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

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.’
    ‘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