Mac joined him by the window. ‘All steady types, reliable. Good men.’
As they watched, one of the joiners held out a hand to check for rain and looked at the sky. He said something to the others and pointed to the corner of the compound where the mess hut was to go.
‘Not that good, or we couldn’t have bought you.’ Swann looked at him pointedly. ‘Or maybe it’s Ewan Matheson you blame. What do you say, Mac? Was it the workforce or the management lost all that money?’
Mac knew he couldn’t defend the slackness that had crept into the company over the last three years.
‘Maybe it was just luck.’
‘Luck has to be managed out of the picture.’
‘We took a hit on the Gairloch road when we under priced the rock items. There was ten times as much as the Document predicted. If we’d overpriced by just a few pence we would have made the hit.’
‘You could have fought that.’
‘We did. We lost.’
Satisfied, his point made, James Swann held a hand over the radiator to make sure it was working.
‘Tea? Coffee?’
‘Later. I want to see the two tanks. You drive.’
As Swann pulled round his safety belt Mac reversed carefully past the joiners and turned towards the road. He slipped into first gear and wobbled slowly across the uneven ground to the gate. Another lorry was approaching. He reversed while John Kelly waved it in, pulled forward again and made his right turn on to the dual carriageway.
A police car had drawn up on the verge, the two officers looking carefully at their traffic controls. One had a 60m tape in his hand. The other held a drawing. They were about to go over all the details. Mac put his mobile phone in its recharging holster on the dash and pressed 3. John Kelly answered.
‘John,’ he said. ‘Police checking the controls. Who put the cones out this morning.’
‘Me.’
The GF sounded as if he was speaking from inside a diesel barrel.
‘Trevor and Paul set it out yesterday. The chalk marks on the kerbs were all clear enough. It should be okay.’
‘Good.’ Mac pressed the off-button.
‘You weren’t sure?’
‘First time, it was worth checking. What I wanted to know was that Trevor and Paul did it together. If it was just Paul I would have worried.’
‘Who have you got on 1 and 2?’
‘My daughter. My wife.’
‘I thought you were apart.’
‘We are.’
Mac tried not to let his hands tighten on the wheel, tried not to show how this needless probe had got through his defences and, worse, called forth his answer. This one had taken him by surprise. He drove with his stomach churning, knowing he had just accepted another humiliation: accepted when he might have deflected. To make it worse it felt as if he had accepted on behalf of Alison.
Ness amounted to two hundred or so houses exposed to the elements just before the Point. Mac slowed down and turned into the hotel car park. When he had turned the engine off and taken his pair of lifting irons out of the boot they crossed the road to the septic tank. The wind from the North Sea whipped at their trouser legs, their coats, chilling them.
‘The executioner’s wind that cuts through you,’ Mac said.
‘And blows the smell back into the village. No wonder they complain.’
Mac pointed at the rubble that had been placed around the concrete tank to protect it and hold it in place.
‘All these boulders were taken from the road widening about thirty years ago. The tank was built at the same time.’
He inserted one of the lifting irons into an opening on the first cover, turned it in its socket and gave a light tug upwards. It eased slightly in its frame.
‘Good, it should lift,’ he said. He put the other iron in its socket and looked at James Swann. ‘I can’t do it alone.’
They each took a wide, knees bent, stance and hauled the heavy frame upwards to swing it over and across. Peering through the triangular opening into the dark entry chamber their eyes slowly adjusted. Below them the inlet channel from the village ran into two pipes, each one entering a different side of the tank. As they watched, a large thick turd floated through and dropped into the settlement chamber.
James Swann looked along the line of the tank, past the built up ground on to the stony beach where the outfall pipe lay exposed on the surface. The pipe was rotted and broken and faecal matter was lying in lumps between the stones.
‘Hasn’t been emptied since it was built,’ Mac said, taking himself upstream of the entry chamber, making a large circle with his hands. ‘This is where we build the interception chamber.’ He turned to look along the shore towards the compound, John Kelly and the troops small in the distance.
‘So we build a new chamber here and a pipeline to meet the new pipeline that will come over the hill from Struie to the compound area. When the new Works is in operation we’ll empty this tank, knock its top in and backfill. Basically hide it. The estimators haven’t put much in for landscaping but if we skimp it’s this we’ll be judged by.’
‘We want paid for that,’ Swann told him. ‘I’ll get Trevor to go over the document, see if he can find an opening.’
Mac didn’t point out this was his job. Intended or not the message was all too plain.
‘Now,’ said Swann, ‘round the hill to the other tank.’
As he drove towards the Point and the corner that would take them on to the Struie road Mac looked north, along where the coast doubled back on itself, at the Sutherland cliffs that eventually ran up to Caithness.
‘Beautiful country,’ he said, but James Swann didn’t reply.
The Struie Burn broke over boulders, running almost transparent in the winter light, its bank lined with leafless alders and willows.
‘This river could hardly be cleaner,’ Swann said.
‘I wouldn’t drink it. You’ll see why when we get to the village.’
Half way along the road they drove past where the fencers were laying out their materials to start on the way-leave and, shortly after, drew up beside a dilapidated mesh fence with a Water Authority sign placed inside. The septic tank was a concrete box cut into the bank, half the size of the Ness tank. The outfall pipe dropped directly into the river. They got out of the car and entered the compound, Swann waving his hand in front of his face.
‘What do they eat around here? Road kill?’
‘There’s not the same wind to take it away. Look down there, where the pipe discharges into the stream.’ Mac pointed through the water to a smooth layer of silt that covered the stones at discharge point. ‘And look there.’ Faecal lumps were lying along the water line further downstream.
‘They’ll stay there until a big rush comes down. As at Ness the sewage goes straight through. No effective treatment. So we replace the tank with a Pumping Station and lay a new pipe downstream to where you saw the fencers. There the pumping main turns uphill. Top of the hill we build a concrete culvert, then down the other side in a concrete sewer to meet the Ness flow.’
James Swann was hardly listening. ‘This is where the Resident Engineer’s hut goes?’
‘Authority property, so we didn’t have to negotiate.’
‘And well out of the way of most of the works. Good.’
‘Well out of the way.’
‘Trevor and your boy are on the way-leave now? I mean right now. I didn’t see them.’
‘They would be up the hill.’
‘On the other side is the wayleave back down to the compound? I might go back that way on foot?’
‘It’s not set out yet but – sure.’
‘Let’s go see what they’re up to.’
Mac opened the boot and changed into his yellow dayglow jacket. He took out two safety helmets and gave one to James. The two men pulled on wellies and walked back down the road. Above them on the hill the two setting-out engineers were ranging around with tape measures. About a third of the way up
a theodolite had been placed over a setting-out peg. The fencers were putting wooden stobs and rolls of wire mesh into a trailer behind a quad ready to carry up.
A second group had already begun at the bottom and were now driving in their third stob. Two holding it in place with stabilisers while a third hammered it into the ground with a 2kg mallet. Swann turned to Mac as they climbed.
‘What century is this? There are machines that push these things into the ground in half the time. Don’t you know we carry safety responsibility for these men?’
‘There isn’t one available this side of Inverness right now, and if there had been it couldn’t have matched Sandy Mac„Kenzie’s price. Take it from me he’ll finish on time if he has to work in the snow.’
Swann lengthened his stride, lifting the uphill pace without answering.
By God, Mac thought, the man could climb. He found himself labouring and breathless. Up ahead Paul and Trevor were squaring off from the pipeline pegs, taping out fence offsets. Swann strode uphill and past them. Mac laboured up and called Paul and Trevor across.
‘Did he speak? Did he say anything?’
‘Didn’t so much as smile,’ said Trevor, respectfully. It appeared Trevor didn’t know he was Mac’s replacement yet.
‘Watch him, boys. He could sack you without an extra blink.’
‘I know it,’ said Trevor.
‘He said something to me,’ said Paul. ‘Accuracy. Just that one word – accuracy.’
Swann was waiting at the top of the slope. ‘They’re working steadily enough anyway.’
‘I’d say they’re committed.’
‘Umh.’
Swann’s eyes were on the animals that grazed the hill. Close to the road there were black cattle; from about half way up it was all sheep.
‘Met the farmers’ agent yet?’
‘Not yet.’
‘Well, get on with it. He’d not be the first to see a way-leave slightly out of position and let it go until we couldn’t go back and then stop us and hurt us. Those fences have to be on the nail. Take a tape to a few of the pegs yourself, you and Kelly. Be sure; be absolutely sure. When MacKenzie is done get these two to go over the whole thing again. Make sure everything they do is checked.’
‘Of course’
‘Don’t ‘‘of course’’ me. You’ll have my trust when you’ve earned it, and you’ll never have it all. I’ll always be looking over your shoulder, Mac. Never forget that. This job has a two per cent. It can’t afford mistakes. C’mon, we’ll walk to the other side.’
Mac looked back down the way-leave at Paul and Trevor, down again to the fencers and the Struie road. The engineers would have to pack up in the early afternoon. At this time of year, this far north, the days were short and hard. The air was colder. James Swann would not know to make allowances. But he had already strode off. Mac turned and followed along the line of pegs.
At the seaward side they looked down another steep slope to the compound where Kelly was organising the work force, not doing it well. A flat lorry was waiting at the gate, preventing another lorry from entering. There was a bank of traffic held up on the dual carriageway. One of the joiners took out a tin and began the casual rolling of a cigarette.
‘Behind us,’ said Mac, ‘the route we’ve just walked, is the culvert. I want to do that before the pipelines. Otherwise the ground will turn to slush and we’ll struggle to get concrete up. This is where our joiners will be going as soon as they finish the compound.’
‘No they won’t. I’m bringing up a grip squad from Glasgow. They’ll do this in half the time.’
Mac’s heart sank. A self-employed squad would look to Swann’s authority. They would look to it through Trevor. They would see through his position. He remained silent for a long time, looking along the coast, along the line of cliffs to Sutherland, at the three closest oil rigs. Further out to sea he could make out a dozen more.
He was finished. It was a matter of time.
‘I guess you know what you’re doing.’
‘I’ll walk directly down to the compound from here. You go back the way we came. I’ll be gone by the time you get back.’
Mac watched him make the first part of his descent, carefully at first down the higher steeper levels. He took his mobile phone from his pocket and pressed 3. Knowing James Swann was on his way would not repair the mess John Kelly had made but it would at least prepare him for the blast.
He stopped at the Ness Hotel for lunch, ordered steak pie, chips and tea, no alcohol, had to wait half an hour. After 10 minutes, he took out his mobile phone and pressed 1.
‘Hi, Dad.’
‘Hi Sweetheart. Where are you?’
‘Just outside the school with Gillian and Mike. You?’
Mike?
‘I’m in the Ness Hotel. What a dump. Ancient stags’ heads with eyes missing, tatty tartan curtains, linoleum worn to the thread. Classic of a sort, I suppose. Hard to believe it can still exist.’
‘Can I buy the new iPod? I’ll be the last person I know to have it.’
This took no thought. ‘You’ve got money so just go ahead. I’ll make it up tonight. Listen, will you cook?’
‘Dad, you have a responsibility to look after me, not the other way around. This is what Mum said.’
‘What else did Mum say?’
‘It’s the age of equality. Women don’t have to cook.’
‘So be equal. I did it last night. Look in the freezer. Choose. Microwave! It’s easy. Just set the table. And buy that music. We can listen together on the hi-fi.’
‘I don’t think so. It’s modern and you’d hate it. But we can watch television. 6:30, remember you said.’
‘Mike who?’
‘Mike MacArthur. You know his Dad. You were at school together.’
That would be Colin MacArthur who had cut a swathe through the girls in their time. Why worry?
‘Does he wear a leather jacket, Mohican haircut, ripped jeans, smoke dope.’
‘Dad! I have to go.’
‘Okay.’
‘Dad, can I have contact lenses?’
‘Ask Mum.’
‘G’bye.’
The phone was heavy in his hand, but she wouldn’t feel the aching hunger for him that he felt for her. It was too much to expect. He had to understand how it was for her.
The face of the mobile told him he had a voice message from Patricia. Well, that could wait until later. He ate his lunch in silence and paid his bill and, as he left, a breeze from the sea lifted some of the guff from the septic tank and poured it around him.
Back at the compound Kelly gave him a wry look but said nothing, continuing his untidy organisation of a construction site in the chaos of its early days. Mac took a box of drawings and documents from the boot of his car, the laptop from the back seat, the calendar, into the Agent’s hut to enter each into its new space. In time he and the space would grow into each other. It would become the universal site hut he had lived half his life in. The pile of earth lumps, he noticed, had softened as the day wore on.
On his laptop he called up the works programme and checked materials required for the coming week against delivery notes, made the necessary call to the buyer to gee up the supplies. He took the folder of plant returns from his brief case and put it in the filing cabinet.
When the initial setting-out was complete he could hand all this over to Trevor. Not yet though; and the pegs had to be in the ground and checked before that side could be left to Paul. He phoned the electricity company, calling forward their connection. Both John Kelly and he were too much engaged in trivia, but that would stop when the major part of the labour force, dispersed from the Black Isle, was reassembled. That would be, he checked the programme again, half next week, the rest two weeks down the line. He made coffee and, as he sat down again, the phone rang.
Patricia.
‘Mac, it’s me. We have to speak.’
‘Not a promising start. Where are you?’
‘At ho
me.’
‘Ah yes. I remember.’
She would be in the kitchen of their house, under the new units he’d put in shortly before leaving, shortly before Ronnie. Her hair was shorter now, but the essentials would be the same. She would be wearing jeans and a pullover to work in. She would be finished for the day, article written and emailed to the paper. This call would be made after she was done, interrupting his work, not hers.
‘How’d you get this number?’ he asked.
‘Sally at the office. Obviously you weren’t going answer your mobile.’
‘Ronnie there? How’s he like my taste in furniture and paintings? Obviously he shares my taste in women?’
‘The furniture and paintings are my taste, same as everything else in here. You don’t remember? You were too busy with your valuations on site to notice the value of what was under your nose. Ronnie’s at work. He has the sort of job where you go in at 9:00 in the morning and come home at half past five.’
‘That’s a real job? Okay, I’ll take your word for it. What do you want?’
‘I want to talk with you about Alison. I’m not happy about some of the attitudes she picks up from you.’
‘What?’
‘That’s right, and there are other things. I think she’s drinking. Have you been giving her drink?’
‘She gets half a glass of wine topped up with lemonade, an introduction. That’s not drinking.’
‘I don’t want her drinking at all and I’m her mother.’
‘Well, I want her to have a responsible attitude to drink and not get ambushed by it when she eventually moves into the adult world and, by the way, I’m her father. Don’t forget that, you and Ronnie.’
There was a long silence from Patricia, a great nothingness that had him taking the phone from his ear and looking at it until her tiny voice, now wounded, sounded across the gap.
‘This is hurting us both,’ she said.
‘I guess so.’
‘How’s the job? Any better?’
‘Same shit as last time we spoke. What I am thinking about is how we are going to lay the pipeline across the A9. One side at a time, I guess. Moving the traffic across to suit.’
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