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We walked in through the roller shutter door at the front, below the big wooden sign ‘C.R.P Fabrications’ that was made out of two different colours of wood; dark for the oval background piece that looked like it was cut straight from a tree trunk, then a light pine colour for the letters themselves, all covered in a shiny varnish. I was introduced to Pete first, in his fifties and worn out looking, with thin greying hair and a thick northern accent. Then Keith, who was old like I’d said, and in his thirties like my dad had said. He was pretty muscled, with his overalls tied around his waist and a tight green matching t-shirt that showed off his biceps. I could see why my dad didn’t want me to piss him off. My dad and I were the tallest there, I’d caught up with him now and we were both a good six foot. We were skinny though, my dad had always been skinny, “It’s in his genes,” my mum would say, “Looks like you’re going to follow after him.” Clothes never fitted me right, I always had to wear a large for the length, meaning everything hung loosely on me. I’d have rather been Keith’s build if I’d had the choice, but then Keith probably wanted to be as tall as me.
With the introductions over my dad gave me a tour of the unit. It was smaller than I imagined it would be, the rear of the building was rented out to another company so it only went back half as far as it appeared to from the outside. Apparently they used their half for storage. I don’t know what of though, all we saw from our side was a stud wall.
As we meandered our way around, he showed me all of the machines; pointing out lathes, chop saws and a table saw against the edges of the interior walls, the gaps between filled with half finished oak dining tables and what I thought were wooden dressers.
Pete was working on one of the lathes, turning down a spindle. He looked up for a moment as we passed then carried on with what he was doing, a pile of sawdust forming on the floor at his feet. Then onto the rows of drills and belt sanders, all machines I had no idea of how to use, and to be honest doubted I’d ever know how to use. It was a lot to take in on a first day. We finally stopped at my dad’s working area, where the intricately carved headboard of a four poster bed lay half finished on top of his bench. One side had had the rough edges sanded smooth and the other was waiting for the same treatment. It was obvious even to me it was a bed, the A4 diagram of what it would look like when completed being how I could tell it was a four poster. Propped up along the wall behind my dad’s chair were a row of what I assumed to be parts for the same project; long thin packages sealed in bubble wrap that might have been the posts, and shorter thick ones that were maybe the legs.
My dad opened a grubby metal locker standing against the wall beside his bench, and handed me a pair of his old overalls that were far too big; the sleeves having to be rolled up several times before I could see my hands and the lowest button at the front for the fly being somewhere between my groin and knees. When he put his own on and they fitted the same, I realised maybe that was how they were meant to be. I’d brought my own steel toe-cap boots with me, ones bought for me by my dad. He laughed when I tried in vain to get them on while they were still filled with screwed up tissue paper, we must have been sold a different pair to the pair I tried on in the shop.
“What am I doing then Dad?” I asked.
“Not sure Lu, I’ll see if Pete’s got something for you.”
“Brumm-brumm,” Pete made a noise in the background like a car being driven. I gave my dad a puzzled look.
“Sweep up Lu.”
Ah- broom.
I found one leaning against the wall and proceeded to sweep the floor, carefully moving anything I could as I went to make sure I didn’t miss anywhere. The bulk of the sawdust was by the machines. Then when I’d finished I tracked down a dustpan and brush to sweep up the remains.
“What next Dad?” I asked eagerly.
“Cough-cough.” I heard the sound of Pete clearing his throat, still working at the lathe. “Bit dry in here.”
“It is dry in here isn’t it?” Keith added, holding his clenched fist to his lips and making effeminate coughing noises.
“Dad?”
“Make the coffees Lu.”
I wrote down what everybody wanted, assuming I was going to be doing a lot of this. With the exception of my dad who had strong white coffee no sugar, the same as at home.
“Am I going to be doing some actual work?” I asked once I’d handed everybody their drinks, all in their individual mugs to avoid confusion.
“I’m sure we can find you something.”
My dad handed me a sanding block with some coarse paper on and asked me to go over the rough edges of the headboard on his bench, reminding me not to stay in one spot too long or I’d risk taking off too much. Assuming it would be hard work I immediately put all my strength into it and did exactly what I’d been told not to, ruining one of the chamfered edges.
“Maybe you’re not ready for this yet Lu,” my dad said, “it’s eighteen hundred pounds this bed when it’s done, plus VAT. Go and see if Pete wants a hand.”
Hmmm. Job number one cocked up.
I found Pete still at the lathe, and he asked me to wash his car; handing me the keys so I could reverse it away from my dad’s “jalopy” as he put it to give me the space to clean it properly. I reminded him I wasn’t allowed to drive yet but he insisted. When I say he insisted I mean he just ignored my protests. Luckily I’d driven my dad’s car a few times up and down the unadopted road we lived on, though I’d never been as worried about crashing that as I was the bosses Merc.
With the car cleaned it was lunchtime.
Church Group Page 27