Chapter 9
The rumbling, clanking sound of work can be heard when Tobias approaches the renovation.
He is peeved by this, having hoped to steal a march on the builders.
To prove a point by arriving before them.
But the men are already hard at work and there appears to be a swell of activity as he arrives.
He knows they shouldn’t really be working on a Sunday but he’ll face the consequences later, if there are any.
Striding onto the site, he notices one or two new faces he doesn’t recognise.
The foreman must have been good to his word about hiring more help.
He hears one of the new men call out an enquiry in a strange accent and Tobias turns his head to consider him.
He is pale next to the tanned youths and red-cheeked veterans on site.
Yes, definitely a new recruit. The man looks like he could do with a meal.
Though as long as he’s strong and hardworking, Tobias doesn’t care.
But the others seem to be ignoring this man’s request, feigning deafness or confusion.
‘All right, there?’ he calls and the man lifts his eyes, which are guarded. ‘Tobias Woolf, owner,’ he adds, hand thrust forward.
The man appears wary and then nods in comprehension. He extends a hand, his arm corded with muscle, his body wiry.
‘I am Petras,’ he offers quietly, so that Tobias has to lean in, cupping his ear.
‘Say again?’ he shouts over the cacophony of noise.
‘Petras Kaslauskas,’ the man says louder, looking about him as though he expects to be in trouble.
‘Right, good show. Welcome on board. Back to it, then.’
Tobias continues into the house to inspect the progress.
He can already feel sweat basting his forehead, his breath pulling in and out of his lungs after the brisk walk from the hotel.
His doctor has told him to ease off the alcohol and red meat, get his cholesterol under control, but words like ‘statins’ do not apply to him while he’s on holiday.
Besides, he’s fitter than most men his age.
He sails, enjoys the odd squash match, works hard and plays hard.
Liv is always on at him about it too, peering at the bumps on his face and commenting on the yellowing of his eyes.
Says he should eat more fish and vegetables like her, more of the old rabbit food.
Oh well, he will be good when he gets back to London, he vows.
Looking around the place, he notices how messy and shambolic the site appears and he feels his blood boil a little hotter. But at least the men are working overtime.
‘Hello there,’ he shouts and the sound of a whining drill comes to an abrupt stop.
The foreman appears from the upper level.
‘Now then, Bill,’ he says, secretly congratulating himself on remembering the name.
‘Decided I’d look in again, see if I can help.
’ Bill makes no disguise of the fact that this presence is unwelcome but he seems to rally.
‘Well?’ prompts Tobias. ‘How are we getting on? How about that first fix?’ Bill nods and confirms that an electrician has been booked in for next week.
A local man: reliable, cheap. Tobias nods his approval.
‘I see you’ve taken on some more men too.
Where did you find the foreign chappie?’
Bill frowns and shrugs. ‘He came round, touting for work. Thought I’d give him a try, since we’re so short. Seems right enough. The others aren’t too happy about it though.’
‘Why ever not?’
The foreman shrugs again as though the answer is obvious. ‘Prefer to give work to people I know, is all. But needs must, I s’pose.’
Tobias leans forward and pats him on the shoulder.
‘Good man. Sooner we’re finished, sooner you can let him go.’
He is about to ask another question, to enquire about the state of the roof, when they might be able to take the scaffolding down as it is costing such a fortune, but before he can utter another word there is the sound of shouting, a hullabaloo coming from outside.
He and Bill look up in the direction of the garden and they both rush towards the back of the house.
When they arrive outside, it is to find the child from next door, standing in the middle of the building site, his face a smudge of snot and tears.
He is screaming his head off, something to do with being dizzy and a stick.
Tobias takes the stone steps as fast as he can just as he sees the father running outside also, wearing nothing but a T-shirt and boxer shorts.
‘Josh,’ he cries. ‘Joshie, Joshie. It’s okay, it’s all right. Daddy’s here.’
The other men stand around, their tasks halted, their machinery momentarily silenced as they look on, gawping.
‘What did I tell you about keeping this blasted child off site?’ shouts Tobias.
The father holds out a hand as if to block him. ‘Hey, back off, will you? Calm down.’
Tobias feels his blood heating again. This is his property after all. They are technically trespassing.
‘Why can’t you keep your bloody family under control?’
‘I beg your pardon?’ says the other, incredulous; a look of shock rippling across his otherwise placid face.
In amongst this quarrel, the boy continues to cry although his screams have quietened into more of a hiccupping grizzle as he looks between the different men in turn.
Tobias can see that Petras, the new man on site, is distracting him now, making faces, moving his hands in a way that appears to make shapes, characters; a sideshow of sorts.
‘Can anyone tell me what happened here?’ says the father, his bare feet planted in the dirt, his hair standing up in tufts. ‘I’m Tim and this is my son. We’re staying next door.’
‘Yes, well, perhaps you’d know if you’d been keeping an eye on him,’ says Tobias.
‘The door,’ he mutters in response. ‘I thought the bottom half was bolted.’
Tobias tuts, a smirk forming on his lips. He can’t help himself. The stupid sod has as good as admitted it’s his fault.
‘He was trying to put the stick. Here. Very dangerous.’ Petras gestures, his long pale fingers pointing to the concrete mixer.
‘Wanna play with Dizzy,’ says the child with another stuttering sob, and picks up his stick again. He has flopped down into a sitting position on the ground as though his wobbly toddler legs can no longer support his weight.
‘I stop him,’ continues Petras. ‘Is okay. No problem. No hurt,’ he assures, pushing his dark, limp hair off his face and smiling a broad grin. The child turns uneasily to his father, who stoops to pick him up and plants a kiss at the side of his son’s head.
‘Thank you,’ he says. ‘Thank you. I thought the door was locked. I just went to the bathroom for a second.’
Tobias crosses his arms, tries not to think about how close a call it was. The thought of all the paperwork involved with an accident, insurance, et cetera. How much it would delay things further.
‘Right, now that we’ve established it was just an oversight on your behalf, can we all get back to work, do you think?’ He looks about pointedly at the other men who mutter and return to their tools.
‘No, hang on a second,’ begins Tim.
But then his attention is caught by the sight of his wife, in brightly coloured running gear, unlatching the gate, a look of growing terror on her face as she takes in the scene.
‘Christ,’ breathes Tobias. ‘And now we have the bloody mother.’
‘What’s going on?’ calls Lottie. ‘What’s happened?’ she asks, her voice rising shrilly.
‘Here we go,’ says Tobias.
Tim raises a hand to placate her.
‘It’s okay, babe. Really, don’t worry. Josh is fine.’
‘What’s he doing outside, over here?’ she says, her eyes raking over the dirt, the machines.
‘I suggest you have a word with your husband,’ says Tobias, turning away, indicating to Bill to follow him indoors.
‘How could you let this happen?’ he hears her shrieking behind him as they disappear back inside the property, her rising tones of outrage still in earshot.
Poor bugger, thinks Tobias. He’s in for it now.
Henpecked to within an inch of his life, clearly.
Still, good job the foreign chap stepped in when he did.
He makes a mental note to speak to Bill and the others, make sure they all witnessed what happened, heard the father admitting fully to his mistake and taking the blame.
Bloody tourists, he concludes, wiping the sheen from his head, blowing out through his teeth. They’ll be the death of him.