Jack by the Hedge (Jack of All Trades Book 4) Read Free Page A

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