The other men stand around, their tasks halted, their machinery momentarily silenced as they look on, gawping.
‘What did I tell you about keeping this blasted child off site?’ shouts Tobias.
The father holds out a hand as if to block him. ‘Hey, back off, will you? Calm down.’
Tobias feels his blood heating again. This is his property after all. They are technically trespassing.
‘Why can’t you keep your bloody family under control?’
‘I beg your pardon?’ says the other, incredulous; a look of shock rippling across his otherwise placid face.
In amongst this quarrel, the boy continues to cry although his screams have quietened into more of a hiccupping grizzle as he looks between the different men in turn. Tobias can see that Petras, the new man on site, is distracting him now, making faces, moving his hands in a way that appears to make shapes, characters; a sideshow of sorts.
‘Can anyone tell me what happened here?’ says the father, his bare feet planted in the dirt, his hair standing up in tufts. ‘I’m Tim and this is my son. We’re staying next door.’
‘Yes, well, perhaps you’d know if you’d been keeping an eye on him,’ says Tobias.
‘The door,’ he mutters in response. ‘I thought the bottom half was bolted.’
Tobias tuts, a smirk forming on his lips. He can’t help himself. The stupid sod has as good as admitted it’s his fault.
‘He was trying to put the stick. Here. Very dangerous.’ Petras gestures, his long pale fingers pointing to the concrete mixer.
‘Wanna play with Dizzy,’ says the child with another stuttering sob, and picks up his stick again. He has flopped down into a sitting position on the ground as though his wobbly toddler legs can no longer support his weight.
‘I stop him,’ continues Petras. ‘Is okay. No problem. No hurt,’ he assures, pushing his dark, limp hair off his face and smiling a broad grin. The child turns uneasily to his father, who stoops to pick him up and plants a kiss at the side of his son’s head.
‘Thank you,’ he says. ‘Thank you. I thought the door was locked. I just went to the bathroom for a second.’
Tobias crosses his arms, tries not to think about how close a call it was. The thought of all the paperwork involved with an accident, insurance, et cetera. How much it would delay things further.
‘Right, now that we’ve established it was just an oversight on your behalf, can we all get back to work, do you think?’ He looks about pointedly at the other men who mutter and return to their tools.
‘No, hang on a second,’ begins Tim.
But then his attention is caught by the sight of his wife, in brightly coloured running gear, unlatching the gate, a look of growing terror on her face as she takes in the scene.
‘Christ,’ breathes Tobias. ‘And now we have the bloody mother.’
‘What’s going on?’ calls Lottie. ‘What’s happened?’ she asks, her voice rising shrilly.
‘Here we go,’ says Tobias.
Tim raises a hand to placate her.
‘It’s okay, babe. Really, don’t worry. Josh is fine.’
‘What’s he doing outside, over here?’ she says, her eyes raking over the dirt, the machines.
‘I suggest you have a word with your husband,’ says Tobias, turning away, indicating to Bill to follow him indoors.
‘How could you let this happen?’ he hears her shrieking behind him as they disappear back inside the property, her rising tones of outrage still in earshot.
Poor bugger, thinks Tobias. He’s in for it now. Henpecked to within an inch of his life, clearly. Still, good job the foreign chap stepped in when he did. He makes a mental note to speak to Bill and the others, make sure they all witnessed what happened, heard the father admitting fully to his mistake and taking the blame. Bloody tourists, he concludes, wiping the sheen from his head, blowing out through his teeth. They’ll be the death of him.
10
‘Don’t start, Lottie. Please. I feel bad enough without you tearing a strip off me.’
