can sell them.’
With that he stalked out.
Clint watched him go, a definite grin on his face. ‘Lucky you’re a little slip of a lass, Bess. If you’d been a guy, he’d a thumped you into next week.’
But he, Maurice and Alton all looked more positive as they walked off to finish the fence. Would I have to throw a wobbly every flaming morning to get them going?
Flaming. Watch your language, Bess.
But what was I meant to do now? I checked on Bernie. He was deep in drawing intricate lines on paper and didn’t even notice me. Outside, the others were making short work of fencing off the area that had once been lawn. They’d be finished before the end of the day. We’d have to put it back into grass if we wanted the place to look like a prosperous business again. On the other hand, it seemed hard to justify chucking precious cash around just for that. Dad had always intended to build a finishing workshop on the land, rather than having to lease the shed across the road, but it seemed unlikely that would happen now.
That got me thinking.
I rang Beverly at the bank. ‘Could Dad sell the land next to the factory? It must be worth quite a bit.’
The short answer, she told me, was no, thanks to a complicated title that would take time and money to untangle. ‘There’s nothing to stop you leasing it out, though.’
‘But what for? Who would want it?’ I aimed to sound like a businesswoman, not a whiney kid. I sounded like the kid.
‘Think laterally. Brainstorm ideas. Don’t forget to see me on Friday.’
‘Thanks for nothing,’ I said — after I’d hung up.
I took myself outside to talk to the men about moving on to sorting the woodroom once they’d finished the fence. It would take the three of them about an hour, tops, but it was the best I could come up with. I also ran Beverly’s suggestion about leasing the land past them. ‘We’ll do a brainstorming session this afternoon. Have a think in the meantime.’
As I left I heard Clint mutter, ‘What’s she think we are, bloody school kids?’
I walked right back and eyeballed him. ‘No. I think you’re a bunch of damn good workers. You want your jobs to disappear? Fine. Don’t turn up at 3.30.’
He grabbed a plank, holding it up to hide behind. ‘I hear you, boss! We’ll be there.’
‘Good. Three-thirty. After you’ve sorted the woodroom .’
I probably wasn’t meant to hear his next comment, Christ! She is one scary dame! So I pretended I hadn’t.
My day dragged on its way. Bernie was in utter heaven constructing a complicated gate. I gave him the thumbs up and hoped it would take him months to finish. I retreated to the computer, but steered clear of all past-life weirdnesses.
By mid-afternoon the place was immaculate, with the fence stained and the woodroom tidy. I set up the tearoom for the brainstorming session, with a sheet of A3 and a couple of pens for each of us. I’d bought felts too, because I like colour when I brainstorm. My own brilliant idea was scheduled to appear at 3.40.
The guys came in, laughing and shoving each other. Hilarious. Back to school. Oooh look, miss! Felts! I bags the red one.
‘Sit down.’ I didn’t raise my voice, but they sure heard the bite in it.
They sat, with Clint staring at his paper as if it were toxic. Oh god, was he dyslexic?
‘Guys,’ I said, ‘this is serious. We desperately need income. The first loan repayment is due the second week in January. I don’t care what method you use for this. Some people work better with pictures, some with words. But we’re all going to do it and keep at it for fifteen minutes before we stop. Get down everything that comes into your heads. Doesn’t matter how mad you think it is.’
Clint looked pointedly at the kettle. I didn’t respond , it being now one minute before my brilliant bribe was due to make its appearance.
With a great show of getting stuck in, they picked up their heads, shoulders and pens. The door squeaked. Man, those
With that he stalked out.
Clint watched him go, a definite grin on his face. ‘Lucky you’re a little slip of a lass, Bess. If you’d been a guy, he’d a thumped you into next week.’
But he, Maurice and Alton all looked more positive as they walked off to finish the fence. Would I have to throw a wobbly every flaming morning to get them going?
Flaming. Watch your language, Bess.
But what was I meant to do now? I checked on Bernie. He was deep in drawing intricate lines on paper and didn’t even notice me. Outside, the others were making short work of fencing off the area that had once been lawn. They’d be finished before the end of the day. We’d have to put it back into grass if we wanted the place to look like a prosperous business again. On the other hand, it seemed hard to justify chucking precious cash around just for that. Dad had always intended to build a finishing workshop on the land, rather than having to lease the shed across the road, but it seemed unlikely that would happen now.
That got me thinking.
I rang Beverly at the bank. ‘Could Dad sell the land next to the factory? It must be worth quite a bit.’
The short answer, she told me, was no, thanks to a complicated title that would take time and money to untangle. ‘There’s nothing to stop you leasing it out, though.’
‘But what for? Who would want it?’ I aimed to sound like a businesswoman, not a whiney kid. I sounded like the kid.
‘Think laterally. Brainstorm ideas. Don’t forget to see me on Friday.’
‘Thanks for nothing,’ I said — after I’d hung up.
I took myself outside to talk to the men about moving on to sorting the woodroom once they’d finished the fence. It would take the three of them about an hour, tops, but it was the best I could come up with. I also ran Beverly’s suggestion about leasing the land past them. ‘We’ll do a brainstorming session this afternoon. Have a think in the meantime.’
As I left I heard Clint mutter, ‘What’s she think we are, bloody school kids?’
I walked right back and eyeballed him. ‘No. I think you’re a bunch of damn good workers. You want your jobs to disappear? Fine. Don’t turn up at 3.30.’
He grabbed a plank, holding it up to hide behind. ‘I hear you, boss! We’ll be there.’
‘Good. Three-thirty. After you’ve sorted the woodroom .’
I probably wasn’t meant to hear his next comment, Christ! She is one scary dame! So I pretended I hadn’t.
My day dragged on its way. Bernie was in utter heaven constructing a complicated gate. I gave him the thumbs up and hoped it would take him months to finish. I retreated to the computer, but steered clear of all past-life weirdnesses.
By mid-afternoon the place was immaculate, with the fence stained and the woodroom tidy. I set up the tearoom for the brainstorming session, with a sheet of A3 and a couple of pens for each of us. I’d bought felts too, because I like colour when I brainstorm. My own brilliant idea was scheduled to appear at 3.40.
The guys came in, laughing and shoving each other. Hilarious. Back to school. Oooh look, miss! Felts! I bags the red one.
‘Sit down.’ I didn’t raise my voice, but they sure heard the bite in it.
They sat, with Clint staring at his paper as if it were toxic. Oh god, was he dyslexic?
‘Guys,’ I said, ‘this is serious. We desperately need income. The first loan repayment is due the second week in January. I don’t care what method you use for this. Some people work better with pictures, some with words. But we’re all going to do it and keep at it for fifteen minutes before we stop. Get down everything that comes into your heads. Doesn’t matter how mad you think it is.’
Clint looked pointedly at the kettle. I didn’t respond , it being now one minute before my brilliant bribe was due to make its appearance.
With a great show of getting stuck in, they picked up their heads, shoulders and pens. The door squeaked. Man, those
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