Peace of mind is taken for granted until you no longer have it. I think back to all the days I used to sit here in this site office looking out of the window at the excavators and the men in their hard hats, and while I was a little bored, I was never worried. But now I’m worried. I’m worried all the time. I’m worried because of what that woman told me.
I’m worried that I can’t trust the man I call my husband.
Whenever I feel like time isn’t moving, I grab my jacket and my hat and get up out of my seat, leaving the stuffy office behind for a walk in the fresh air around the site. So that is what I will do now, even if it is raining out there and I don’t technically need to go outside for anything. I’m hoping that by distracting my mind then time will speed up, and more importantly, I’ll stop thinking about Sam being with that woman.
Leaving the site cabin, I trudge across the muddy car park in the direction of the building site across the dirt track. Passing all the expensive company cars that the managers have driven here today before going inside to the warm site office, I make my way over to where the real workers around here are toiling away in the wind and rain. I nod at a couple of guys as they pass me, our expressions indicating how wild this weather is and how unlucky we are to be out in it. But I don’t actually feel unlucky. I’m glad of the distraction. It’s hard to worry about anything, even potential infidelity in a marriage, when there are huge machines moving around nearby and large holes that could easily be fallen into. It’s imperative to stay focused when in a dangerous environment like this one, and that is what I will do.
I will not think about that woman at the door while I am out here.
I will not think about Sam or how upset I got yesterday.
I will just think about doing my job. That’s all I can control.
My home life is personal. This is work, and I should keep the two separate.
Walking around an excavated pit with several exposed pipes running through it, I make my way towards the cabin on the other side of this building site. That is where I will find Frank, the friendly old chap who sits in there and hands out personal protective equipment to the site workers, as well as keeping a log of all the tools that go in and out. While it might not look like it, almost everything on this site is extremely expensive, so it’s the job of Frank to make sure that it’s all monitored and doesn’t go missing. Last year, we had to fire a couple of guys after we found out they had been stealing tools and selling them off privately.
It’s crazy what people will do for money.
It's also crazy what people will do for love.
Despite my best intentions, I am thinking about Sam and that woman again. Am I being blind to the truth that is staring me right in the face? Did he cheat on me? Was that woman just a genuine person who felt I deserved to know the truth?
Am I making a mistake in trying to carry on as if everything is okay?
I’m not sure, but one thing is clear. I am making a mistake by daydreaming while walking through the middle of a busy construction site. That’s how I ended up missing the call from the foreman when he tried to warn me that I was stepping into the blind spot of a small excavator nearby. The machine was moving but so was I, and it was only at the last second when I saw it reversing towards me.
If it hadn’t been for the quick thinking of a site worker who pulled me out of the way at the last second then I could have been crushed by that machine. Thankfully, I just ended up on the floor covered in mud and feeling a little shaken up.
But I could have been killed.
That was a warning.
It’s a warning that I can’t carry on like this.
I have to know the truth about that woman.
12
SAM
The first day of the working week is over, and I am grateful for that. Just four more days to go until Rebecca and I are sitting on our sofa again on Saturday night eating delicious food and watching the latest film release. I guess they call it “living for the weekend”, but I’m not that bad. I do enjoy my job, and it’s good to have a structure and routine that involves more than eating and watching TV. But there’s no denying that the weekends are better than the weekdays.
So roll on Saturday.
That’s not the only thing I need to roll on. The traffic sitting in front of me on this busy road needs to get rolling too, but so far, very little is moving. A traffic jam is the last thing that I need after a busy day in the office. It’s also the last thing I need for my empty stomach, which is rumbling away and will continue to do so until I get home and put some food into it. I wonder if Rebecca has finished work before me tonight. Maybe she is home and already has something cooking in the oven. That would be lovely, but I’m not banking on it. Unlike Steve, my sexist neighbour, I don’t
