When Skies Have Fallen
Page 33
Chapter Twenty-One: January–April, 1946
Now Jim was back, the workshop progressed very quickly indeed. The plot of land, once occupied by a large townhouse and substantial grounds, was more than big enough for their needs, but money was tight. Arty had borrowed a significant sum from his parents to fund the construction of a corrugated aluminium workshop with an inspection pit and just enough space to work on two vehicles at a time. He was glad he was able to contribute financially; he still had a long way to go in his recovery, which meant Jim would be doing most of the work for the time being. Arty planned to help out wherever he could, but they weren’t banking on his labour: at such time as the business could sustain two wages, Charlie was going to leave the railways and join them.
They weren’t expecting miracles, of course. London was still on its knees, and the few people wealthy enough to own private cars were in no hurry to return to a city in ruins when they had the luxury of remaining in their country homes. The bus company had its own mechanics, although the taxi driver’s tip-off proved to be a good one, as Jim found out when Arty sent him to distribute the flyers he’d made. Poor Jim was gone for hours, and he returned home so drunk it was the next day before he was sober enough to explain that nearly every cabbie he met wanted to share their hip flask and their story. It was good for building relations, so Jim couldn’t really refuse even though he wasn’t much of a drinker. Arty found it highly amusing, but kept his laughter to himself—mostly—and instead spent the day looking after Jim as if he had a fever rather than a hangover.