Free The Chisellers by Brendan O'Carroll Page B

into it. Cathy opened the door and quickly disappeared inside. Mark could hear her grunting, then she emerged dragging a sack which she laid on its side, then grabbed the ends and tipped out the contents.
    ‘Holy Jesus!’ Mark exclaimed and began to rummage through the debris. All that remained of the Flippin’ Flyer was firewood.
    ‘What did yis hit? A bulldozer?’ he asked.
    ‘Can yeh fix it, Mark? Please,’ Cathy begged.
    Mark placed his hands on his hips. ‘I suppose so. Give me a couple of days, I’ll have it back right as rain.’
    ‘A couple of days! But we can’t wait a couple of days, Mark! The knock-out round is on Wednesday - that’s the day after tomorrow. We have to go in that to get into the final on Saturday.’
    ‘But, Cathy, I haven’t got the time. It’ll take — ’
    Cathy kicked the bundle of wood and went bounding up the stairs shouting back, ‘Forget it, it doesn’t matter.’
    Mark felt terrible. He hadn’t wanted to disappoint Cathy, but then he didn’t want to make a promise he couldn’t keep.

Chapter 6
     
    THE CLICK FROM THE METALLIC SWITCHBOX reverberated throughout the factory. It took Mark more than an hour to clear away a comer of the factory where he could work on the project. Once the area was cleared, he then went to the huge design table and, removing the sheets of paper from his back pocket, clipped them under the bullclip of the reference board. His first task would be to draw templates of the designs he had drawn, to be copied three times. Wise & Co. always had hardboard sheets in stock specifically for this purpose. Mark manoeuvred the first hardboard sheet onto the design table and with yardstick, protractor and pencil began to lay down the first of the templates.
    Some time later Mark heard the door bang closed in the distance. Then Sean McHugh’s voice cried out, ‘Mark! It’s only me.’
    ‘Down here, Mr McHugh, at the design table,’ Mark called back wearily.
    Mark was having trouble making the templates from his designs. He had already discarded one complete sheet of hardboard. Sean’s shiny red face came into the light.
    ‘How’s it going?’ he asked.
    ‘Not great,’ answered Mark. ‘I can’t get these fuckin’ templates right.’ Frustration was setting in.
    From his inside pocket Sean took a metal spectacle case from which he unfolded a very old pair of glasses. He put them on, clipped the box shut and inserted it back in his pocket. He was looking at the designs as he began to remove his coat.
    ‘Right, then. Let’s have a look at these,’ he said.
    Mark smiled and gladly stood aside for the older man, who was full of confidence. Suddenly Mark felt a little less lonely. Sean pointed at the designs with a pencil.
    ‘This bow-back top spar here - you’ll hardly have time to do a bentwood back spar for all three of them.’ Sean looked over the rim of his glasses at Mark, tilting his head forward.
    Mark had his answer ready. ‘No I wouldn’t. So I was goin’ to cut it out of the half-inch plywood. I was goin’ to cut six on the flat and nail two together for each back.’ He traced the design with his finger on the dust that lay on the design table.
    Slowly Sean McHugh smiled. ‘Clever little bastard, aren’t yeh?’ he said, with a hint of admiration in his voice.
    Mark laughed.
    ‘Mind you - these suites won’t last pissing time,’ Sean added.
    ‘They’re not supposed to,’ Mark replied, and both men smiled.
    Sean snapped open his yardstick, ready to go to work. ‘Right, son. You make us a cup of tea and I’ll get working on these templates.’ Sean took the pencil from his ear and watched Mark walk away towards the canteen.
    A couple of hours later Sean McHugh was on his third mug of tea. He had already successfully drawn four sheets of templates which Mark was now cutting on the bandsaw. It was already midnight. Sean was running the pencil down along the yardstick when the problem dawned on him. He stopped abruptly. He took