Judith Lancet called as he climbed into his ute, asking for a quote to build a new fence around her house. He took the details and though he was ready to blurt out a price—having run the mental sums to figure out labour plus materials—he bit his overeager tongue and promised to call back. He had a habit of underquoting, but when it was for Mrs Lancet, who was on a fixed pension and dabbled in watercolours, it was hard to charge the full rate.
Not that Ed Greenleaf had such qualms. He was always busy with the big jobs and he didn’t look like he was in danger of losing his house.
Enough of the day had passed that Bruce figured it was reasonable for him to go around to Sofia’s to get on with the gazebo. He hoped to finish the roof that day, then he only had the painting to do. By four that afternoon Sofia should be able to sit under it, even if the sun would stream through. She wanted vines to climb the sides and provide shade overhead. But after the trip to the hospital the day before, would they grow in time for her to enjoy it?
He pulled up in front of the house to find his usual spot occupied by Gabriel’s dusty and dented red hatchback. It was a miracle it still ran; it had been second-hand and already seen a lot of kilometres when he’d bought it seven years earlier. Then again, he probably didn’t need to drive much when he was in Sydney. It would last him the journey back. He was surprised he hadn’t already left.
He switched off the engine, climbed out of the ute and unloaded his tools. He opened the side gate and dropped everything in neat and easily accessible piles. The fence was another of his creations that he’d installed a few years back. The old one had been falling apart, like other things around the house, but Sofia hadn’t called him to repair all of them. She made do and carried on. But the gazebo … That was where her focus—and her money—was going.
When he’d accepted the build, he’d given a reasonable price, and had looked forward to the money coming in. But after having to rush her to hospital and considering what kind of medical treatment she might need, that old guilt about asking for payment reared its head and bit him in the neck. He forced himself on.
People knew what they were paying for when they hired him. He just wished he could value himself a little higher than the bargain‑basement prices he charged.
He pulled out his workbench and tools, hooked up the bandsaw to the extension cord and began measuring the remaining rafters and cross-slats. He had to keep busy, keep doing the work and get paid where he could, give the money to the bank, save the roof over his head. It should be simple—as simple as building a gazebo or a fence or a table—but it was anything but.
After half an hour, he was ready to start sawing. Sofia hadn’t appeared but he had to get this finished. Time was pressing. And there was a rehearsal that evening at Rivervue, one of many he had to attend as deputy stage manager, a job where he got none of the glory but all of the work.
Hamish, the ‘real’ stage manager, was about as useful as a flyscreen on a submarine and took great delight in bossing Bruce around. He only stuck it out because the theatre had always been a place that had been just for him when he was growing up, and he’d liked that they’d recognised his skills. Though these days they’d gone far beyond recognition.
He put on his safety goggles and his earmuffs and turned on the saw. With the buzz muted, he sliced the wood to pieces, tracing steadily along the pencil line at an angle. Eight beams radiating from the centre with another sixteen thinner pieces for the slats. The pine split like paper. He settled into a rhythm. Some people thought of him as ‘just a labourer’ but he enjoyed what he did. Sofia created fantasies with her drawing and designs, and he created realities with his hands. Over the years she’d made some wonderful designs for the set that he’d been ecstatic about bringing to life. The money had been only a minor factor with the theatre paying him a small amount for his time and materials to build the sets. It was money they could ill afford at the best of times, so he always gave them a good price, and he didn’t charge for everything. The remuneration was just something to show their appreciation. But with the bank’s patience expended, he hoped that whatever Sofia came up with for Larrikin would be quick and simple.
What if she didn’t get to finish the designs? He stopped sawing. She was seriously ill, and if she had any sense she wouldn’t put her health at risk by spending time coming up with something for Rivervue’s swansong. That was a conversation someone was definitely going to have to have with her.
Bruce jumped as Gabriel appeared in his eyeline waving his hands. Heart thumping in his ears, he pulled off his earmuffs. ‘How long have you been standing there?’
‘Not long. You really can’t hear anything with those on, can you?’ Gabriel wore a black sleeveless tee, exposing ropey arm muscles and tanned skin. Blue jeans hugged his legs. Effortless and ethereal, he was ink in water with the way he moved, the way he not so much stood there but floated. And to top it off he smiled like they were back to being friends. He got points for bravado. He wouldn’t get anything else.
‘That’s the idea.’ Bruce bit off the words. ‘And you shouldn’t have been out here without any protection on.’ He flicked on the safety switch and put the
