Jack by the Hedge (Jack of All Trades Book 4) Page 2

  ‘Beautiful,’ said Liz. ‘We haven’t had a frost yet, though I like the sharpness.’ She looked over his work. ‘Are you going to put the old bricks back?’

  ‘I’ve been thinking about that,’ said Jack. ‘The bricks in the yard are the wrong colour.’

  ‘Most of those could be reused,’ she said, indicating the bricks he’d knocked out.

  Jack picked up a brick and shook his head. ‘It would take me ages to knock the mortar off all of them.’

  ‘But it would look so much better,’ she insisted.

  He nodded. ‘It would. But the manager wants…’

  ‘Knocking on the head,’ she interrupted with a laugh, ‘with that hammer.’

  Jack smiled. A long smile that faded into the intensity of his stare.

  She held the look, thinking: Oh. His eyes, the curl of hair sticking out of the helmet, his hands on the hammer and chisel. A hit out of nowhere. She wasn’t used to this. Not for a long time. Had Rose made her vulnerable?

  ‘Do you work here?’ he said at last, without looking away.

  ‘Yes,’ she was able to manage. ‘There.’ She pointed, her arm still able to move. ‘In the greenhouses.’

  Neither spoke for a few seconds, eyes liquid light. In slow motion, he put the hammer onto the top of the wall.

  She said hesitantly, ‘You can come over when I open up. No, come for a tea break. Ten thirty.’ She took a couple of steps away and gave him a shy wave. ‘I really must go, the manager gets shirty if anyone’s late.’

  ‘I’ve met the creep,’ he said, almost normally. ‘See you for tea.’

  She turned away, crossed the drive and went into the yard, her stomach swirling like a roll of tumbleweed.

  Chapter 3

  The job was simple enough. Begin by separating the broken wall from the good wall and then, when the broken wall was isolated, knock it down and take it away. Then build a new section in the space. Easy enough in theory.

  But what bricks to use?

  The sun had come out again. Looking up at the skittering cloud, he guessed it would be going in and out all day. Sunshine always enlivened him. Fallen leaves drifted along the drive in the easy wind. Jack had rolled up his sleeves, warm enough with his steady chipping.

  A young woman suddenly appeared. Had she come out of the hedge? He dismissed the thought. He just hadn’t been looking. She was pretty, slim with blonde hair emboldened with red streaks. Tight jeans.

  All these distractions on a Monday morning.

  ‘Where did you come from?’ he called as she approached.

  ‘I’ve just been born,’ said Rose, giving him a broad smile. ‘Aged 30. Isn’t that clever of me!’

  ‘What, 30 years in an egg?’ he said with mock surprise. ‘How did you learn to walk and talk? Where did you get clothes from?’

  ‘Actually, I was born yesterday,’ she said with a chuckle. ‘I nicked these clothes from a charity shop, and I’ve spent all night reading an English dictionary.’

  ‘You’ve done well,’ he said. ‘Bit of a cockney accent… that’s surprising.’

  ‘It was a cockney dictionary,’ she said.

  ‘Are you really 30?’ he said.

  ‘Don’t worry,’ she said, eyebrows raised, ‘I’m not under age. That’s if you were thinking of taking me out for a birthday treat.’

  Jack’s legs hollowed. She was looking at him as if she wanted to eat him up.

  ‘Where would you like to go?’ he said.

  ‘Your place.’

  ‘Mine it is,’ he said, the chisel sweaty in his hand.

  ‘I shall keep you to it.’ She tapped him lightly on the nose. ‘Must go. Work to do. But I won’t forget. Your place. Tonight.’

  She turned, she waved. And was gone into the yard.

  Jesus Christ. What was going on today? Two offers in ten minutes. He shook himself. Was there something sexy about a yellow helmet and hammer and chisel? An aphrodisiac combination.

  He hadn’t even thought to get a name from either. The last one didn’t hang about. Rather tarty, but a body that sent ships sailing. The first more classy, though. Something about her, the way she looked at things. And the look between him and her, not simply sex, but a flash of discovery, like a rocket going off. Freckles and red hair. They’d locked, he was sure of it. The essence of speed dating. Of course, as likely to be wrong as right. But then you had to make sure. In her greenhouse, she’d said, for tea. Hot and steamy under the fronds.

  He always ran on like this. A look could do it. And then he was in bed. Then with a flash, it could be five years later. Happiness and security, as in a fairy tale.

  It hadn’t worked that way with Alison. There’d been love to begin with, but that had fizzled out with his drinking. Drowned, like one of those villages with just the church spire showing above the lake. He’d been like the tractor driver, smashing into his life. Divorced, on the streets, robbed and beaten up, before he staggered into Alcohol Halt.

  Two years ago.

  Chip mortar, take out a brick, put it on the heap. Take apart and build again. Which of the two women? A delightful thought. Might be neither, but let’s begin the week hopeful. One, not both, that wouldn’t work. Though which? He’d have to play it along, until one sang true. Come and see me in my greenhouse. The starter for ten. How could he refuse? Not that he knew much about plants. He imagined her with a watering can, a sort of Mary, Mary, midst banana palms and pineapples, coconuts and rubber trees. There he was again, making a video of her and him, wearing pith helmets in the undergrowth, parrots screeching and monkeys dangling from the branches.

  And then the second, inviting herself back to his place. That must have been a joke. A tease she said to everyone. He’d best be wary there. Do not assume. Get confirmation in lipstick.

  The manager had come out of the yard and was at the gate, standing hands on hips, frowning, looking in one direction up the drive and then the other as if waiting for someone. Jack, as if observed by a teacher parading the classroom aisle, became conscious of his work, though he’d been getting on with it anyway. Of his hands, his tools, of the chipping and the bricks, and the man just a little way off with the power.

  Next time he looked up, the manager had gone, presumably back into the yard. Jack stopped for a second, relieved not to be watched. That fierce sternness. You knew he was looking for a criticism.

  But what to do about these bricks? Reuse the old ones, or go for the new? Two days.

  Chapter 4

  The mess hut was full. All the workers were seated, some already in their green bibbed overalls, Ian at the head of the table with the signing-in book in front of him. He always came in at 8.00 precisely and drew a line across the page. Anyone signing under it was late.

  There were tall lockers along one wall. A deep butler-sink in the corner, a shelf for an electric kettle and a microwave, with a fridge underneath, and above the china cupboard. And that was it apart from the central table with benches along the sides and a couple of separate chairs at either end.

  There was one name under the line. Ian would rather let it go, but he had to give a reprimand or be seen as unfair.

  ‘Bill,’ he said. ‘You were late this morning.’

  Bill was in his 50s, with little hair, and what he had greying. When outside he wore a flat cap which was on the table under an arm, a rare occurrence as he mostly wore it inside too. But he was breathing heavily, having come at quite a pace.

  ‘Sorry, Ian.’ He shrugged uncomfortably. ‘First, had to fix a washer at home, dripping tap. Couldn’t leave without fixing it. Then on the way here I had a puncture. You know that bloody bike. If it’s not one thing, it’s another. And so I had to walk in.’

  Bill was pally with the manager, too pally most thought, and they watched, pleased to see him picked on for once.

  ‘We don’t pay you to have punctures,’ said Ian, tapping the book with his pen. ‘Be here on time tomorrow.’

  ‘Everything happens at once.’

&n
bsp; ‘I don’t expect it of you, Bill. At your age, you should be an example.’

  He stopped, he was making too much of this. Bill was rarely late. Ian was pretending a calm he didn’t feel. The morning was bubbling over; she was here, almost directly in front of him. He could hardly avoid looking at her. He had things to say to her, but business first. The builder was working on the wall, good, but the marquee hadn’t arrived. He’d gone out to look for them, but no sign.

  ‘Your job starts at eight o’clock prompt,’ he went on, unable to stop himself. Liz’s eyes were rolling. Didn’t she realise, he had to be the manager? There must be standards. Anyone other than her and he’d have them for silent insolence. She knew she could do it because of what had been between them. Got her sister a job, then broke it off with him.

  The circle of workers were waiting. He forced himself to calm down. Stress, the doctor had said; it’ll kill you. But things happened. Even Bill this morning. You wonder who you can depend on.

  There was a knock on the door.

  Bill, the nearest, rose to open the door. There stood a well built, youngish black man with a docket in his hand. He poked his head round the room and gave them a smile.

  ‘Your marquee,’ he said.

  ‘You’re late,’ said Ian, tapping his watch.

  The man shrugged. ‘Traffic.’ And dodging a further reprimand added, ‘Where’d you want it?’

  Ian bit his lip. Insolent, but then he didn’t employ him, and everyone was watching. Get him out and moving.

  ‘Unload your gear by the tennis courts,’ he said. ‘I’ll be out in five minutes and tell you where to put it.’ And, as an afterthought, added, ‘And mind your manners, or I’ll report you.’

  The man gave a mock salute to those at the table. ‘Up the workers.’ And left them.

  Bill shut the door.

  ‘Right,’ said Ian, still irritated at the young man’s response, but leaving it behind. ‘Right,’ he repeated, ‘you all know what that marquee is for. At least I should hope everyone knows what’s happening this week…’ He waited for a reply.

  ‘The Mayor’s tree,’ said Zar.

  ‘Exactly. Someone’s awake on a Monday morning. This Wednesday, 11 am, they are coming. The Mayor to plant a tree in the Mayor’s avenue, but also this year, our Member of Parliament is retiring and he’s planting his tree too. So it’s a double ceremony. As you probably know the MP, Sir Leonard Ford, is a cabinet minister...’

  ‘Minister of Justice,’ said Zar.

  Ian gave the uppity Asian youngster a stern look and continued. ‘So we’ll get the Newham Recorder, maybe TV coverage. The whole park will be on show.’

  ‘Are we invited?’ said Rose.

  ‘No,’ said Ian. ‘You are the back room boys,’ adding, after a glance at Liz, ‘and girls. I’ll be your representative.’

  ‘I’ll be there,’ said Liz. ‘For the floral display.’

  ‘So you will,’ admitted Ian.

  ‘There are always questions about the display,’ she said, ‘And I have to present bouquets to the Mayor and MP.’

  ‘Yes, of course. Liz and myself will be there. Representatives of the park. We must be totally ship-shape. So let’s get on the move. Here’s the jobs to be done… Rose, you are on the leaf vac. Start with the main lawn.’

  ‘I always do the leaf vaccing,’ she complained in an appeal round the room. ‘Can’t I do the playground for once?’

  ‘Don’t argue with me, Rose. Leaf vac.’

  Rose stood up with a pronounced sigh.

  ‘Amy. Put out the tennis nets. Then playground for the rest of the day.’

  ‘Do you want to swap, Amy?’ said Rose.

  ‘She does not,’ retorted Ian, pointing to the door. ‘You both know what you have to do. Off you go.’

  The women started to go, Rose making clear her reluctance in her slumped posture.

  ‘Zar. Bowling green. Get the swish, and clear the dew, then trim the banks.’

  ‘It’s a switch.’

  Ian rapped his fingers on the table and stared at the young man.

  ‘Are you trying to teach me something, Zar?’

  ‘The correct term is switch, sir, used to remove dew and surface water from greens.’

  ‘You know what I mean, smartarse. Swish it. Then give the bowling pavilion a sweep, inside and out. We might need it on the day.’

  ‘OK.’ Zar hesitated then said in a doubtful tone, ‘I’m not sure if this is the right time, but about day release classes…’

  ‘You’re correct. It’s not the right time.’

  ‘When will be the right time?’ Adding as an afterthought, ‘Sir.’

  ‘Never, if you don’t get out and start swishing.’

  Zar held up his hands in surrender, and rose.

  ‘Bill. Clear the flower beds on the main lawn. Soon as they are cleared, dig the beds over and rake them, ready for spring planting. I’ll send Zar over to assist when he’s done.’

  Bill nodded and stood up. He put on his cloth cap, and left Liz and Ian in the mess hut.

  Ian waited for Bill to shut the door after him.

  He said quietly, ‘I wanted to talk to you alone, Liz.’

  ‘I know what I have to do, Ian,’ she said. ‘Set up the cascade. I’ve got to check the equipment and the plants…’

  ‘Not about that.’

  ‘What then?’

  He hesitated, aware what he was most likely to get, but he had to plough on.

  ‘About us.’

  She stiffened. He continued, like a fly repelled first time against a window, and heading back.

  ‘I know things didn’t work out between us. I was hasty. My temper got the better of me. I have to realise when to let things drop. Give and take. Not hold grudges. Share. It has to be an equal relationship, compromise. Without compromise no relationship can work, Liz.’ A few weeks ago, he’d written to a newspaper and was quoting the advice that had been given by the agony aunt. ‘I’d like to give it another go.’

  Her hand went to the side of her face as if she had toothache. She took a deep breath before speaking, gently but firmly.

  ‘How many times do I have to tell you, Ian?’

  ‘Is there someone else?’

  She stood up. ‘That’s none of your business.’ She took the few steps to the door. ‘And if there’s nothing work related…’

  ‘Liz,’ he said. ‘I’ll do whatever you want. A clean sweep. We start over. A new leaf.’

  She half opened the door, and shook her head. She turned back, half in, half out.

  ‘Ian, we are not right for each other. That’s the way it is. I am sorry, I really am. But it’s who you are and who I am. I’m not criticising you. Give it time, and we can perhaps be friends, but not with you trying to get us somewhere we could never be.’ She held up her empty hands. ‘I can’t make you happy, Ian.’

  He was breathing quickly, his stomach hollowed. He didn’t want to do this, but there was no other way. She had forced it on him.

  ‘Close the door, Liz,’ he said, his arms pressing his thighs. ‘I’ve something important to say to you.’

  ‘About us?’ she said, holding the door edge, half outside.

  ‘About you.’

  She didn’t move either way, the door bisecting her body.

  ‘Whatever you’ve got to say, you’d better say quickly,’ she said. ‘I’ve a lot to do.’

  ‘It’s about your qualifications,’ he said.

  For a few seconds, she didn’t move. Neither spoke. She bit her lip and closed the door.

  ‘What about them?’

  ‘On your application form for your current job, sent in three years ago, you wrote that you had a Higher Certificate in Horticulture Practice…’ He was watching her closely. She was still, her mouth slightly open. ‘And you haven’t.’

  ‘How do you know?’ she said.

  ‘I checked with the examining authority.’

  ‘How did you know to check?’

  ‘
That’s neither here nor there.’

  She sank heavily into a chair. ‘My gabby sister. She’s dropped me in it.’

  He held up a hand. ‘Don’t blame her. One evening last week, I was going in my house, she was going out, and I asked her where you were. She said you were at an evening class for your Higher Certificate. And I thought why, you’ve already got that. And so I checked. And found you hadn’t.’

  Liz sighed heavily. ‘Three years I’ve been here. I can do the job, I do it well. Everyone agrees.’ Her hands went to her scalp. ‘I am taking the Higher Certificate in a few months…’

  ‘That’s not the point, Liz. You didn’t have it three years ago. You lied on your application form.’

  ‘OK, suppose I did. Spell it out. What does it mean?’

  ‘When HR find out, they’ll fire you. No excuses will work. A lie is a lie. You’ll be out on your ear.’

  ‘Cashiered and disgraced,’ she said with a long sigh. ‘I’ll have to move out of my cottage.’ It had suddenly hit her. ‘I’ll get a lousy reference – and be lucky to get a job stacking shelves in a supermarket.’ She appealed to her manager. ‘If you expose me, Ian, I’ll never get another job in this field… It would be my career over. You know how I love my cottage. You know I’m good at my job. Be reasonable, Ian.’

  ‘Be reasonable to me then.’

  She was quiet for a few seconds, before looking him in the eye. ‘What do you want?’

  ‘I want us to be engaged, Liz.’

  She sank back in the chair and breathed out heavily. ‘Right. I think I’ve got the picture. Though it’s all a bit much for me right now. I’m overwhelmed. It’s all somewhat sudden, hitting me all at once. Hell. It was going so well. Too well.’ She scratched the side of her face. ‘I need to go away and think about it, Ian.’

  ‘I’ll give you the morning.’

  ‘And then what?’ She flapped her hands rapidly. ‘Don’t tell me. I’ve heard too much already.’ She took a deep breath. ‘Right. Lunchtime. I know where it’s at. More or less.’ She stood up and strode rapidly to the door. ‘I’ll give you an answer at one o’clock. Promise me you won’t do anything before.’

  ‘I won’t.’

  ‘Thank you for small mercies.’