Lottie nods and raises her hand in thanks.
‘I’d steer clear of old Ted though, if I was you,’ the woman adds as an afterthought. ‘He’s not in a good way these days. Tends to take it out on anyone who crosses his path.’
She lowers her voice a little. ‘Lost his grandson, last summer,’ she says. ‘Suicide.’ Her voice quavers and Lottie sees a look of deep sadness pass across her features. That word does not seem to belong here in this cheerful resort with its colourful bunting and picturesque views.
‘Oh, I’m so sorry,’ she says for the second time that morning.
The woman nods stoically but there is something about the jut of her chin, the set of her mouth, that suggests that it is a terrible tragedy the whole community has had to come to terms with.
‘I’m Lottie, by the way. I’m here for a week with my husband and little boy.’
The shop owner’s head lifts at this, latching onto her words, and the glassiness of her eyes is blinked away as she smiles.
‘Jan,’ she says, introducing herself in return. ‘Bring them in next time you’re passing.’
‘I will.’
As she steps out of the shop, Lottie thinks about the old man, Ted; the pain she can now see was present in his eyes beneath his cold exterior. That poor family. She takes a few more steps. No wonder he comes across as a little bitter and twisted. She continues on, takes another step. And then the habitual shiver of anxiety creeps upon her. The one borne of being a female, a mother, a long-time city dweller where paranoia goes hand in hand with vigilance. And she wishes she hadn’t been quite so open, so chatty. Wishes, in fact, that she hadn’t told him where they were staying, after all.
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.’
