. To his relief she wasn't a nail biter. Shirley found his handshake firm, yet gentle. A spark coursed through her. This weekend could be even better than expected.

  “Shall we go inside?” Tom asked, as they had both been standing like rabbits caught in the headlights. They found a table and Tom went to get them some coffee.

  Overcoming their shyness quickly, they were soon jabbering away. Tom finally exclaimed, “What time is it?”

  “Nine thirty. We’d better get a move on. Your friend will be wondering where we’ve got to.”

  “I’ll give him a call now. Let’s go,” said Tom striding towards the door.

  They were only five minutes late and Sam hadn’t appeared yet, so they weren’t quite ready to leave. Tom introduced Shirley to the guys.

  “Am I the only girl?” she asked incredulously.

  “You’re not a girl. You’re an honorary bloke. It’s a great honour,” said Jed gravely.

  “Well as long as I know where I stand. That must mean I get to drink twenty pints of Guinness, enough so’s it puts ‘airs on me chest and I need to find the ugliest females gorgeous after five pints.”

  They all laughed. Tom looked at her affectionately. It was going to be a good weekend.

  Tom and Shirley went with Jed and Sam, when he finally turned up and the others followed. It was traditional for them to stop off at the Stag’s Head, at the top of Loch Lomond, for a spot of lunch, but they decided to motor on and save themselves for dinner.

  The car park was busy. As it was a ridge walk, they had to walk seven miles and descend in a different part of the glen, so it made sense to drop one car at the finish. Tom and Shirley were in the only car which made straight for the starting point. The others soon returned and they set off at a brisk pace. The sun shone high above them, casting a golden glow across the heather strewn glen. A welcome breeze stopped them feeling the real force of the sun. They walked on, laughing, prattling on and generally being lads and taking the piss. Shirley, despite her petite form and feminine appearance, gave as good as she got. They stopped several times to admire the incredible scenery. Some of the group were keen photographers and took the opportunity to capture the magnificence of the Highlands.

  “I’m starving,” said Sam. They had been walking for a good two hours. Everyone laughed. He was always first to need fed. Six times he’d told them since they set out that he was hungry, including once in the car park before they left. Simon took pity on him and acquiesced. Sinking thankfully onto some nearby rocks, they unpacked their lunches, munching away for ten minutes, before Simon announced they needed to crack on.

  The rest of the walk passed uneventfully, but the path became more difficult to navigate and they were tiring. The breeze h
ad dissipated and now the sun beat down mercilessly. Now came the tricky part. The Clachaig gully was universally accepted as the easiest looking place to descend from the Aonach Eagach, but deceptively so. Too many walkers had suffered a grim death, or had nasty accidents here, so Simon warned them all to take extra care. Shirley was grateful Simon and Tom kept on either side of her throughout. Usually fearless by nature, her limbs were tired and she was in awe of this rather frightening route. They were fortunate it was such a fine day. When they arrived safely at the bottom of the rocky gully, a round of applause went up.

  “Thanks guys,” said Shirley. They’d noticed she’d been spooked by the steepness of the gully and had seen from her expression that she was daunted at the prospect of descending into the rocky ravine, where one misplaced step, would mean almost certain death.

  “Hey. We’ve done the Aonach Eagach,” Tom whispered to Shirley.

  “I know. Isn’t it great? Anyone for beer?” Shirley had to raise her voice to be heard above the chatter.

  “Yeessss!” the shout went up, as they scrambled down the remaining few feet and walked towards the Aonach Inn. Tom got the first round in.

  After the first drink, Simon and Allan slipped off to pick up Simon’s car, whilst everyone else continued drinking in their honour. They soon returned and after sharing a beer with them, to cries of Sláinte, they went to check in. Jed handed out the keys.

  “Number nine for you guys, Tom,” said Jed. Mike looked askance at Tom.

  Tom looked at Jed alarmed, “Jed, we’re meant to have separate rooms.”

  “Oh right. I’ll have a word.”

  The receptionist leafed through her reservations book,

  “I’m afraid the best I can do is a twin.”

  Tom was mortified. What if Shirley thought he’d intentionally booked only one room? Hardly daring to, he turned towards her. Her face was all smiles, as he apologised for the misunderstanding,

  “Don’t worry,” said Shirley, “Honestly” and she took the key from Jed.