Total pages in book: 121
Estimated words: 116999 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 585(@200wpm)___ 468(@250wpm)___ 390(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 116999 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 585(@200wpm)___ 468(@250wpm)___ 390(@300wpm)
In an effort to be responsible, I skip my usual morning stop-off at Costa for a coffee and head straight to the first job. In doing so, however, I remember that I’ve left the ‘responsible’ packed lunch I made this morning in the fridge, so I’ll have to nip into Greggs or McDonald’s like I normally would during my lunch break. That’s what happens when you leave on a maybe-argument.
The first job of the day is an easy fix. I diagnose a corroded connection and get that fixed while Rick performs a safety check on the fuse box. Next, we head to Middleton to install a new shower, then go onto Accrington to install some sockets in a new extension, and we end up a little further afield in Shipley carrying out electrical testing for one of the hotels on our books. This job will see us through the rest of the day, and likely most of tomorrow.
“Four occupied rooms on this floor that won’t let us in, two on the first, five on the second…” Rick counts aloud as he checks off what we’ve completed on the iPad. “Wanna head out for dinner before tackling the next floor?”
“Sounds good,” I agree while pulling out my phone to check for messages. I don’t show the disappointment I feel when I’m met with a blank screen. I’m signed up to several job sites with my CV uploaded. I’ve been checking them whenever I get a free minute, tapping the auto-apply whenever I see a vacancy. Any vacancy. Around an hour ago, I even applied for a warehouse job, sorting and packing. Shit money, shittier hours, and it wouldn’t utilise a single one of the skills and qualifications I’ve spent years developing…but it’s a job.
We end up eating KFC in my van for lunch. We’re travelling together now after dropping Rick’s van back at his place after the first job, seeing as it was on the way to the second. The only thing we talk about is our impending unemployment. Apparently, it’s the most pressing thing on both our minds. Rick tells me how his partner, Gemma, took the news. I fill him in about Becca. He says he’s thinking about going to work for his brother who owns a garage, and I remind him how much he hates his brother.
“We’ve got three kids under six. What choice do I have?” Rick says, sounding every bit as pissed off about the whole situation as I feel. “Fucking prick loved offering me the job though. I could see it in his eyes, you know? The fucking smugness.” His hands ball into firm fists as he speaks. “He’ll have a fucking hold over me. Like I fucking owe him.”
It’s been years, and I still don’t know the true reason why Rick holds so much disdain for his brother. Whenever I’ve asked, I’ve been told, “Don’t fucking worry about it. It’s old shit.” All I know is that he can’t talk about him without inserting multiple ‘fuckings’ into the sentence and the vein in his forehead swelling.
Reaching over, I give my best mate a solid pat on the knee. “Don’t give up hope just—” I’m cut off by my phone ringing. I continue while I pull it out. “There’re jobs out there. We’ve just gotta find…” I trail off, hold up my finger to pause the conversation when I don’t recognise the number on my screen. “Will Walker,” I answer.
“William! Good afternoon!” I recognise the cheery voice on the other end immediately, though it doesn’t quell my confusion.
How did he get my personal number? He gave me his, but I didn’t return the gesture. “Mr Cobbe,” I greet, while flashing a look to Rick, who shrugs in response. “What can I do for you?”
“Andrew,” he demands, as always. “I called your office for your number. Hope you don’t mind.”
Umm… “No, no. What can I do you for?”
“I’ve been making some calls, talking to some folk, and I’ve got a job offer for you…if you’re interested?”
What the… I feel a spark in my eyes, but quickly blink it away. It doesn’t feel fair to show excitement while Rick’s still feeling hopeless. “Uh, yeah. Yes, definitely. Can I ask, doing what, and for who?”
“How about we meet up and talk it over? It’ll involve some hefty commuting, but the money will make it worth your while. Are you free tonight?”
“Ye…” Crap. “No, I’m not as it happens. My kid’s got friends coming over. I can do tomorrow?”
I don’t like the sound of the sigh that follows in my ear. “I’d like to get an answer ASAP. This is a fast-paced business.”
What is, dammit?
“I could come to you? I won’t impose. I’ll be in and out, I promise.”
“I, um…” This all feels very…odd. Rick’s expression is becoming more inquisitive by the second. “Sure. Okay. Shall I text my address to the number you gave me?”