The Girl in the Yellow Vest (24 page)

‘Would you like a slice of cake?’

She blinked. ‘A slice of what?’

‘A slice of cake,’ he repeated, the kindness wholly belied by the impatient tone in which it was uttered. ‘I’ve brought some in for the team. Homemade too, iced it myself.’

Her eyes widened. ‘Is it your birthday, sir?’

‘No. I don’t celebrate birthdays.’

She could quite understand that. In fact, she was sure that he didn’t celebrate Christmas, Easter, Valentine’s Day or any other occasion that involved giving and smiling. The cake was an anomaly. She looked around nervously at the rest of the office. Many of her co-workers, who had stopped to gape at them, quickly and noisily turned back to their computers and resumed working at what seemed like an unnaturally efficient pace. Ann, who had been staring at them from across the room in shock, holding Caesar’s morning coffee in readiness for when he passed her desk, quickly set it down and bustled over. Her face was set and her hands were wringing as she moved straight into crisis management mode.

‘Can I help you with something there, Mr Crawford?’

She threw a glare in Emily’s direction as though she had been responsible for this uncharacteristic turn of events.

‘Ah, Ann,’ Caesar actually looked rather pleased to see his secretary, ‘take this.’

He shoved the large plastic container he’d been holding into her hands. ‘I’ve brought in a cake for the office staff. See that everyone gets a piece, won’t you?’

‘Yes, sir, I will. If I may ask, sir . . . are you all right?’

‘All right?’ he repeated with raised brows. ‘Of course I’m all right. Why shouldn’t I be all right?’

Ann cleared her throat. ‘No reason at all. In fact, might I inquire if today is a special occasion, sir?’

‘No,’ he snapped. ‘Why does there have to be an occasion? Can’t a man just feel like baking without being pestered about it?’

She visibly shrank. ‘My apologies, sir. I just wanted to check to make sure you didn’t want me to assemble the team so you could make a speech or something.’

‘Definitely not.’ He shook his head. ‘It’s very simple, Ann. Just cut and serve it.’

‘Would you like me to bring in a piece with your coffee, sir?’

‘No.’ He baulked. ‘That wouldn’t be a good idea.’ He glanced at the counter. ‘But I might have one of those bananas.’

As Ann walked off, he turned to detach one from the bunch and it suddenly occurred to Emily to seize the moment. Before she lost her nerve, she quickly said to his back, which was far less scary than his front, ‘Sir, might I have a word?’

‘A word, a second,’ he mused. ‘People always underestimate how much time of mine they intend to waste.’

As he resumed facing her, his brows twitched together and she swallowed hard. Yes, he was definitely scarier face to face.

‘Er . . .’

He sighed. ‘And the sad thing is, I already know what you are going to say.’

‘You do?’

‘Of course,’ he nodded dispassionately. ‘You wish to complain about being made to spark test beams.’

She smiled, grateful for his ready understanding.
See, this isn’t so bad.
‘Well yes, as a matter of fact I –’

‘I understand but I can’t help you.’ His interruption was so brusque that it took her a couple of seconds to register it was over.

‘But –’

‘We’re two men down in the painting team, we’re behind and there is no one else to do it. It’s nothing against you personally, it’s just a matter of need. I have a need of you there. And might I say,’ he offered almost kindly (
almost
kindly), ‘since I’ve had you helping out the painters, their productivity has improved and our schedules are looking much better.’

‘But we could get the real painters back if we improved the amenities.’

‘Couches in the lunch room, I suppose,’ he scoffed. ‘No, I think not. If it’s good enough for us, it should be good enough for them.’

‘That’s not –’

‘Your contribution is putting us back on track.’ He folded his arms, regarding her thoughtfully. ‘I don’t say this often but well done.’

‘But I don’t like spark testing,’ she blurted angrily. ‘I think we should try and get the other painters back.’

He nodded with anything but understanding. ‘Listen to me, Emily, and let me make it clear that I am making a huge concession by telling you this because frankly I don’t normally exert myself as much for my employees. I prefer in general to let them navigate their way through their careers on their own merit. But in this case,’ he nodded again ever so graciously, ‘I am willing to now give you a sage piece of advice that will open your mind. Advice that was given to me by a site supervisor when I was your age. He said to me and I quote, “Never be good at a shit job.” There, now you know everything.’ He smiled. ‘Best get back to work. And don’t worry, eventually all those beams will be spark tested and you can return to your previous tasks. I’ll keep you posted.’ Clearly the subject was closed because he was walking away. She glanced down at her sweaty palms, then rubbed them down her hips.

That went well.

Here she was, back again in the same place she had been when she’d left Perth. A doormat. Why was it that every man she met, including Trent, thought she would just accept her fate and do as she was told?

Because that’s what you do. That’s what you’ve always been. The yes girl.

You count cracks. You spark test. What next? Making sure every bolt on the job had a nut.

She shook her head so fiercely that she nearly did her neck. Perhaps it was time to break the mould. She would get that toilet donga for the painters without Caesar’s help. Of course, the decision was easier made than enacted. She put on her hard hat and massive yellow vest and went out back to the yard. While spark testing, she continued to stew about her predicament. The dilemma was a bit of a challenge. How did one acquire a toilet donga on a site like this, if one had no money, no permission and no experience?

One didn’t.

If she couldn’t buy one or rent one without funds then the only other option was to borrow one from somewhere else. Her thoughts immediately flew to all the portable loos she had seen on the wharf thanks to Will’s game of hide and seek. There had been many of them. Surely they could spare one.

At lunchtime, she returned to the office hoping to catch Will and bounce a few ideas off him. She went inside to her desk to retrieve her lunch box, which was in her backpack, and her eyes alighted on two mangoes that had been left next to her keyboard.

What the . . .?

She sighed as she picked up the Post-it note attached to it.
Love from Dipper
.

Twice in one day? How was this possible? Yesterday she’d asked Will to pass on a message to Dipper on the wharf saying she didn’t want any more fruit. He said he’d passed it on so why had the fruit doubled in quantity?

She picked up the mangoes and went outside. There was a man leaning on the side of the office smoking a cigarette.

‘I need to talk to Dipper. Do you know where he is?’

He grinned. ‘Oh ho ho ho, but that’s good news for the riggers.’

‘Why?’

He tipped his hard hat to her. ‘Maybe you should ask Spooks.’

Spooks? Who the hell was Spooks?

She noticed that all the men had nicknames. It seemed to be a site tradition, and there was always some sort of reasoning behind the name. For example, the men called the safety manager Wally. His name was actually Paul. The man was constantly wandering around telling people off for not doing the safe thing. For example, getting into a tug without a life jacket, not wearing your PPE, ignoring signs, etc. He was very over the top with his nit-picking but apparently his stealth was just as incredible. He would creep up on you when you least expected it. Pounce on your crime like a cat out of a box with an ‘Ah-hah!’ so smug it was almost comical. So whenever someone seemed to be doing something dodgy the men would call out, ‘Where’s Wally, where’s Wally?’ Like the cartoon character from the children’s books – the face hidden in the crowd that suddenly leaps out.

She didn’t have a nickname yet but was sure it couldn’t be long before she did. She hoped they would go easy on her.

‘Where is Spooks?’

‘Right over there.’ He pointed to where a tall, skinny man was seated at a white trestle table. The table was located with many others in a courtyard framed on three sides by office dongas, a shade cloth over the top. Emily often ate her sandwiches there, sometimes with Will if he wasn’t on the wharf but most of the time with any random who decided that today was the day he was going to tell her his life story.

And there were a lot of ‘randoms’. Men who just had to get it ‘off their chest’. From fights at home with the wife because he was working away too much to worries about becoming a father for the first time when he was on the other side of the country. She listened to men talk about their kids, their dogs, their parents, their illnesses, their shortcomings, their hopes, their dreams and even their aspirations.

Basically, all the things men couldn’t or rather
wouldn’t
talk about with other men. She supposed because she was female it seemed to be okay to let a more sensitive, more human side of themselves show and some of them were simply desperate for it.

Mangoes in hand, she crossed the courtyard and sat down next to Spooks. ‘Hello.’

He looked up in surprise, first at her, then at her mangoes.

‘Do you like fruit?’ she asked sweetly.

‘Yes.’

‘Then please take them. And in return I want you to take me out onto the wharf to see Dipper.’

And Will.

Maybe she could get his ideas about the toilet business as well.

‘Now hold on a minute there.’ Spooks pushed the mangoes away. ‘I’m not risking my neck for no second-hand fruit.’

Her eyes narrowed on him. ‘So you know I got these mangoes from Dipper.’

‘Of course I do. Everybody does.’ He grinned. ‘We’ve all been watching his courtship of you with great interest.’

‘His courtship?’ Emily repeated, wrinkling her brow. ‘But he’s much too old for me.’

‘Really?’ Spooks inquired. ‘Perhaps you’d like someone a little younger . . . like Boy Scout?’

‘Will?’ Emily’s eyes widened before she shook her head. ‘Oh, I don’t think of him like that.’

‘At all?’

She felt herself flush as she thought guiltily of that moment back in the portable loo. An incident that seemed to play on her mind a lot these days. Could it be that her feelings for Will weren’t as innocent as she was trying to persuade herself? Charlotte had hinted at it. Now Spooks was too.

She pushed the thought aside and averted her face. In any case, Spooks was being a little too intrusive for someone she’d only just met. ‘Will you take me out to the wharf or not?’ she said between her teeth.

Spooks considered the matter for a second, licking his lips. ‘All right.’

She observed his crafty expression for a moment. There weren’t many men who would cross Caesar willingly. She had the feeling, however, that Spooks wasn’t doing it for her but for his own enjoyment. She could see that he was the kind of man who thrived on drama. Still, what other option did she have? Neither Will nor Dipper seemed to be coming in for lunch and as far as she was concerned, her need to see each of them was urgent.

So after a few minutes, they headed over to his vehicle.

It was a gorgeous day. The sun glistened brightly on the ocean, giving her hope. Activity buzzed and whirred around her – both of man and machinery.

Spooks turned the car out onto the right arm of the wharf where most of the men were working on installing the new conveyor trusses. The piling barge was setting up beside the jetty a little further down. It had floated into position and was now in the process of dropping its giant steel legs. Men in vests bustled about carrying rope and shackles. It seemed like everyone was in the process of lifting something.

‘We need a clean out and some order around here,’ Spooks commented as he gingerly navigated around a cluster of dongas. ‘I really think we could do with more working space and less dongas. They just encourage the men to loiter.’

Emily looked at the dongas thoughtfully. Getting a lunch room as well would definitely be a plus. ‘I wonder . . . do you have spare one?’

He squeezed the car into a tight bay behind another ute. ‘I wouldn’t be surprised. Why do you ask?’

‘Just thinking out loud.’

She wasn’t going to explain herself to Spooks until she had a fully formed plan in her head. For now, she’d stick with finding Dipper.

And she did find him. Only he was in a man cage being hoisted ten metres above the deck by a five-tonne crane so that he could perform some welding on the new conveyor trusses. She was left standing at the base of the crane, bending her neck while shielding her eyes from the sun to look at him. It didn’t look like he was coming down any time soon.

Damn!

She had really hoped to make this quick.

Many of the men commented on her position there.

‘Lucky man,’ they said, ‘to have such a dedicated woman.’

The observation irritated her. Given Spooks’ earlier comments about Dipper’s ‘courtship’ she had to wonder if he really did have the hots for her.

Her peripheral vision caught a third person and she spun eagerly to see Will walking towards her. To her surprise, her heart immediately picked up pace as she took in his familiar scruffy facial hair, the quiet confidence of his walk and that lopsided smile.

Oh damn!

The shocking confirmation hit her.
I
do
have feelings for Will.
She wasn’t sure how deep they ran, but they were definitely there. A white-bellied sea eagle flew overhead, the shadow of its body passing across her own, almost making her feel like she’d transitioned from one dimension to another. She shivered.

‘Hey, Em.’

‘Er . . . Hi, Will.’

‘Why are you staring at me like that?’ He took off his headgear. ‘Do I have bird shit on my hard hat again?’

‘No,’ she choked.
Pull it together.
‘I, er . . .’ Why was she there again? She straightened her shoulders. ‘Your message didn’t work. I got another two more mangoes today.’