No Place in the Sun (4 page)

He envied Walter at a time like this; he could go home to his wife and talk it over with her. Not that that would make a lot of difference, but it helped to have someone to share a trouble with. Somehow if you could talk over a situation with another person, it made it all seem easier. This bachelor living was all very well, but it had its downsides. For a moment he thought of calling his father, telling him what had happened and asking his advice, but he immediately thought better of it. That would be just what the old bastard would like to hear, that his younger son was out of a job, a failure, just like he had predicted.

No, this was one to fight on his own, just deal with it and move on.

It was surprising how quickly the word spread, a closing down sale was just the thing to draw the punters in, and they came in their droves. It wasn’t as if there were great reductions, but just the idea of a place closing gave people the idea that there were bargains to be had. Walter marked full recommended retail prices on all the goods, then slashed through them with a black marker and added in the normal prices. The public couldn’t get enough of it, and by the end of the month the warehouse and stockroom had been all but cleared and all that was left was what was on the shop floor.

It had been a tough few days, and Tom and Walter called into the Willows on the way home. The older man got the drinks and led the way to the corner by the front window. He took a long swallow from his pint and sat back in the soft seat.

‘That’s it, I’m not going back there on Monday, but keep that to yourself.’

Tom looked at him in surprise; he hadn’t really believed that Walter would do a runner as soon as he got his money.

‘You reckon that he won’t pay up the two grand then? You’re taking a long shot, bud, I mean we might be closing the door by Thursday and you would have earned two grand for four days work.’

Walter leaned forward. ‘I’m too long in this game, son. And I know too much about human nature. How about we have a bet, say the usual?’

Tom raised his pint in salute. ‘You’re on so, and it was great working with you by the way.’

Walter lifted his drink. ‘Mutual. I’ll let you know how I get on anyway; I think I have a job with an estate agent on the south side. There is a bit of a stir in the property business and they need someone to show houses, good commission and mileage but a miserable basic as usual.’

‘That’s good news; do you want another pint?’

‘Thanks, no. Pamela wants me home, we have a babysitter and we’re going into town for something to eat.’

He put down his empty glass and headed for the door. ‘Adios amigo. I’ll meet you here Friday night to collect my tenner.’

Tom laughed. ‘That was my line. I know he’ll pay up; I’ll wring his scrawny neck if he doesn’t.’

Tom was still angry on Friday evening when he pushed his way into the crowded bar. It wasn’t the losing of the bet that annoyed him; that ten spot had been passed over and back between Walter and himself so many times that he had no idea which of them was ahead at this stage. It was more the fact that he had failed to see that that pompous old goat might have screwed him like that. Who could have imagined that old Milton would be such a greedy bastard, after all he had done for him?

Walter put the ten euro note on the bar and ordered two pints. ‘Hate to say I told you so’ he laughed,‘but why would he pay you? The game was over at that stage.’

Tom smiled wryly. The way it was done had taken him by surprise; he couldn’t have foreseen it in a hundred years. They were low in stock by close of business on Thursday and Milton had clapped him on the back as he closed the shutter.

‘Well done, Tom. You played a great game this week, and all on your own as well. I won’t forget that. I reckon we can probably call it a day tomorrow, maybe stay open a bit late, but there won’t be much left by then at this rate.’

Tom arrived in early the following morning, anxious to be done with it and to get his two thousand euro bonus and start looking for a job, but his key wouldn’t work in the lock. Must be stuck, he thought, and he banged on the door.

‘Yes mate.’ The Englishman answered his knock. ‘I’m afraid there’s no one here, the place is closed.

Tom was startled. ‘It can’t be. I work here, I’m working today.’

The man at the door smiled. ‘Not unless you want a job sweeping up; we took possession last night and we’re starting to gut the place now. The fit out has to be ready for our people in six weeks.’

‘But the rest of the stock.....?’ Tom was still shocked at what he was hearing.

‘No stock here, lad. They cleared it all out last night, the old guy and his poofter friend were here very late, Polish fellow with a truck, we nearly had to throw them out but they got it all into the lorry ok. Nothing left, lad, not a sausage, come and look if you like.’

Tom followed the stranger through the empty canteen, not even the coffee machine remained. He walked through the swing doors and out on the shop floor, where a team of builders was removing ceiling panels and lifting the carpet tiles. Two big electric platform hoists trundled around the floor, warning sounders bleeping and amber lights flashing, as the electricians removed the old lighting units. The emptiness of the place stunned him and he looked around in amazement.

‘Fucking bastard. What about my fucking money?’

The foreman shook his head sadly. ‘How much did they stick you for?’ He asked kindly.

Tom just couldn’t believe what he was seeing. ‘Two fucking grand. I’ll kill the bastard.’

The Englishman kicked a length of ceiling trim out of his way. ‘Same old story, I see it everyplace we go. Companies close and leave fellows hanging. Forget about it, lad, and move on. Be wiser the next time.’

Walter smiled sadly as he took a swallow from the pint. ‘Hate to say I told you so, son, but the odds were always against getting that bonus.’

‘But old Milton, mister fucking pious churchgoer. I never thought he would screw me.’

Walter wiped the beer froth from his moustache. ‘They’re all the same, Tom; you have to keep yourself covered all the way.’

‘I was fucking caught rightly, wasn’t I? What a bastard, I never saw that coming. I must be fucking thick; I should have listened to you.’

Walter played with the beer mat, flicking it over and over. ‘It looked likely enough to me; he gave in too easy when I pushed him for the bonus. I just had an instinct that he wouldn’t deliver, just a feeling, kind of thing that has kept me out of trouble up to now.’

Tom chugged down half his pint and called for two more. ‘So how is the real estate business then?’

Walter brightened. ‘Easiest money I ever made, to be honest. When you spent your life selling washing machines and cookers, it’s very easy to sell a house. You have a buyer who wants a house, and one house is much like another when you think about it. All you have to do is push them a little bit; just close a sale like you would in a shop.’

Tom was suddenly interested. ‘Making money so?’

‘A lot more than I made in Milton’s. These lads haven’t a clue about selling; they just show the punter the house and step back. What I do is just what I always did, stop the buyer from thinking about the next place and focus them on the one I’m showing. I’m selling as much as the other four put together, and the commission is damn good.’

‘So any chance of a start for me in that place?’

Walter hesitated. ‘Not at the minute, but I’d say I might get you in there in a few months. If I keep outselling those guys there’s bound to be a bit of pressure on the others, and I’d say one of them might cave in and leave. You should find something to keep you going, and I’ll watch the space for you.’

Tom was still deflated from his experience that morning. ‘Not too much out there when you start to look; all the Brit places just use English managers and loads of part-timers, students and stuff, no real salesmen at all.’

Walter agreed. ‘That’s how it’s going in that game. They throw bodies at it in busy times and then send them home if it’s quiet. Not like it used to be.’

They sat in silence for a while, and then Walter had a thought.

‘You could always go and work for your dad. The building business is getting busy and I’m sure he has plenty of room for an extra man.’

Tom laughed. ‘Can you really see me working on a site? Anyway you know we don’t get on; we haven’t spoken since I left home.’

‘I know that, but isn’t it about time you mended a few fences in that department? You were young and foolish then, you’re older and wiser now.’

‘No, we’ll continue to agree to disagree. Anyway he has plenty of help from Michael, mister fancy college boy.’

‘Ok, sorry for sticking my nose in your business.’

‘That’s all right, no offence. I just don’t want to have any dealings with my old man or my brother. The old boy would just love me to come crawling back looking for a job, and I can just imagine Michael smirking if I arrived home like a loser. No, I don’t think that’s on at all.’

‘You’re not a loser Tom; this kind of shit happens to the best of us, so stop putting yourself down. You’re a very capable young fellow and you were doing well in Miltons. This was just a bit of bad luck and you’ll rise above it no problem. Just give it a week or two.’

‘Not much sign of a lot of work out there though.’

‘There’s always something. Did you ever think of selling cars? I was in City Auto today to see Kevin, the fellow that owns the place. Thinking of getting a new car. He was asking me if I wanted a job, heard Milton’s was gone. Told him I was fixed up. Good bloke Kevin, Welsh fellow but he’s here years, bit hooky but all right really.’

Tom perked up. ‘I might drop in to him on Monday. I used to sell cars for a while a few years ago, when it was harder. You had to tell some serious porkies then, a lot of the cars were dodgy enough. Not like now, they’re all fairly reliable.’

‘Tell him you were talking to me. I play golf with him on Sunday mornings usually, there’s six of us that play together on and off, know them for years. I’ll mention it to him Sunday if you like.’

Tom raised his pint. ‘Here’s to a life after Milton. Maybe he did us a favour; maybe we’ll make our fortunes in cars and real estate.’

Walter smiled sadly. ‘Or maybe not, but we’ll give it a good try anyway, son.’

Tom tapped on the door of the portocabin; City Auto didn’t spend a fortune on facilities, stock had priority around here. Kevin stood up and gave him a welcome handshake.

‘Walter tells me you are the best around, apart from himself of course. So do you think you can sell cars?’

Tom immediately felt that he was meeting a fellow salesman, someone who liked to sell.

‘Not a problem. Did it before, can do it again. If you can sell washing machines to some of the old bitches around here, you can sell a few cars to the local young lads.’

Kevin laughed. ‘It’s not that easy, but if you’re a good enough salesman to start with, I can make you a car expert in a few hours. Just a matter of sounding like you know what you’re talking about, whether you do or not.’

Tom was enjoying the exchange. ‘Same as washing machines so.’

Kevin slid a thick book across the desk. ‘That’s the bible, every make, every model, every year. You need to know it by heart where it refers to any car in the yard, no point in looking it up when you are in the middle of a sale. You need it in your head.’

He pointed to the yard and the serried ranks of cars. ‘Let’s go for a bit of a walk, see what you know. If you’re as sharp as I hear you are, you’ll pick it all up fast.’

They strolled around the gravelled area where the cars were lined up for sale, each with the price displayed in big vinyl letters in the windscreen. The front row had roof banners that had the usual clichéd descriptions, car-of-the-week, reduced-for-quick-sale, low-mileage.

Tom had seen it all before. ‘Everything is negotiable I suppose?’

Kevin laughed. ‘Of course, but only top prices get top commissions. If you want to give away my money, it will cost you.’

Tom thought it might be time to talk about earnings. ‘How much of my wages would be commission then?’