Headache weather, heat and clouds, and Jozef’s men were all crowded in the ground floor; getting in each other’s way, trying to get the job done, drills going in every room, and nail guns. It was airless down there, even with all the windows wide, and the men had to watch their step, because Tomas had half the floorboards up to lay the heating pipes.
Tomas was in the living room, but he’d left one side of the corridor stripped to the joists, making it hard to pass. Except no one was saying anything about that, even if it annoyed them, because he’d been in a dark mood since the developer’s visit that morning.
“He leaves it till Thursday of the last week to say?”
Jozef could hear him grousing, even from where he crouched on the back step, under the heavy sky with his laptop. Not that Jozef blamed him; the two of them had been working on the kitchen that morning, and then the developer showed up, to tell them the boiler was in the wrong place. They’d been working from the wrong plans.
So of course they would run over now: more jobs on Jozef’s lists than there were days left to do them, even if he paid all his men to work straight through the weekend.
Tomas was shouting again, inside the living room; something about the pipes. But Jozef had already heard his complaints about having to cut a fresh lot for the kitchen, so he blocked him out, squinting at the sky first, wanting rain, cooler days to do all this work in; then down at his emails, scrolling his way back through the attachments, all the endlessly updated plans. The developer claimed he’d sent him the latest, but Jozef would prove he hadn’t. He was going to look out for himself now, like Ewa said, not pay for someone else’s cock-up.
He’d got all his men working again in the meantime. Marek was in and out of the kitchen, just behind him, carrying tools and odd lengths of pipe, ready for Tomas to unhook the boiler, and Jozef thought he should be happy about that at least, getting his apprentice back at last; he’d taken Marek out round the local pubs to raise a toast, just last night. But all Jozef could hear right then was Tomas’s angry voice.
Jozef stood up, impatient, and looked inside. The kitchen was empty: no Marek, no sign of anyone.
The floorboards by the back door were up, so Jozef stepped across the pipework, joist to joist, hearing no drills or nail guns or saws. There was no work being done at all, just bellowing, coming from along the hallway. Tomas was the loudest, but other voices were joining his, in Polish and English: an angry mix.
Jozef stepped his way faster along the corridor, and found all his men, massed in the living room.
“What the hell is going on?”
It was stifling in there, and everyone was standing and angry, with Tomas in the middle.
“Bloody copper pipes,” he shouted. “None left. That’s what. I ordered extra, yes? Three whole bloody bundles. I need them for the boiler. But they’re not here now.”
Tomas flung his arms up, looking around the room, so Jozef looked around himself too, at all his men standing, grim-faced; and then he saw Stevie in their midst, with his arms folded wary across his chest.
Tomas fixed his eyes on the boy, and soon everyone was turning.
“No way.”
Stevie shook his head, raising his palms.
“No way, pal. Dinnae look at me.”
And then the room erupted. They were all talking Polish now, but Stevie understood enough. He turned to Jozef, angry:
“They aw think I had they pipes? Wasnae me, aye?”
“So who was it?” Tomas asked. He was standing next to Marek, and Jozef looked at his nephew, remembering how he’d laid out the bundles, but not what he’d done with them after that.
Tomas took a step closer, speaking low and sharp under all the shouting:
“This boy. I know what he is.”
He jabbed a finger at Stevie.
“He is trouble for us. You just don’t want to see it.”
Jozef blinked: what did Tomas know that he didn’t? Things were getting out of hand, way beyond him, and he could hardly think for all the noise in there, the lack of air and all those voices. So he yelled out:
“Back to work!”
But no one moved.
“Go on, all of you!”
Still they stayed where they were: they wanted to see this dealt with. Jozef felt all eyes in the room turning on him now, while he pushed Tomas aside. This wasn’t about the boy, this was about the pipes, and Marek was the one to ask. So Jozef stepped up to his nephew:
“You counted the bundles when they arrived. Where did you put the ones left over?”
“He put them in the back room,” Tomas answered for him. “I’ve looked in there. Everywhere. That boy sold them on, I’m telling you.”
He sounded so sure, but Jozef wasn’t. He was still watching his nephew, keeping too quiet; Jozef didn’t like it. He threw a quick glance at Stevie, and saw the boy was watching Marek too, his eyes dark; so then Jozef knew.
He straightened up, facing the room, ready to make his own accusation, but then he saw all his workers’ faces, puzzled and hostile. They all thought he was after the wrong boy.
Jozef caught himself. He stood there and weighed them up, Marek and Stevie, one against the other.
You’ll watch out for Marek. And you’ll watch out for yourself, too. Okay?