The Unfinished Tale Of Sophie Anderson

by Martyn J. Pass

  My main reason for getting there early was to sit in silence with my book without being interrupted. Could I do this in the flat? Of course. It's just that there was something nice about being there before everyone else, about getting a chance to acclimatise to another working day. Don't ask me to explain - some days I'm not sure myself.

  So I went in and made a cup of coffee (white, no sugar) and turned the heater on. Tom was due in just before seven so I had a bit of 'me' time before I had to stir from my chair. I managed to get a few chapters knocked off before the doors began rattling open.

  "You ready?" he called from the other side of my curtain wall. I replaced my bookmark and stuffed the Jack Reacher novel into my bag.

  "Yeah," I said. "Permit?"

  "Still got it. The van's open if you want to load up."

  I went through the motions, noticing that Tom had his usual unruly hair style. He didn't seem to be enjoying the early mornings. He always came in just before the bell when we weren't on site so getting to work a full two hours early must have been a challenge. His eyes were puffy and he looked like he'd only just gotten out of bed. But the biggest issue I had with him was why on earth did it suddenly matter to me? Why was I even noticing? Had I chosen my SpongeBob pyjamas or had they chosen me last night?

  "Right - let's go," he said as I slammed the back shut.

  "Yeah. Might as well try again. If nothing else it'll kill another working day."

  "That's the spirit. Have you had breakfast?"

  "I had some toast at the flat. You?" I said.

  "No, I was going to grab a Macs. Can I tempt you? Even with company money?"

  I patted my stomach. "Diet."

  "What the hell for? You aren't even fat!" My face betrayed me the moment the words left his lips. I felt a flush of heat rise up from my neck and I was sure my face had changed colour. I did the only thing a sensible woman should do in that kind of situation - flee. Avoid. Duck, dodge, dip, dive... something to get out of the spotlight of shame. So I went to the cab and got in. Tom followed, jumping into the driving seat.

  "It's always good to stay in shape," I lied, thankful for the distracting view out of the window.

  "Okay," he replied. "Whatever. Me, I couldn't do it. I need my calories. If I don't keep the fuel coming then the engine packs up."

  "Really?" I asked. He laughed.

  "Yeah. That's why I'm treating myself to a double sausage and egg McMuffin and an extra three hash browns."

  "You fat bastard," I said. "I think your engine might blow a gasket if you carry on eating like that."

  "It's a treat!"

  "Yeah, I used to tell myself that. Then I realised I was eating 'treats' every day."

  "How bad did it get?"

  "Well,' I said. "Let me say that I wasn't far from shopping in special stores for people my size, if you catch my drift." He laughed and I found myself smiling with him. He had nice teeth and I wasn't sure why that mattered to me. Damn you, SpongeBob.

  Thankfully the trip involved a lot less personal conversational topics from then on. We spent the two hour drive bitching about work in general, about the coming works-do and about the fact that the vending machine still hadn't been filled.

  "It's all about the double deckers," he said as we drove through the make-shift gate the construction crews had put in place at the street entrance. "On a Friday I like a double decker, a can of diet coke and maybe a packet of Thai sweet chilli crisps to go with my bacon butty."

  "Oh, sorry, I didn't realise the bacon sandwich wasn't enough to fill you," I said.

  "Well, in fairness, it isn't really. They only ever put three rashers on the bread and only one egg. I mean, would it break the bank to stick a few more on there?"

  "Why don't you ask them to?"

  "Because they'd charge me for it. Why should I have to pay for something that should be included in the original price?" He wound down the window and flashed his permit to the guy in the hi-viz jacket and the blue hard hat. Behind us an enormous crane had slowed to a halt, waving out his anger whilst the traffic backed up behind him. I didn't know which was the harder job - the crane driver or the foreman trying to manage all these subcontractors coming and going.

  "Park up and wait for the white van," said the guy in the hard hat. "We've had to change the layout so he'll lead you to the lift.'

  "Is it up and running now?" asked Tom.

  "Yeah - for now."

  We pulled into a temporary bay and Tom decided to finish off the spare hash brown he'd left on the dash. It'd stared at me all the way to Liverpool and I was glad he was going to eat the bloody thing. The cab had stunk from the moment he'd bought the devil's food and my stomach grumbled like the filthy sinner it was. Why was this such hard work? If I wanted to get fat my body would have been happy to oblige at a moment’s notice. Now, when I needed it to get its 'A' game on, it sat on the bench feeling sorry for itself.

  "They taste better cold," he said.

  "Do they?"

  "Yeah, here." He offered me the other half minus the bit he tore off. "Try it."

  "Get thee behind me, Satan," I said. "My body is a temple."

  The van showed up and flashed its headlights our way. "Looks like our guide is finally here."

  "Just in time," I said.

  We followed it across the construction site and I could see why we needed him. If it hadn't been for the flashing lights I'm sure we'd have been crushed by three JCBs, four tipper-trucks filled with gravel and we'd have killed two builders who had their ear defenders on and didn't hear us coming. Thankfully we reached the columns where we were supposed to be working on without incident.

  "Whoop!" said Tom. "They're dry at last."

  "Gee. I'm so excited."

  "They've even supplied the cherry picker for us. How kind of them. I might even start believing this project is being run efficiently."

  "Don't jump the gun," I said, opening the door. "We haven't seen the Hammer Head yet."

  The 'Hammer Head', as we nick-named him, was the site foreman for this part of the shopping centre and he'd made an impression on us the moment we'd arrived to do our survey last week. Now that most of the construction was done the regulations for hard hats wasn't as strict here - hence how I was able to come in and do the welding. This guy had come strolling across the freshly gravelled walkway sporting a haircut you could balance your drinks on in a nightclub. It was wiry and stiff and probably held together with some kind of industrial glue that could withstand a nuclear attack. Tom had given me the look, the one that said 'I know what you're thinking and yes - you're not hallucinating'.

  "Look out," he said. "Here he comes."

  He didn't look happy. Not in the slightest. He had three suits trailing behind him and they were struggling to keep up in their pointy shoes with his long stride. They were gripping their clipboards and their Starbucks cups like the world was close to ending and I stifled my laugh as the Hammer Head came right at us.

  "You were supposed to be on site yesterday," he spat.

  "We had no permit and we were escorted off site," said Tom. I could tell he was bristling. It hadn't been our fault but for the sake of our company's reputation we had to take the flak for it. When I say 'we' I guess I meant Tom.

  "It's not good enough. Not good enough at all," said the Hammer Head. The suits were looking elsewhere, ticking things off on their clipboards with practised ease.

  "Well, we're here now and we're ready to get on with the job."

  "How soon can you finish?"

  "The Gaffer had allowed two days for the columns and another day for the hand rails on this side."

  "You're going to have to pull your finger out. I want to get the bullshitters in tomorrow to polish the rails."

  "We'll see how we get on," said Tom, wise enough to avoid committing to a time and a date that might land us in trouble later.

  "Okay, get to it."

  It wasn't my normal style but for the sake of our new deadline I didn't hang about. W
e had the generator in place and rumbling away in ten minutes and while Tom brought up the parts from the van I got the welding set ready, laying out all my kit as quickly as I could. I hated working like that because it allowed too many chances to cock up. It was better to take your time, plan each step and work out the problems before they arose. Working on site was always tricky and it looked like we were going to get our fill today.

  "You ready to go?" asked Tom from below the walkway where the cherry picker was set up.

  "Yeah. Bring me the first cover," I called down. The bucket he was stood in came slowly towards me as he nervously guided the thing between the two concrete and steel columns. When he was at my level he stopped, checked his harness, then knelt down to pick up the heavy steel cover like he was turning ninety years old tomorrow.

  "Today would be nice," I said.

  "Jesus, I can't stand it up here."

  "Try being me," I laughed. I was laid on my side looking out over the edge of the walkway that would run across the entire shopping centre; my harness was fastened to the column because we hadn't fitted the railings yet. The air was cool and blowing gently through the open design from east to west. From where I was I could see the rest of the workers scurrying around below, putting the finishing touches to the AstroTurf roof garden.

  Tom slid the cover onto the walkway and went straight for the controls to take him back down.

  "Adios!" he said. "I'll get us a brew. Coffee?"

  "Yeah, white with none."

  "Sweet enough?"

  "Something like that."

  By mid-afternoon we'd blitzed the covers and were looking at the railings where we'd laid them out in sequence. Each one had a band of masking tape around both ends telling us what order they went in.

  "Nice one, Dave," said Tom to our distant colleague. "That made life a whole lot easier."

  "Do we have time to make a start?" I asked. Tom shook his dishevelled head.

  "We need to get going. We're in front though so I can't see Hammer Head complaining tomorrow. The polisher can work around us. It should take him longer to clean one weld than it does for you to finish. We've given our pound of flesh today."

  We dragged the gear back to the van and loaded up. The stench of petrol from the generator hung in the air, spoiling the effect the waning light had on the shopping centre rooftop.

  "It'll look quite nice once it's finished," I said.

  "It should do. I might come once it's opened."

  "You could take the wife and kids," I said. It occurred to me that I didn't even know if he was married. I saw him around the shop but until now we hadn't really worked together and I'd never asked. I knew about the gym because of the other guys but for some strange reason I didn't know if he was married or not. The heat began to rise up again, warming my neck and cheeks.

  "Chance would be a fine thing," he replied, shutting the back door. "The ex doesn't speak to me unless it's to do with Dan and he's getting older now so he isn't really interested in spending time with his uncool Dad."

  "Divorced?" I asked. Yep - the heat was getting hotter. I was sure the van paint was about to melt off.

  "Yeah. Been that way for eight years now."

  "How old is your son?"

  "Fourteen. I married young and I've regretted it ever since. Dan got used to me not being there and that was that. I've been living alone ever since."

  We got in the van and Tom started it up, seeing that our escort was waiting again. He flashed his headlights and we followed, heading a completely different way off site.

  "What about you?" he asked. "Got a fella' at home?"

  "Nah," I said. "Living with Mel is a full-time commitment."

  "Is she the one you met at lunch time?"

  "Yeah, that's her."

  "She seems okay." Good answer. If he'd said she was fit I'm sure my life would have ended there and then. "You get on then?"

  "Most of the time," I said. "She can be hard work but you get used to her ways after the first ten years."

  "Wow - you've been living together that long?"

  "Yeah. She was married but it didn't work out so she came to live with me."

  "I think I can understand that," he said. We were on the main road out of Liverpool now and the traffic wasn't that bad. We rumbled along at a steady pace and on the left hand turns we heard the welding set rolling back and forth, smashing into my toolbox.

  "It isn't easy once you leave the 20's, is it?" he said.

  "You're telling me," I replied. "I think we've been put on the scrap heap. The kids make no sense anymore and I'm struggling to follow half of the tech they're using."

  "Dan is glued to his phone or his tablet. I guess if I really wanted a relationship with him there might be a 'Dad' app he could download." He started chuckling to himself and it made me smile. There was a spark to this man that was borderline flammable and it risked burning you if you got too close. Why had I never seen it before? We'd been working in the same building for so long and it was like I was seeing him for the first time. The pyjamas never lie - they knew me better than I knew myself.

  When we got back the rest of the 'shop were already on their way home. We pulled into the car park in total darkness as the winter nights had well and truly drawn in. I dreaded to think that the 'C' word was on its way.

  "Let's get the van emptied so we can go home," said Tom, climbing down from the cab. "I'm knackered."

  "Yeah, me too and we haven't really done anything when you think about it."

  "Hey - we worked our arses off, Missy. If we can nail those hand rails tomorrow then we're on the home stretch. They won't need us again for a couple of weeks at least."

  "We'll see," I said. "I've heard this before."

  "Ye of little faith."

  I was soon driving home with thoughts of tea and an early night bouncing around my head. Mixed in there was my day with Tom and welding and a five storey drop. By the time I pulled up I was playing the nodding dog behind the wheel and ready for a glass of red wine. Mel would have to sort herself out. Tonight I was donning the Mickey Mouse PJs which I was sure had no subliminal message for her. Then it was a date with the duvet and hopefully a good night’s sleep.

  I opened the front door and the usual stack of mail got jammed again. This time I was able to extract the letters without too much damage and I deposited them in the fish bowl. We'd never actually had fish and I think it was a house warming gift I'd never gotten around to using. It'd been Mel's idea to use it for the mail and I was fine with that given that most of the mail we received was hers anyway. There was no escaping the catalogue bill when it was swimming around a transparent bowl the moment you walked in the house. Unlike fish you couldn't just flush them away.

  As I was pouring my wine there was a distant chime, a faint tinkling that I knew was coming from my phone. Once more the technological beings above would be preparing to hurl their fiery bolts my way for committing further phone-related sins. Me and the glass walked over to my bag and extracted the offending device.

  "I can see why people die using these things," I said out loud. I swiped the screen and gasped. Not just at dramatic gasp, an actual, real gasp.

  GOOD WORK TODAY. SEE YOU IN THE MORNING. TOM.

  At first I felt the spinal shudder of the potential stalker victim. Then I remembered that my mobile number was on record at Riley's and was even on the little bits of paper stuck to the internal phones. There was something else I felt too - something I hadn't felt for a long, long time. It was known, in the vernacular of the modern romantic, as 'butterflies'. I had little need to worry though - red wine would drown the little blighter’s and so I gave them a generous mouthful before discarding the phone on my bed.

  A few minutes later and I was dressed to kill in my cotton mickey mouse's but that pesky phone was still there, looking up at me with its cyclopean square eye. My wine had gone but the fluttering hadn't. I promised myself another glass and rooted in my bag for Mr. Reacher. Surely his latest action-pac
ked adventure would quell the winged rascals?

  I slumped onto the settee and started reading. I managed a few pages. It was still there. Staring. Looking. Accusing. Did Alexander Bell realise the monster he'd unleashed on the world? I finished my second glass and started a third. Surely a simple reply was the answer? Nothing serious, just a text of professional courtesy. No emoji though. This was strictly above board. One colleague to another. More of a memo than a text.

  YOU TOO. SOPHIE.

  That would do, I thought. I was about to press 'SEND' but I wasn't sure it was the right response. It was blunt. It was cold. I didn't want him to think I was some emotional automaton. Even worse, he might think I was some technophobe who could only manage three-word texts before throwing in the towel.

  IT WAS A LAUGH. SAME AGAIN TOMORROW. SOPHIE.

  I gave that one a couple of reads but it still felt wrong. 'It was a laugh' - where were we? Blackpool? Why was it so hard just to reply to a bloody text?

  SAME AGAIN TOMORROW LOL. SOPHIE.

  I pressed the 'SEND' button before I went into total meltdown. Then came the obligatory regret that required another glass of red but by the time I'd finished it I was feeling a little fuzzy around the edges. I had strange urges - urges to pick up the phone and do some more texting. I was on a roll, wasn't I? That little number had boosted my confidence and I felt like I could rattle off a whole essay.

  "Soph?"

  I looked up from the evil little thing and saw Mel stood in the doorway. I only had the small table lamp on so she was hidden in shadow.

  "Yes?"

  "Have you been drinking? You were giggling to yourself."

  "Was I?" I said. I felt this required standing up.

  "Oh," she said.

  "Oh? Oh what?"

  "Oh. Mickey."

  "Mickey?"

  "Mickey. You're wearing Mickey."