Zoe was in the utility room looking for her Levis. She was annoyed that Jane had been round twice this week and hadn't even managed to get them ironed for her. She knew that Bob paid her a tenner an hour which, she thought, was too much. Far too much, especially to someone who didn't have the initiative to realise she would be looking to wear them this weekend. She could hear the vacuum and opened the garage door a peek. Bob was on his knees leaning into the well with vacuum on full suction mode. She tiptoed up behind him and slapped him on the backside with all her weight behind it: all eight stone. Just like in the movies, Bob got the fright of his life and the back of his head crashed against the underside of the dash.
“Bloody hell!” He was rubbing the back of his head. “I’ve got a weak heart you know?”
“Didn’t seem too weak to me last night big boy?” She gave him her smouldering vixen look.
Bob could only see one colour of light and it was green for go. He stepped towards her and she jumped back having anticipated his reaction. She skipped out of the garage and back into the utility room stopping in the doorway to beckon him with her finger. He was still holding the handheld vacuum but immediately dropped it letting it crash onto the concrete. Its innards bust open and dust and gravel scattered across the floor. He didn't hear or see that and stepped into the utility room. Zoe was gone. There was an impenetrable barrier across the narrow room: an ironing board. He started to laugh and shake his head. He could hear her trying to contain a laugh without success. She was such a manipulator but he rarely saw it coming. It was a trait he actually found amusing and he adored her for it. He moved the barrier so it was side on and lifted the already hot iron and pressed the Levis.
Bob went back to his second love. He was just finishing off cleaning the Jag windows when Zoe came in wearing the jeans. She looked fantastic in them and could easily pass for late 20’s. He remembered the time they had been out strolling in the city centre late at night when a local ‘character’, slightly worse for wear, had commented that it was lovely to see a man out socialising with his daughter. They had both laughed at the time but Zoe had loved it and referred back to it at every opportunity. He often wondered about how she would feel in five years when he was sixty. Sixty was much older than fifty-five. Then what about sixty-five? He was sure she would eventually leave him but maybe that was his defence mechanism kicking in, hoping for the best but fearing the worst.
“Let’s go to the beach and get some ice cream.” Zoe was using her pretty please smile.
“Good day for it. Fine by me.”
“Can you throw the folding chairs in the boot?” Zoe was pointing to the Jag.
“There will be no throwing of anything in the direction of my second love.”
“Hold It! I hope Fuckface isn't on this list?”
“Course not. But please! I hate that expression.”
“Have you drilled her to see if she is behind the calls?”
“It's not her. She couldn't care less about us. I’m glad she’s gone. Just you and I now.”
She smiled and took his hand and placed it against her cheek.
“Sorry. I forgot about your ‘Jaguar Rules’. Nothing in the back seat, nothing in the boot, ever!”
The garage door slowly rose like a stage curtain and the cool winter sun sneaked in underneath, Bob watched it and for a moment he was back in the Royal Opera Hall. It was Act III and Mimi and Randolfo were reconciling. He could hear them and the flood of emotion that came from the duet made his face prickle.
“Maybe we could try the Opera again?”
“It’ll cost you one of those diamonds?”
“You’ll get those soon enough.” Bob had a guilty image in his head. A bag of lies. Not long to the next game, he thought and he just needed his luck to hold.
“You know I tried my best, it's just not for me.”
“I went to Kylie and didn't complain.”
“Didn’t complain? That's all you did.”
“Have to admit she was hot, for a younger woman.”
“I’m younger and more hotter.”
“Hotter or more hot, never more hotter.”
“Ha! I was forgetting you could have been my teacher.”
Bob laughed loudly. “Okay. One nil to you. You always get the last word. Where to?”
“You choose.”
“West coast?”
“Possibly.”
“East Coast?”
“Yeah. I like your thinking.”
“Berston?”
“Sounds ok.”
“Chanley?”
“Yeah! Perfect.”
After a run of eighty miles to the coast, a sandwich and coffee, an ice cream and a walk along the beach they did the return journey.
“It’s wine o’clock,” said Zoe.
“I’ll have a glass but there’s a game tonight so I need a clear head.”
“Another game?”
“Yeah! Sorry! Short notice but I said I’d be there.”
“You’ve got work in the morning.”
“I know. I’ll be home by two or three at the latest. Only need a couple of hours at my age remember?” he said in a sarcy tone.
“As long as you sort dinner before you go,” demanded Zoe.
Bob didn't claim to be a cook but he was pretty good at following a recipe and could turn out a decent plate of food. He flicked the pages of the latest Nigella. He had thrown the old one out as it had gotten a bit splashed. He was checking on a pepper sauce and peas with pancetta. An hour or so later he placed a large oval white plate on the table where Zoe was patiently waiting, with fork in hand. The food was laid out properly much like the picture in the book.
“Looks amazing, thanks.”
“Tuck in, I’ll be with you in a moment.”
Bob sat opposite. He raised his wine glass and Zoe did the same while stuffing a large piece of steak into her mouth. He looked at his plate and liked the balance and colours and savoured the smell. Medium rare fillet, oozing slightly, with some sauté potatoes from the M&S range, and homemade peas with pancetta. A boatful of pepper sauce was for self-service. Zoe had already drowned her steak in the sauce and was now scooping a forkful of the peas from her plate.
“These peas are so good. The flavour from the ham is magic.”
“Pancetta.”
“Ok. Pancetta. Either way, they are delicious. I never used to eat greens.”
They ate quietly and when finished Zoe retired to the sofa and switched on to the X Factor. Bob tidied everything away and got the kitchen back to immaculate. He left Zoe to her program and took the cash out from the safe. The diamonds, fake or otherwise were still there. He counted out eight thousand. That would be plenty if things went his way early in the game. If not he could always fall back on the Management's agreed ‘limits, terms and conditions’ of borrowing. If he could, possibly, win sixteen tonight that would take him up to almost forty. The big game was just less than two weeks away and was a chance to win enough to reinstate the missing diamonds. He knew a big win was going to happen sooner or later.
Bob gave Zoe a kiss on her shoulder and she woke with a drowsy smile.
“I’m off, time for your bed.”
“Ok. Who won?”
“X Factor? Sorry, didn't watch it.”
“Ok. I’ll get it on catch up. Good luck.”
It was a bigger table than usual, eight Gladiators with the Management, as usual, dealing. The rules were, as always, revisited, to avoid any doubt. There were at least two players Bob hadn't seen before which always caused a bit of angst. The Management vouched for everyone at the table but that was more about paying debts rather than looking for players who might collude. Collusion was difficult to spot and no one ever wanted to make such an accusation at a table.
Bob cashed in at around 1.30am and was just over four thousand up. Something in the back of his head told him to take a profit and keep his powder dry for the big game.
When he got home, Zoe was in her room.
11
Carla arrived early and parked in the compound just outside the main gates of the yard. She was pleased as her car was the only one in and it would give her a chance to have a look round before the others arrived. She could see the main gates were open and when she cleared the wall hiding the main office she realised someone had beaten her there. The lights were on in the main office but she could see someone was standing, in shadowy light, by a window in what was to be Bob’s office. She stopped and tried to stay out of sight. She thought about calling the police but then saw the man looking out the window as if waiting for someone. It was Dario.
“You're early?” said Dario now standing in the main office.
“Not as early as you. Where’s your car?”
“At the garage. Needs an MOT.”
“How did you get here?”
“The Ducati. It's in the container. Don't want it nicked.”
“Ducati? It’s a motorbike. You’re such a snob.”
“Why are you so early? Not much for you to do till IT have been.”
“Just thought I could help get the place sorted. What were you doing in Bob’s office?”
“It’s not Bob’s yet. We’ve still to decide on offices.”
“Funny that! Bob thinks it's Bob’s office.”
“I need to go into town. I’ll be back in a while.”
Carla was moving things about as he went to get the Ducati. She watched him unlock the container and drive the bike out, before locking it again. There were two large outbuildings for storage and four metal container units. Carla was curious to know what else was in that container.
The rest of the day was a total guddle with IT, BT and the plumber all arriving either late or with the wrong equipment. Dario didn’t show and when Carla quizzed Bob he just said something about him having problems with his car and he would be in tomorrow. Eventually, Bob sent everyone home early including the crews who weren't already out on contracted work. At least the offices had been allocated and the furniture was in place.
By Wednesday they were almost back to normality. Dario and Bob were in their offices as per Bob’s instructions. The planners, Eddie and James were working on incoming work and Office Manager, Carla had the young ones organised in admin and reception. Meantime Craig was rousting the crews in the work sheds and compounds. Bob looked out on the yard and felt quite proud. He was employing in the region of forty people: staff numbers fluctuated with lots of young workers coming and going without notice. It was the way of the world Bob thought to himself. The downside of the numbers was high overheads coupled with poor cash flow. The business was notorious for bad debt and companies who refused to pay up until the last possible minute, usually, just before ‘going legal’.
Dario was in a meeting with Bob. Carla could hear guffaws of laughter and went to investigate. They were huddled around Dario’s laptop and didn’t notice her standing in the doorway.
“Busy are we?”
Dario closed the laptop with a thud and Bob stood up quickly looking sheepish.
“Carla, come in,” said Dario glancing at the laptop. “We were just going over some figures.”
“Figures? I know the kind of figures you mean.”
Bob avoided eye contact with Carla but Dario brassed it out locking eyes with her as if completely innocent.
“Anyway, good timing, how’s our cash flow,” asked Bob.
“Terrible! to be blunt,” replied Carla “We’ve got over a hundred and thirty at ninety days.”
“Why don't you chase them for it?” Dario knew Carla would have been doing just that but never missed a chance to have a dig.
“Thanks for that idea, Dario. Wish I had thought of it,” she replied sarcastically.
Bob stepped in. “Let's make a list of everything over sixty days.”
“Already done it.” Carla was holding a folder and took out three spreadsheets. She handed one to Bob and Dario and then looked at her own. “I’ve split the list into three. Everything is there: amounts, dates, contacts, and phone numbers.”
“I’m too busy for this,” said Dario.
Carla glared at Bob looking for his support.
“We all have to chip in on this. Everything else can wait,” he said.
“Good! Bob, you have GP energy and Carlton Gas, You know these guys.”
“I have SKS and Powerlines. I can usually work them round. Dario. You have the rest.”
“For fuck sake, I’ve got six.”
“Yep! Six contracts that you brought in. All crap at paying up,” said Carla.
“At least I…”
“Enough!” snapped Bob. “Time to pull together.”
“There something else,” added Carla.
“Well?”
“The VAT Man.”
“How much?”
“Sixty-two by the seventh of next month.”
“Soft-soap them. You did it before,” suggested Bob.
“I’m not certain we’ll get away with that a second time.”
“Try your best. We’ll get some of this cash in this week.”
“I hope so, we’re in trouble if not.”
Bob wanted to ask Carla about some Directors dividends but decided it wasn't the best time.
“What about the Directors dividends?” Dario was looking at Bob and successfully trying to annoy Carla.
Carla looked at Bob and her face was saying ‘no chance’.
“We can talk about that later,” replied Bob “Let’s get started on this,” he added looking at his list of two.
“It's one thirty, can we reconvene at four thirty?” asked Carla.
“Sounds good,” said Bob.
“No can do,” said Dario. “I’ve got the dentist, remember?” he added looking at Bob.
Carla raised her eyes derisively. “Someone let me know what's happening?” she said as she walked out without looking back.
Dario closed the door.
“We should get shot of her,” said Dario.
“Why? Because she gives a fuck?”
Dario was surprised by such language from Bob. It was commonplace in the yard and even Carla was prone to a bit of profanity but not Bob. He could not actually remember him swearing, ever.
“Sorry. I hate foul language,” added Bob.
“I know she does, but we pay her too much, the car, the benefits. It all adds up.”
“ We! pay her too much?”
“Okay! You pay her too much.”
“Maybe I pay you too much as well?”
“I’ve brought in loads of new business. You were going to make me a director, I seem to remember.”
“That might still happen when we get through this. Just leave off Carla.”
Dario decided to take a step back for now.
“Cancel your appointment. The meeting comes first.”
“But…”
“Four thirty. Back here.”
It was four thirty and Bob was at his desk when Carla came in smiling.
“Twelve already captured and a promise of another nine by Friday.”
“Well done Mrs.”
“Miss if you don't mind,” she replied with a cheeky grin.
“Dario!” Bob roared so Dario would hear it in his office.
“He’s not back yet.”
“Not back? Didn't know he was out?”
“Yeah! He left soon after the meeting. I spotted him getting his, ‘Ducati’, as he calls it, out of his container.”
“His container?”
“Yeah. He says he needs it to keep his ‘Ducati’ safe.”
At 4.45pm Dario walked in and sat down without an apology.
“Where’ve you been,” asked Bob.
“I managed to get an earlier appointment so took it.”
Carla was watching Dario. She had studied psychology and knew a bit about body language. Dario had his hand over his mouth and was rubbing his nose. Classic signs of the liar.
“So how did you get on with your list
?” Bob was looking at Dario.
“Good! Good!” He had his arms folded tightly and the hand remained around his mouth and nose. Carla so wanted to grill him. He was now, both, keeping everyone at length and lying through his teeth. She had watched enough cop dramas to know she could have easily pushed him into a corner. Bob was oblivious to the signs.
“How much are you talking about then?”
“Well, I went through the list and spoke to all of them and…”
“How much?”
“Waiting on them getting back to me. Definitely get some in this week.”
“So nothing so far?”
“Eh! No!”
“Well. I managed six by close of play today. Check the online banking for me Carla, it should be in.”
“Will do.”
“Carla, I’m glad to say managed twelve with nine to follow.”
Dario stared at Bob so not having to look at Carla and said nothing.
“How did you get on with the VAT Man.”
“It was a struggle but they accepted the plan. What we got in today will help but it’s not enough. We’ve a good bit to find but it’s all out there for us to gather in. If we make the effort.”
“Excellent! Business will pick up soon. Dario, have a word with Smith. See how things are progressing.”
Bob waited till everyone had gone home. He was sure Dario was up to something but didn't know what. He had thought that he wasn't telling the truth, during the meeting and about his dentist appointment but wasn't going to ‘out’ him in front of Carla. They had been friends and colleagues for a while and Bob knew he had a slightly sinister side to him but he had never felt like he was the subject of his dodgy side. He wandered around each office kidding himself that he was just having a look round. When he got to Dario’s the door was locked and he didn't have a key. He headed off home wondering if he was overreacting and feeling slightly guilty about his mistrust.
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