‘Twelve weeks? That’s the earliest you can do?’
Thomas was convinced the builder must be pulling his leg. Maybe he didn’t want the job. ‘If you don’t want the job,’ Thomas went on, ‘I can call someone else.’
‘It’s not that, Mr Mullet,’ the builder said. ‘It’s this new development by the train line. We’re booked solid for months.’
Thomas was in his tiny office, and had taken a few minutes before the end of the work day to chase up the builder about the pending internal fence between the two houses. It was now almost six months after he and Elsie had moved in and the two yards remained adjoining. And now, hearing the builder’s schedule was full for another three months (and Thomas understood, he knew about the new development – a block of flash new offices for rent – because Bagnoli had been chasing a contract to supply electrical goods to the future tenants), Thomas kicked himself for his tardiness in following the builder up.
With a promise to contact him again in a few weeks, he hung up. He wrinkled his nose in disgust. The fertiliser was particularly pungent today, a real ripe stinker in his office. With no house calls to make this evening, he decided an early mark was well in order. Elsie would be delighted to see him home in daylight – there would even be time for a drink before tea.