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‘Miss Travers?’ Hope jumped at the sound of Declan’s voice and when she turned to face him, the quizzical look on his face said it wasn’t the first attempt to catch her attention.
‘Sorry, I was miles away.’ She stepped away from the fence, hoping her face didn’t look as hot with embarrassment as it felt.
The site manager smiled. ‘Daydreaming about what your new place is going to look like?’
‘That obvious?’ she replied with a laugh. Looking around, she realised the rest of the crew were watching them, each one wearing a hard hat and a high-vis vest. Her cheeks flushed again. ‘I’m sorry, I’m holding you up, aren’t I? I’ll get out of your way and leave you to get on with things.’ She was already fumbling in her pocket for the keys to her vehicle before she’d finished speaking.
Declan’s smile softened. ‘You’re not in the way, Miss Travers, you’re the project manager, remember?’
‘Well, yes, but that’s more to do with managing the budget. What I know about construction work you could write on the back of a stamp and still have room. It wasn’t my intention to hang around the site, looking over your shoulder.’
‘Well, that’s certainly a relief,’ Declan said, with a grin that made his white teeth stand out against his tan. It wasn’t the kind of skin tone one got on holiday, more that deeply ingrained colour of someone who spent most of their working life outdoors in the elements. ‘But you are welcome on site whenever you like, though I’d prefer it if you stuck to the compound unless I’m with you.’
‘Of course.’ Hope was in charge of overseeing the health and safety at the distillery. The risks were far fewer than on a construction site, but they were very careful about visitor safety during the tours they ran.
Declan nodded in thanks at her swift agreement. ‘Look, unless you’ve got to rush off, I’m about to give everyone a safety briefing and run through the work programme if you’d like to sit in on it?’
‘As long as I won’t be in the way?’
‘I’ll get the kettle on,’ the man nearest the welfare unit called to them. ‘Cup of tea, Miss Travers?’
‘Lovely! But you must all call me Hope, please.’
An hour later and Hope was on first-name terms with the entire crew and had admired photos of everyone’s children, pets, garden water features and whatever else they’d wanted to show off to her. They’d given her first choice from the biscuit tin and answered all of the questions she’d asked without ever making her feel silly. As they trooped out of the canteen and headed towards the site, Hope found herself smiling as she met Declan’s eyes. ‘Quite a team you’ve got there,’ she said.
‘They’re on their best behaviour. It’ll be a different story when you’re not around.’ As though to prove the point, Paul, the operative in charge of the digger, dropped his keys and swore in a manner that was surprisingly inventive, if anatomically unachievable. ‘Language!’ bellowed Declan, as he gave Hope an apologetic smile.
‘Sorry!’ A blushing Paul raised his hand before turning and scurrying after the rest of the crew.
Hope laughed. ‘I won’t faint, don’t worry,’ she assured the irritated site manager as she followed him down the steps. She didn’t add that in his role of surrogate big brother, Rhys had delighted in teaching her rude words and then double-dog daring her to use them in front of the rest of the family. It had cost her more than a few time-outs on the stairs, but a double-dog dare just couldn’t be ignored. ‘Thanks again for letting me sit in on the briefing, it was really useful.’
Obviously grateful at the way she’d steered the conversation back to more comfortable territory, Declan gave her a relieved grin. ‘You’re about the only person who’s ever enjoyed a site safety briefing. Are you heading off, or do you have time to stick around a bit longer? I thought you might want to watch us officially break ground.’
It was really happening. ‘I’d love that, if you’re sure you don’t mind?’
‘Not a bit. Wait here and I’ll get you a spare hard hat and a vest.’
With her protective gear on, Hope followed Declan to a spot well clear of where Paul was going through his final inspection of the digger, and promised not to move. She was as close to the perimeter of the site while still being on the working side of the fence. She was too far away to hear the conversation between Declan and the rest of the crew, but that didn’t matter, it was exciting enough to be able to witness these first few steps. Tony, one of the other crew, started up a machine that looked a cross between a lawn mower and a quad bike, although he walked behind it, rather than riding it. He crossed the marked-out area, turned and headed back to where he’d started. She watched, puzzled, as he repeated the action a few more times.
As he turned to start another run, a couple of other members of the crew bent down and began rolling up the turf. Within just a few minutes, they’d cleared a good section and tossed the stripped turf into a large skip. Tony and the others moved out of the way while Declan glanced to where Hope hadn’t moved from her allocated spot. She gave him a quick thumbs up and, with a nod, he turned and signalled to Paul, who was waiting in the driver’s seat of the digger. He started up the engine and the vibration of it seemed to resonate through the ground beneath Hope’s feet.
This was it. The start of her journey towards true independence. Head full of dreams of the first supper party she would throw – it would be early autumn if everything went to plan, and hopefully they’d enjoy an Indian summer weekend or two so she could set the table in front of the open patio doors, perhaps even outside – she watched as the first half-dozen buckets of soil were dug up and emptied out into the skip on top of the clear turf. There was something almost hypnotic about the movements of the digger’s arm and it was clear that Paul knew exactly what he was doing by the fluid way he steered the big machine.
The bucket dipped again, and a terrible scraping noise filled the air. Declan yelled something over the noise of the digger, his arms waving frantically. The engine cut off, the silence shocking after the heavy roar and rumble of the machine, and Paul jumped down from the cab and jogged over to stand beside Declan.
The two men stared down into the hole, Declan with his hands on his hips, Paul pushing back his hard hat to scratch his brow. Hope popped up on her tiptoes, desperate to see what they were looking at, but it was impossible from her position. She wanted to rush over, but she’d promised Declan she wouldn’t move. She settled for calling out, ‘Is everything okay?’
Declan raised his head briefly to look at her, but didn’t speak, his attention already drawn back to the hole. He said something to Paul, who nodded and hurriedly climbed back into the digger while Declan stepped back out of the way. The digger roared back to life, but only long enough for Paul to raise the bucket and lock it in its highest position before he turned off the engine and clambered down again. When Declan joined him by the hole, the pair of them went down on their knees and Hope watched as the site manager leaned forward until his head and shoulders disappeared from view. He raised his head and called to one of the other crew members who were standing around, their expressions a mixture of concern and curiosity. ‘There should be a dustpan and brush in the store, fetch it for me.’
The man hurried off, returning a short time later with the requested item. Ignoring the dustpan, Declan took the brush and leaned back into the hole. The rest of the crew had now gathered round and Hope found herself edging forward, although there was nothing to see beyond the wall of broad shoulders. When her foot caught on one of the boundary stakes, she stumbled and just managed to catch her balance before she fell flat on her face. Chastened, she returned to her original spot and sat down, hands curled around her knees. She wanted to call out again, to demand Declan tell her what was going on, but she forced herself to remain quiet. He knew she was there, and it was better to be patient and get a proper answer about what was going on than to interrupt him just for him to tell her he didn’t know yet. That awful roiling feeling in her stomach returned. Whatever was going on, Hope had a bad feeling about it.
3
Dear Dr Ferguson, the committee regrets to inform you that your recent application has not been successful on this occasion.
‘Shit.’ Cameron slammed the lid of his laptop closed then leaned forward to gently bang his forehead on his desk. ‘Shit, shit, shit, shit.’
The door to the cramped square of space the university laughingly called his office swung open to admit the departmental secretary. The briskly efficient Mrs Cotteridge kept watch over Cam and the other junior lecturers in the university archaeology department with the patient exasperation of a veteran sheepdog. A fan of rock and roll, she sported an impressive beehive that never wilted even on a morning so warm Cam already had his desk fan on at full blast. She swept into the tiny office, filling the air with the light floral perfume Cam suspected had been her signature scent for as long as the beehive had been her hairstyle of choice.
