Toeing the Line

Sure enough, the production line had stopped. The boys formed up around the offending section and looked at the overhead cable. It had snapped, and the big plastic drums carrying the goods from one packing station to the next were sitting on the packing benches across the factory.

  “Line’s broken,” Nick said, pointing at the broken line.

  “Where?” Smiffy asked.

  “There,” Nick said, upgrading the pointing to a wave. “Where that gap in the line is.”

  Nick smiled at a group of eight women in garish flowery overalls. They were leaning against one of the plastic drums marked ‘Marital aids – Party Pack’ and having an animated conversation.

  “Morning, Nick,” said one of the women.

  “Morning, Doris. How’s the dog? Still drooping? And the old man?”

  “Yeah. Should have the poor old sod put down, but I don’t have the heart for it.”

  “And the dog?” Nick asked without missing a beat.

  “Barney’s fine ta, Nick,” she answered with a big grin.

  Smiffy nudged Nick, and they looked down the track at the old man approaching at what he supposed was a speedy pace. He was dressed in beige chinos and a blue blazer with a Royal Navy pocket patch, and looked just like a movie caricature of a batty navy captain. That being pretty much what he was, with emphasis on the batty.

  “Poor Captain Nemo looks like he’s wound up tight as a drum,” Nick whispered.

  “How can you tell?” Smiffy asked. “Looks as loopy as ever to me.”

  “No captain’s cap.”

  “Ah, right.”

  Captain Nemo spotted them, eventually, and marched up the line. “Ah, lads. Bit of a hold up was there? Never mind. Here now. Good show. Soon have the line back up and squared away, then… right?”

  “Aye, Cap’n,” Nick said.

  “Good show.”

  Nick took a long look at his watch. “Getting on for tea break, though.”

  “Tea break!” Badger said. “You’ve got five minutes to get this lot rolling, or—”

  “’Elf and safety, Bertie. ’Elf and safety.”

  “What the hell has health and safety got to do with getting the line moving?”

  “Well,” Nick said, “you have to take regular toilet and tea breaks for ’elf and… err… safety.”

  Elegantly put.

  “No problem, I hope, Nick?” Mr. Bradbury said. “Have to get the old line going again, you know. Productivity and all that.” He looked around as if seeing the place for the first time. “I was thinking of sending the girls for their lunch break.”

  Nick looked at his watch again. “It’s only ten o’clock, Cap’n.”

  “Oh, I’m sure they won’t mind going early.” He took a long look at the group of flowery overalled women still in earnest discussion. “Lovely girls. All of them. Salt of the earth. What?”

  “Probably, but I wouldn’t let them hear you call them that,” Nick said, quietly. He saw his puzzled look. “Don’t want to embarrass them, do we, Cap’n?”

  “No. Good heavens, no.”

  “Tell you what, Cap’n. Leave it with us a sec, and we’ll see what we can do.” Nick looked over at the women. “Before you put the girls on hospital meal times.”

  “Yes, leave it with us, Mr. Bradbury. We’ll have it fixed in a jiff,” Badger said.

  The boys gave him a long hard look, and the ‘we’ hung in the air like a unfortunate smell.

  “Very well, Nick,” Mr. Bradbury said. “I know that if we all pull together, it will be shipshape in no time.”

  “Aye-aye, Cap’n. Shipshape,” Nick said, saluting.

  “Carry on,” Mr. Bradbury said as he turned smartly and headed for his office to pull together. “Report to me as soon as it’s running, Bertie.”

  “Yes, Mr. Bradbury. I will report the moment my team has it working.”

  Gonk made a slurping sound as Mr. Bradbury walked away. “There you go, Badger. You should be able to hear better now.”

  Badger looked puzzled. “What do you mean? I can hear perfectly well.”

  “Come on,” Nick said. “You must be able to hear clearer now your head’s out of his arse.”

  “Very humorous. Now, if we can get on with the job at hand.”

  “Put the signs out, lads,” Nick said.

  Gonk and Buckshot crossed to the track, pulled two collapsible signs from under the benches, and put one on each side of the track. The signs read ‘Caution – men at work’.

  Nick and Smiffy walked up to take a closer look at the snapped cable hanging down like a… snapped cable.

  “Well?” Badger asked.

  “It’s broken,” Nick said, nodding.

  Badger stared at him for a moment, shaking his head. “Well, full marks for observation. What are you going to do about it?”

  Before Nick could tell him they were going for tea, two of the women stepped up to the signs and stood with hands on hips.

  “Seen the sign?” said Marj, the older and, let’s be honest here, the fat one.

  “Yeah,” said Betty, the thin one, just to balance things out some would say. “Men at work,” she read out loud.

  “Yeah, that’ll be the day.”

  They chuckled a coven chuckle at the boys’ pained expressions and waved another of the women over.

  “Come and see this, Mary,” Marj called.

  Mary joined them and examined the sign, then looked at the boys doing nothing. “So what are the men at work doing?”

  “Men things,” Betty said.

  “That’ll be bugger-all, then,” Marj said.

  Nick smiled his best smile at the women. “Come to watch men toiling and sweating?”

  “Yeah,” Marj said. “When do they arrive?”

  “When you’ve quite finished gossiping,” Badger said and ignored the ‘ooh, scary!’ looks from the women. “If it’s not too much bloody trouble—”

  “Language, Mr. Pringle!” Marj snapped. “Ladies present.”

  “Sorry, ladies,” Badger said and turned to Nick. “Now, if it’s not too much… trouble, can you tell me what you’re going to do about getting the line up and running before I get old and grey.”

  Nobody took the bait. They didn’t need to; the silence said it all far more eloquently.

  “We could fix it,” Smiffy suggested with a doubting look at Nick.

  “Oh, really!” Badger said, all surprised. “What a great idea! Can you tell me how you are going to do that, perchance?”

  Smiffy shrugged. “Dunno. Don’t do fixing tracks.”

  “What?” Badger shouted. “You’re a bloody maintenance fitter! What do you mean you don’t fix tracks?”

  “It’s heavy liftin’, you see,” Smiffy said, arching his back.

  “Of course it’s bloody heavy lifting! What are you talking about? Since when did you stop lifting things?”

  “Since I hurt me back,” Smiffy said, rubbing his back.

  “When? I haven’t seen any accident report on that. When did you suffer that… injury?”

  “In a minute,” Smiffy said, “as soon as I start pullin’ stuff about.”

  Badger groaned. “I think I’m going to hang myself.”

  “Can I watch?” Buckshot said, attempting humour.

  “Oh, isn’t he lovely,” Marj said, taking a step forward. “Couldn’t you just bite him?”

  Buckshot’s face paled, and he backed up until the metal track prevented any escape.

  “Buckshot’s going to night school,” Gonk said.

  “Education is a great thing, Brian. What are you studying?” Badger said. “Engineering? Mechanics?”

  “Escapology,” Buckshot said.

  “Wouldn’t need to escape from me, lover boy,” Marj said, opening her trunk-arms and waving him towards her bosom. Everything was moving at once, but some things are better left undescribed.

  Buckshot edged away from the track and fell over his toolbox.

  “What did he say he was studying?” Badger said, igno
ring the fact the boy was sprawled on his ass.

  “Escapology,” Nick said. “You know? The secret world of escaping from… things.”

  Badger looked down at Buckshot and shook his head slowly.

  “Are you any good?” Smiffy asked, without any real interest in whether he was or not, but it put off lifting things.

  “I’m a natural,” Buckshot said, getting to his feet without taking his eyes off Marj. “It’s like I can slip my hands out of any chains or handcuffs.”

  “Yeah, and we all know why they’re so slimy, don’t we?” Nick said.

  Gonk leaned forward and examined Buckshot’s hands. At a distance. “Are they hairy?”

  Buckshot put his hands in his pockets and sulked.

  “I didn’t realize they did courses in that,” Badger said, then jumped as his brain caught up. “What the hell? Get the bloody track fixed. Now! Or you’ll all be escaping… to the job centre.”

  Mrs. T. and Jessie arrived with the tea trolley, probably with fresh tea, but there was no certainty. The women got up and joined Marj and Betty at the trolley.

  “Don’t suppose there’s any point trying to talk to Jessie?” Marj asked.

  “Oh, it’s okay,” Mrs. T said. “She’s had her hearing aid fixed.”

  “Oh, good,” Marj said, turning to Jessie. “You’ve had your hearing fixed, then, Jessie?”

  “What?” Jessie said, pouring tea from a huge stainless-steel teapot. “Oh, yes. Me sister came over and permed it for me.”

  The women exchange knowing looks.

  Marj changed the subject. “And is your Terry better now, Mrs. T?” she asked, taking the cup of tea from Jessie.

  “Yes, thanks. He’s got a new freezer. He brought the baby round to see me at the weekend.”

  “That’s good, then,” Marj said, sipping the tea and pulling a face—worse than the one God had given her.

  “Oh, he’s got a growth on his face,” Mrs. T said, handing out more tea. “He’s got to go to hospital for an autopsy next Thursday.”

  “Does he know?” Nick asked, stepping up and taking one of the offered mugs.

  “Oh yes, dear,” Mrs. T said. “He’s looking forward to it. He likes the attention, you see.”

  Nick gave up on that thread before it led to insanity and a tight-fitting jacket with long sleeves, and looked up at the broken cable. Badger came and stood beside him, and together they considered the problem in silence.

  Finally, Badger could bear it no longer. “What are you doing?”

  “Thinking.”

  Badger closed his eyes to seek divine guidance. “What the hell is there to think about? Just pull the bloody cable back over the sprocket things and tie it back together!”

  No divine guidance, then.

  Nick turned his head slowly and gave the man a slow, pitying look.

  “Christ!” Badger said. “A bloody kid could do it.”

  Nick wandered off.

  “Where the hell are you going!”

  “To get a kid,” Nick said, without looking back.

  Betty chuckled loudly, like a tart in a gin palace. “I’ve got a couple of the buggers you can have. For nothing,” she called.

  Badger half-walked, half-ran after Nick, stepped quickly in front of him, and stopped. Nick stopped too, though it was a reflex action. Soon regretted.

  “It was a figure of speech,” Badger said. “Do you know what a figure of speech is?”

  Nick’s brow creased as he thought about it. “An eight?”

  “God, give me strength,” Badger pleaded.

  “That would work,” Nick said. “Then you could pull the bloody line back over the… sprocket things.”

  “Yeah,” Smiffy said. “Because if a kid could fix it, you should bollix it up good and proper.”

  “If you want something bollixing up,” Betty said, “then you really do need my twins. I’ll ask their probation officer if they can come over.”

  Badger was fed up. He was way past fed up. He was… incandescent. That’s a word he’d read and liked to use if the occasion permitted. And this occasion begged for it. Incandescent.

  “All right, okay,” he spluttered—I’ll bloody show you prima donnas. I was doing this sort of work while you were having your arses wiped by your mommies.”

  Smiffy dried an imaginary tear. “Y’know, I never had a mommy.”

  Buckshot raised a finger as a thought hit him. “I once went out with a waitress who looked like a mummy.”

  “What?” Smiffy said, “all covered in bandages and stuff?”

  “Yeah,” Buckshot said. “She got her arms scalded in the chip shop.”

  “Nicking the fish out of the fryer?” Smiffy asked, almost interested.

  “Nah,” Buckshot said, “she just worked there.”

  “I like fish ’n chips,” Gonk chimed in. “Y’know, the big fat ’uns.”

  “Like his waitress, then?” Nick said, stepping up onto a bench support and reaching into one of the drums to pull out a folded plastic square, which he shook out to reveal an inflatable girlfriend.

  “Amazing that blokes want to buy those things when there are plenty of real women about,” Marj said with an eye-watering shrug.

  Smiffy took a long look round, as if searching for something.

  Marj gave him a look that could have cut glass.

  He quickly changed the subject and mimicked the doll’s staring eyes and open mouth. “Remind you of anybody, Buckshot?”

  Buckshot looked confused. No change there, then.

  “One of your girlfriends?”

  “Yeah, that’ll be your mother!”

  Now that wasn’t nice.

  “Put that away,” Marj said sharply. “Here comes Jas.” She lowered her voice. “And you know how Asians are about such things.”

  No, nobody knew how Asians were about such things, and they awaited enlightenment. It didn’t arrive before Jas, a stunning nineteen-year-old student, in that dump for work experience. Poor kid.

  “Morning, everyone,” she said with a smile that would have thawed Alaska.

  “What’s good about it?” Badger mumbled and looked miserable.

  “What’s happening?” she asked.

  “Nothing,” Badger said, still miserable. “Not a bloody thing, that’s what.”

  “Now I’ve told you once about your bad language, Mr. Pringle,” Marj said sternly. “Don’t let me have to tell you again.”

  Badger took a step back as he felt the slap of his mother’s hand on his head. He wanted to say something. Maybe that he was the boss, but all he could manage was to look at his shoes. “Sorry,” he mumbled, and he secretly wished for Figaro his stuffed rabbit, but it was long gone into the trash. Pity, sometimes a man needs a stuffed rabbit.

  He was saved from the pain of lost loved ones by the arrival of an electrician and his apprentice. Tone and his boy, Sparklet, both wore red hard hats to denote their chosen profession. Tone had his hands stuffed into his pockets, while Sparklet strained under the weight of a large toolbox in one hand, a holdall with cable hanging out of it in the other, and a test meter slung around his neck on a strap. Such is the lot of the apprentice in any industry.

  Hot on their heels came Luigi, finally arriving at the action from his previous task of fitting a new metal leg to Badger’s desk. A vital task well done. He was carrying a ladder, which he swung round as he arrived and almost beheaded Marj and Betty. He got ‘the look’—in stereo.

  “I’ve brought the ladder, Mr. Pringle,” he said, slightly breathlessly, and leaned the ladder against the overhead line stanchion.

  “Ah,” Nick said, snapping his fingers. “Is that what that is? You know, I’ve seen them lying around…well, leaning around, but could never work out what they did.”

  “They forgot to bring it, Mr. Pringle,” Luigi said, ignoring Nick, as usual. “So I thought I’d better get it over here as quick as possible.”

  “Have you fixed my desk?” Bertie asked, squinting suspicious
ly.

  “Yes, Mr. Pringle.”

  Gonk put his finger down his throat. The boys nodded agreement.

  “Time for tea, Luigi?” Nick said with a smile.

  “No, I don’t have time for damned tea,” Luigi said. “How many times have I got to tell you. I don’t drink tea when there’s work to do.”

  Smiffy swooned and had to grab the bench for support. “Oh my! We are in the presence of a martyr.”

  “That’ll be a toe-martyr,” Nick said, shaking his head and stepping up to the tea trolley next to the women. “I’ll have another tea, please, Mrs. T.” He smiled. “That rhymes.”

  And it did, almost.

  “Have they sorted out your wages, Mrs. T?” Nick asked, taking the mug of tea.

  “I think it’s a disgrace,” Jessie said. “It’s been nearly a month, and they still haven’t paid her for that week she was sick.”

  “Wasn’t she in Brighton?” Nick said.

  “Well, yes, but she was still sick.” Marj sighed heavily. “They don’t care, you know. They should spend a week on the line with us workers.”

  The group of women nodded emphatically and sat on the boxes to have their tea and cakes.

  “That Val in wages says I’m going to have my money paid into my bank by somebody called Direct Debbie,” Mrs. T said.

  “That’ll be easier for you, then,” Marj said.

  “I suppose so,” Mrs. T said, puzzled. “How will they do it, though?”

  “Easy,” Nick said, “they just move the money from their bank to yours. You don’t even see it.”

  “How will I get me money, then?” Mrs. T said.

  “Easy,” Marj said. “You just put your card in the cash machine, and the money comes out.”

  Mrs. T looked even more worried. “That’ll make a terrible mess of the lounge. And I’ve just had it papered.”

  “No, Mrs. T,” Marj said, “the machine’s at the bank.”

  “Oh, that’ll be better,” Mrs. T said, but she was clearly still confused. “How will I know which bank they put me money in?”

  “It goes into your bank account, dear,” Marj said.

  “Oh,” Mrs. T said.

  They waited for the inevitable.

  “I don’t have bank account.”

  The group brain was still trying to unravel the thread as Mrs. T and Jessie trundled the tea trolley away at a snail’s pace.

  Marj was the first to recover and nudged Betty. “The little one’s cute.” She pointed at Sparklet. “Bet you’d like to take him home, eh?”

  Sparklet moved closer to Tone, as if that would save him.

  Betty shook her head. “Nah, the twins would kill him.”

  Marj nodded knowingly. “Yeah, see what you mean.” She smiled at Sparklet, who was now standing behind Tone and looking round his shoulder. “How are the little angels?”

  Betty shrugged. “I’m finally getting shut of them. I’m sick to death of their drinking and fighting, I can tell you. Rolling home in the early hours drunk as skunks and sleeping it off until lunchtime.”

  “Where they going, then?” Marj asked.

  “College, would you believe it? They’ll take anybody.” Betty sucked a long, noisy breath through her nose. “Still, they can do what they like there. Drink themselves to death for all I care, and shag whoever they like… pardon my French.”

  Nick stepped away from the track and around the ladder. “I’ve got it wrong, I think, Betty,” he said with a frown. “Your twins, what are they?”

  “Besides being a bloody pain in the arse?” Betty said. “Girls, of course.”

  Nick nodded. “Thought so.”

  Tone leaned over the track and tapped the line, sending it swinging back and forth. “So what’s the matter with the line, Nick?” he said, pretending to be interested. Badly. “Electrical problem, is it?”

  “Could be,” Nick said, returning to stand beside him. “But I’ve got a theory.”

  “And about bloody time,” Badger said and looked away quickly from Marj’s hard look.

  Buckshot and Gonk made a big show of moving closer. The better to hear the sage’s words of wisdom. Sparklet joined them. Quickly. Predators always go for the stragglers. He’d seen it on Nature Watch.

  “Okay,” Badger said. “I know I’m going to regret this. But what’s your great theory, Mr. Know-it-all?”

  Nick examined the broken steel cable carefully and nodded. “Mice.”

  “Mice!” Badger said. “Mice? What the bloody hell are you talking about!”

  “Saw a show about that once,” Smiffy said, still watching the line swinging back and forth.

  “What?” Gonk asked. “About mice?”

  “Nah, a God thing.”

  “Like a sort of racing nuns sports day thing?” Gonk said.

  “Nah,” Smiffy said, looking distant. “Some bird with big tits and a plastic skirt.”

  “What was it about?” Nick said, intrigued as only total boredom can do for a man.

  “Dunno.”

  Badger’s shoulders drooped, and the life drained out of his face. It was a madhouse. Truly, a madhouse. His father told him he would come to this. And he’d been right. He’d also told him he was a total no-hoper who’d be dead before he was thirty, but best not to rehash that.

  Gonk looked at Jas and tried not to look at her breasts. He knew from the internet that Asian women don’t like you staring at their breasts. Apparently, it’s a cultural thing. “So Jas,” he said, pulling his stare from her body, her small, perfectly formed… he caught himself before embarrassment straddled him like a pole dancer. “How’re you liking your work experience, then?” he said quickly.

  “It’s all right,” she said with a shrug. “There are lots of people to talk to.” She was clearly considering it. “But some of them are a bit…weird.” She was looking straight at Gonk.

  So, that was unanimous, then.

  “Jas’s is getting married,” Marj declared with a big smile. Marriage is always reason to smile. For a few months anyway.

  Gonk looked crestfallen. Which manifested itself as a slow blink and a sulk. “Oh,” he said, looking at her breasts again. And why not? She was unavailable now anyway. “Didn’t know, Jas.” That was like an apology, but for what was anybody’s guess. “Is it one of those arranged things?”

  “Yes, it’s traditional,” Jas explained, shifting uncomfortably and trying to hide her body from the creepy person.

  “Doesn’t seem right to me,” he said, “sort of primitive, y’know? Forcing you to marry somebody against your will. You should run away.”

  Sound advice.

  “How is Satnam?” Nick asked.

  “He’s fine, thank you, Nick.”

  “How long have you known him now?” he asked, looking straight at Gonk.

  “Oh, about ten years,” Jas said. “Since I was a girl. We were best friends.”

  “And is he still herding buffalo?” Nick asked, still looking at Gonk, who was trying to edge out of sight behind the three-foot-high bins.

  “In a way,” Jas said, smiling. “He’s just bought his third restaurant, with another on the way.”

  Gonk’s jaw hung open as he considered the primitive life the poor girl was going to have to endure.

  Marj waved the other women up from the various boxes they’d chosen to watch the men at work. “This looks like it’s going to take a while. We’re going to the canteen. Come and get us when it’s fixed.”

  “If it is ever bloody—” Badger froze under another withering look from Marj. He waited while the women filed past. He nodded and smiled and willed them on their way.

  “So, Nick,” he said when the threat was past. “This bloody stupid theory of yours is that mice climbed up onto the track and, what? Bit through the moving steel cable?”

  Luigi stepped up beside Badger, so close they could have been glued together. “Yes, Mr. Pringle, bloody stupid, isn’t it?”

  Nick raised his eyebrows. “Could be mice. They
bit a hole in my shed and chewed the tyres off my mower. A cable like this—” He pointed at the inch-thick steel cable. “Give them no trouble.”

  “What?” Tone said. “The ride-on?”

  Nick nodded. Badger frowned. Luigi mirrored Badger.

  “Shit,” Tone said, “I always wanted one of those.”

  “Yeah?” Nick said. “I can get you one if you want.”

  “Can ya?”

  “Yeah,” Nick said. “Friend of mine works for the local council as a gardener.”

  “Cool,” Tone said. “Make it so.”

  “Fix the line!” Badger screamed. “Fix the line! Fix the bloody line!”

  Nick and the boys blinked at him for several seconds, then Nick went to work, leaning over and grabbing the still-swinging cable.

  Sparklet leaned around him and examined the damage. “That’s broke, that is,” he said with authority.

  Nick and Tone exchange knowing looks.

  “He’s good,” Nick said, patting the boy on the shoulder. You have to encourage the young. “See that, Smiffy?”

  “Yeah,” Smiffy said. “We’ve been here, what? Ten minutes?”

  Everyone nodded confirmation of the elapsed time. Except Badger, who had withdrawn into a world where sane people were the norm.

  “And,” Smiffy continued, “young Sparklet here gets to the root of the problem in no time flat.” He, too, patted the boy’s shoulder. Encouraging the young really is a good thing. “I bet you’re very proud, Tone.”

  “I am that,” Tone said, patting the boy’s other shoulder, now that Nick and Smiffy had completed that required encouragement. “And he’s my nephew.” He shrugged. “Somebody’s got to be the apprentice.”

  And he was entirely correct. Everyone deserves an even chance, a fair crack of the whip, a leg up. And if that someone happens to be a family member? Well, that’s probably just a coincidence.

  Nick looked the boy over slowly. “Yeah, I see the family resemblance. He looks like your Vera.”

  “Think so?” Tone said, also looking the boy over, as if he hadn’t seen him grow from an acorn to a sapling. “I think he’s a bit thin.”

  Badger started to mumble, then froth a little at the mouth. Grunting, he picked up a metal bar and began beating the track with it.

  The boys stepped back and watched him with mild interest.

  “Fix it!” Badger screamed, froth flying from his lips. “Fix it, you shits! Bradbury will have my balls! And it’ll be your fault.” He stared at them with wild eyes. “I’ll tell him it was you.” He pointed the bent metal bar at Nick. “And he’ll kill you.”

  Nick shook his head. “Not likely. Buckshot here is a black belt.” He turned to Buckshot. “That’s right, Buckshot?”

  Buckshot pushed out his chest. “That’s right. Black belt. Got awarded it from an online course.”

  “I’ve got a brown belt,” Tone said.

  “That right?” Smiffy said. “What in?”

  Tone frowned. “In me suit trousers.”

  Badger dropped the metal bar, sat down against the track, and began to sob quietly.

  The boys gathered round supportively.

  “What’s the matter with him?” Tone asked.

  “Hormonal, I think,” Nick said.

  Tone looked up at the hanging cable. “Can you fix that?”

  Nick looked up. “Yeah,” he said with a nod. “We’ll have to take the bins off, reroute the cable, and clamp it back on.”

  Tone nodded. “Sounds like a big job.”

  “Yeah,” Nick said. “But soonest started.” He turned to Gonk. “Go get a forklift.

  “Looks like a bit of a heavy job,” Tone said, still looking up at the line. “You want to borrow Sparklet?”

  Nick looked the boy over again and was about to turn down the offer.

  “He’s stronger than he looks,” Tone said. “Ain’t you, Sparklet?”

  Sparklet puffed out his chest. There was barely any change.

  Nick watched the boy’s face go through darkening shades of red as he held his breath. “Okay, ta. He’ll be great,” he said, before the boy swooned from lack of oxygen.

  Badger was also red, but getting it back under control. “Thank God.” He sighed. “How long will it take?”

  “Couple of hours or so,” Nick said. “What do you think, Smiffy?”

  “Yeah, couple of hours. Three tops.”

  “Three hours!” Badger was teetering on the edge again. “Come on, boys, let’s pull our fingers out.”

  “I’d help,” Smiffy said, “but I’ve got a bad back.”

  “You said it wasn’t injured,” Badger said, shaking his head to clear the misfire.

  “It wasn’t, but all this standing around has done it in.”

  Before Badger could think of a suitable response, Gonk returned, standing on the back of a forklift and directing the driver, like Clint Eastwood on a tank.

  Badger looked at the forklift and then the bins hanging from the cable and perked up. “Hang on, lads, I’ve got a great idea!”

  The boys waited. When people say that, it usually signals a serious cock-up approaching.

  Badger stepped up to the track and pointed at the forklift. “Why don’t we just tie a rope to the cable,” he said excitedly, warming to his plan. “Then attach it to the forklift and pull it up.” He pointed up at the overhead line, in case they didn’t follow him. “Then all we do is fix the cable to the track. Job’s done.”

  There’s never a ‘genius at work’ sign when you need one.

  “Yes, Mr. Pringle,” Luigi said, smiling broadly. “That is a great idea.”

  Nick gave him a long, pitying look. “These drums are all fastened together,” he said, pointing at the row of plastic product drums hanging down from the broken cable. “And you want to pull all this dead weight up three metres with the forklift and a towrope?”

  “Yes,” Badger said, still excited at his plan. “Why not? Much better than your idea of uncoupling all the bins. The track will be back up running before Mr. Bradbury comes back.”

  Luigi grinned a slightly manic grin. “Yes, Mr. Pringle, we’ll get right to it. A brilliant plan.”

  It was a stupid plan.

  “Won’t work,” Smiffy said.

  “Hold up, Smiffy,” Nick said, putting his hand on Smiffy’s arm. “Bertie says it will work.”

  “True,” Tone said, nodding. “Badger’s the foreman, right? So he knows his stuff. You don’t get promoted to foreman unless you know your stuff. Right?”

  “Exactly,” Luigi said, looking at Badger for support. “And it’s about time you lot recognized his authority.”

  “Thank you, Luigi,” Badger said, standing a little straighter to emphasise his authority. “It will work just fine. Trust me.”

  “Off you go, then,” Nick said and strolled nonchalantly away from the track.

  The boys watched him go for a moment, wondering why he’d given up. He picked up a tubular chair, stepped into a loading bay, and sat down behind a low wall. They got the picture and scooped up the tubular chairs from the women’s rest area as they headed for Nick’s fallout shelter.

  Badger and Luigi didn’t notice the boys drift off to join Nick, being too busy setting up for the big engineering feat.

  Tone was the last to sit and stared questioningly at Sparklet, who suddenly jumped, got up quickly, and went to fetch the tools, passing Buckshot heading for the door marked ‘Gents’. Smiffy watched him go and grimaced.

  “What’s the problem?” Tone asked and nodded at Buckshot.

  “Now I’ll have to walk all around the yard to go for a piss,” Smiffy said with a long sigh.

  Tone shook his head. “I don’t get it.”

  “You know why they call him Buckshot, don’t you?” Smiffy asked.

  “I always thought it was because of all the women he has.” He shrugged. “Y’know, shooting here and there.”

  “You believe that,” Nick said, “you’ll believe politician
s want to make your life better.”

  “His conquests feature battery-operated aids and jars of warm liver,” Gonk explained.

  Tone frowned. “So why call him Buckshot?”

  Gonk made a fist and jerked it back and forth, then pointed at the toilet door.

  The penny clinked home. “Oh God! You mean…” He snapped a look at the toilet door.

  Nick nodded and grinned. “Yup.”

  “Remind me not to use that bog,” Tone said.

  “Too late,” Gonk said. “He’s christened every trap in the place.”

  “Oh, bloody hell!” Tone said. “That’s disgusting.”

  The sound of the forklift backing up shifted the focus and they stood up to peer over the green-painted brick wall designed to prevent delivery trucks mowing down the workforce, and doubling up as a first line of defence against Badger’s insanity.

  Luigi and Badger had tied a towrope to the back of the forklift truck and fed it up and over the cable pulley and down to the first drum full of marital aids funware. There they tied it in a big knot to the end of the broken steel cable.

  Badger waved at the forklift driver, but he just sat in his little seat and stared at him in disbelief. Badger waved both hands. Okay, orders from the boss. The forklift crept forward, and the towrope tightened.

  The boys crouched down a little, instinctively.

  The bins started to move, one after the other as the rope began to ease them off the packing benches.

  Luigi took a long step away.

  Badger waved the forklift driver on to greater efforts.

  The forklift moved, and the rope stretched and shuddered, now taut enough to be vibrating at a top C-sharp.

  The boys ducked even lower. It was like watching a road crash unfolding.

  Luigi took two steps away.

  “Come on!” Badger shouted, excited to the point of crazed now that the plan was working.

  The forklift moved an inch more.

  Luigi ran away.

  The boys ducked out of sight.

  The forklift driver dived off the forklift.

  Badger started screaming for more lift.

  The rope snapped with a sound like a gunshot, whipped around, and cracked Badger on the back of his hardhat with enough force to flip him through a complete somersault.

  Beautiful.

  Nick led the boys back from the safety of the wall now the danger was past and glanced down at Badger sitting with little blue birds circling his head.

  “That didn’t work, then,” Nick said helpfully.

  “True,” Smiffy said, looking down at his fallen comrade. “Was always a bit of a long shot.”

  “Somebody call first aid!” Luigi shouted, returning from whence he’d scurried.

  “Why?” Nick said.

  Luigi pointed at Badger. “For Mr. Pringle, of course.”

  “Where’d he get hit?” Nick asked.

  “Ah, right,” Smiffy said, nodding.

  “What?” Luigi said.

  “On the head,” Smiffy said with a knowing shrug.

  Buckshot returned from his mission to the men’s room. Tone and Sparklet give him a long look and stepped well away from him.

  He looked down at the fallen Badger. “Did I miss something?”

  “Not much,” Nick said, looking at Buckshot suspiciously. “Did you wash your hands?”