Chapter 6
The next day, Damon turned up at the house, two shovels in hand and an evil grin plastered on his face. Antonio had just started drinking his coffee when he heard his brother-in-law stomping down the hallway, and he hurried to fetch a clean mug.
“What’s up, scumbag?” Damon nodded to him, marching into the kitchen and taking the steaming coffee gratefully. “Ooh, you’ve got the good stuff! From Italy, right? I gotta get Alyssia to give up your supplier. Something this good does not deserve to hide in your kitchen forever.”
“We buy it from the wholesalers directly,” Antonio replied, taking a mouthful of his own. “Sorry, why are you in my house?”
“Today’s your day off, right?”
“I’m guessing it isn’t any more?”
“You would be correct.”
Antonio stared at him, wondering what on earth his brother-in-law had in store for him.
The last job he remembered Damon having was as a security guard at a local nightclub, although that job had fallen through when the owner was arrested for running an illegal gambling ring out of the back office.
They’d all laughed at that – not the fact that the guy was running an illegal gambling ring, but more the fact that he was dumb enough to get caught.
“You need shovels to do a security gig?” he asked eventually, gesturing to the tools with his mug.
Damon looked down at them, an evil grin slowly spreading over his face. “Not exactly. More like … we need shovels to go and dig graves for a living. We’re a man down, and you’ve got the day off, so ...”
Antonio groaned, aching at the mere thought of his workload. Gravedigging might not be entirely difficult, since most people used machinery to do the heavy lifting, but it was still more than a little depressing.
“Tell me I’m not digging my own grave, Damon. That’s cruel, even for you.”
Damon snorted with laughter, finishing his coffee and leaving his cup in the sink. “Don’t tempt me.”
His coffee finished, Antonio washed the mugs and left them on the draining board before heading upstairs to get changed.
He dug out some old clothes from when he’d last done some interior decorating, and then hunted around for his hiking boots, which thankfully weren’t in too bad shape.
It was a far cry from his usual outfit of a pressed suit, crisp white shirt and navy tie, but it would do for now.
Once dressed, he clattered back downstairs, where Damon stood waiting for him.
The two men headed to the van, which Damon had parked on the front drive, and drove to the local cemetery.
It was eerily quiet, apart from a funeral that was taking place, the mourners’ stifled sobs hanging in the air like dewdrops.
It was a weird thing, grief – raw at the beginning, then slowly less and less painful as time went on.
He remembered losing his mother, and how debilitating the grief had been to begin with.
Now, years later, that pain was a dull ache, and even though it still twinged from time to time, it was nowhere near as painful as it had been.
“Don’t worry about your clothes,” Damon grinned, noticing his unease.
“I never dress smartly unless I’m part of proceedings, and that’s a rare occurrence.
Our work takes place before any of the formalities.
So they say goodbye to whoever in peace, come out, and then lower the coffin into our neatly dug hole. ”
The graveyard itself was quite pretty, as graveyards went.
All the graves were clean and tidy, even the old ones from centuries ago, and there were trees dotted about to provide shade in the summer months.
In the middle of the graveyard was a roundabout with the chapel where funeral Masses were held in the centre, with a small drinking fountain outside by the far wall.
The gravel driveway was imposing, and every spoke on the roundabout’s wheel led to a different quadrant of the graveyard.
He idly wondered just how many people were buried in the graveyard, given the sheer size and scale of it.
Surely they’d have to use an excavator at some point; nobody in their right mind dug every single grave by hand, not when they didn’t have to.
He looked around, but couldn’t see anything resembling machinery.
“Normally we’d use the digger, but it’s in the shop getting checked over,” Damon said, as if reading his mind. “Like I said, we’re a man down as well, so it’s just you, me, and two shovels. Here’s our stop.”
They stared down at the plot, which was currently marked by a single wooden cross.
The name on it was barely legible, but Antonio could make out a few letters.
There was an A, and an I, and what he thought was a B, but he couldn’t be sure.
Damon, however, rattled off the name like he’d etched it on his brain.
“This one is for Mrs Ilonia Bedford.”
They looked at the cross for a few moments longer, and then Damon shrugged his shoulders and set to digging. Antonio watched him for a few minutes to try work out how best to dig, but quickly realised it was better to just get stuck in, rather than try and analyse everything.
The two men worked in silence, the labour making it impossible to speak.
With every shovelful of dirt, Antonio found himself growing ever more grateful that he worked out, especially as his arms were growing more exhausted by the minute.
Beside him, Damon worked as if he’d never used anything but a shovel, his muscles rippling beneath his shirt as he threw the earth onto the ever-growing pile behind them.
Finally, it was done, and they clambered out of the hole.
Antonio was dripping in sweat, on the verge of passing out, and feeling more than slightly sick.
It was something he’d never felt before, despite the overwhelming sense of achievement, and he hoped he didn’t look as awful as he felt.
He sat down heavily and wiped his face with a hand, noticing he had several open blisters on his palms.
“Not bad, Blackwood!” Damon grinned, flopping down on the grass next to him.
It was weird seeing his brother-in-law smile at him, given the circumstances, but he was too tired to question it.
“Five minutes break, and then on to the next one. We’ve got a bit longer on this one cos the funeral’s not til 2 pm, but it doesn’t hurt to get started early. ”
“Don’t you ever take a lunch break?” Antonio gasped, his voice hoarse with exertion.
Damon shook his head, looking slightly bemused.
“I only have three graves today – well, two now – so I don’t really need one.
I get some water in between jobs, and that keeps me going.
If I’m really tired, or I’ve got more than three jobs, I’ll bring along a protein bar or a snack.
Soon as the last job’s done, I go home, shower, eat, fall asleep for a few hours, then go to my second job. ”
“What’s your other job?”
“Best if you don’t know about that!” was all Damon said, before jumping to his feet and starting to head off. “Let’s get going, Blackwood. We’ve a lot to do before we knock off.”
By the end of the day, Antonio felt as if he’d done ten rounds in an octagon.
He was absolutely dripping with sweat, his hair was slicked back in a desperate bid to keep it out of his eyes, and every muscle in his body ached.
He couldn’t help but wonder how Damon did it day in and day out, although it answered the question of why he’d never seen Damon in a gym.
“How’s it feel doing your first day of manual labour?” Damon laughed, noticing how exhausted he looked. Antonio could only give him a half smile in return, nodding as he gulped down water like a man in the desert.
“Don’t get me wrong, I’ve done manual labour before, but never anything like this. I don’t know how you do it every day,” he answered. “You definitely don’t need a gym with this job!”
“Ha! That’s true enough.” his brother-in-law admitted. “Let’s get you home, freshen you up and so on. Alyssia says you’ve got a hot date tonight.”
Antonio groaned, wondering if he’d be able to stay awake long enough. All he wanted to do was crawl into bed and sleep for the next year, but it looked like that wasn’t on the agenda.