roughly cut in the new ceiling. There were no light fittings; instead, bright bulbs sat inside round wire cages that had been pegged up on wooden splints, providing temporary lighting. They were plugged into cables that dragged along the floor and were criss-crossed into place with yellow-and-black tape printed with the words ‘Trip Hazard’. No kidding , Meg thought as she sidestepped one particular snaking cable that threatened to ensnare her ankle.
Dust fell at regular intervals, sending a fine mist of debris into the room whenever something was disturbed. It clung to Meg’s clothes and filled her nose and mouth with a grey, gritty soot that turned to paste on her tongue.
‘Oh dear.’ Meg shielded her eyes as she peered up at the ceiling.
Juno sighed. ‘Yes, oh dear. We have the mop out every hour trying to keep on top of the dust, but it’s not easy with all the cables and stuff in the way.’
‘I bet.’ Meg sympathised, liking Juno’s attempts at keeping order.
‘We’ve tried every way we can think of to get around it, but the problem is Mr Redlitch, who lives in the apartment above. He won’t answer his door or respond to calls or letters. Mrs Pakeffelar two doors down is his friend from the bridge club and thinks he may have gone to stay with his daughter, Nancy, in Boca Raton. Apparently he goes for long periods, otherwise he can’t cope with the journey and why wouldn’t you go for a long time, weather’s gotta be better than here, right?’ Juno held her upturned palms in the air.
‘Right.’ Meg nodded although she wasn’t entirely sure what she was agreeing to. Juno spoke very quickly and her hand gestures were a little distracting. ‘But what’s our ceiling got to do with Mr…?’ Meg had lost the thread and was busy wondering where Boca Raton was.
‘Redlitch,’ Juno prompted.
‘Yes, Mr Redlitch.’
Juno sighed again. It clearly wasn’t the first time she had recounted the story. ‘He owns the apartment above and we need access to finish the electrical work. The architect thought it could all be done from this side…’ She pointed upwards. ‘But apparently it was a false ceiling with a botched electrical job done decades ago, so the wiring’s old and messy. We need to pull up Mr Redlitch’s floor and come from the top down to sort it all out. That’s if we can get his permission, which we still haven’t—’
‘Because he’s gone to stay with Nancy,’ Meg concluded.
‘Right.’ Juno nodded.
The two stared silently at the ceiling as if, if they stared long enough, a solution might present itself.
‘I’m probably stating the obvious, but does anyone have a number for Nancy?’ Meg was in full solution mode.
Juno shook her head. ‘No. We thought of that, of course. I even tried buttering up the building superintendent to let me in. I figured we could get in, pull up the floor and have everything back in place before Mr Redlitch came home – he’d never suspect a thing!’
Meg pulled a face at Juno’s cunning, concerned and impressed in equal parts.
‘But he cited some clause at me about violating people’s property and breaking and entering, yadda yadda…’
‘So we can’t get the lighting done until Mr Redlitch appears or we get hold of Nancy’s number?’ Meg placed her hands on her hips.
‘That’s about the sum of it.’
‘And we have no lighting until that time?’
‘It’s not just that: no ceiling lighting and no lit displays, but also no electrical safety certificate. And without that, no general liability insurance, meaning we can’t let the public set foot over the door.’ Juno inhaled strongly.
‘Shit,’ Meg muttered under her breath.
‘Yes, shit. A couple of the kitchen team are getting jumpy, worried that we aren’t going to open and that their jobs are in jeopardy. No one wants to be out of work three weeks before Christmas. I keep telling them everything is fine, but I guess they’re worried that if we can’t get up and
Dust fell at regular intervals, sending a fine mist of debris into the room whenever something was disturbed. It clung to Meg’s clothes and filled her nose and mouth with a grey, gritty soot that turned to paste on her tongue.
‘Oh dear.’ Meg shielded her eyes as she peered up at the ceiling.
Juno sighed. ‘Yes, oh dear. We have the mop out every hour trying to keep on top of the dust, but it’s not easy with all the cables and stuff in the way.’
‘I bet.’ Meg sympathised, liking Juno’s attempts at keeping order.
‘We’ve tried every way we can think of to get around it, but the problem is Mr Redlitch, who lives in the apartment above. He won’t answer his door or respond to calls or letters. Mrs Pakeffelar two doors down is his friend from the bridge club and thinks he may have gone to stay with his daughter, Nancy, in Boca Raton. Apparently he goes for long periods, otherwise he can’t cope with the journey and why wouldn’t you go for a long time, weather’s gotta be better than here, right?’ Juno held her upturned palms in the air.
‘Right.’ Meg nodded although she wasn’t entirely sure what she was agreeing to. Juno spoke very quickly and her hand gestures were a little distracting. ‘But what’s our ceiling got to do with Mr…?’ Meg had lost the thread and was busy wondering where Boca Raton was.
‘Redlitch,’ Juno prompted.
‘Yes, Mr Redlitch.’
Juno sighed again. It clearly wasn’t the first time she had recounted the story. ‘He owns the apartment above and we need access to finish the electrical work. The architect thought it could all be done from this side…’ She pointed upwards. ‘But apparently it was a false ceiling with a botched electrical job done decades ago, so the wiring’s old and messy. We need to pull up Mr Redlitch’s floor and come from the top down to sort it all out. That’s if we can get his permission, which we still haven’t—’
‘Because he’s gone to stay with Nancy,’ Meg concluded.
‘Right.’ Juno nodded.
The two stared silently at the ceiling as if, if they stared long enough, a solution might present itself.
‘I’m probably stating the obvious, but does anyone have a number for Nancy?’ Meg was in full solution mode.
Juno shook her head. ‘No. We thought of that, of course. I even tried buttering up the building superintendent to let me in. I figured we could get in, pull up the floor and have everything back in place before Mr Redlitch came home – he’d never suspect a thing!’
Meg pulled a face at Juno’s cunning, concerned and impressed in equal parts.
‘But he cited some clause at me about violating people’s property and breaking and entering, yadda yadda…’
‘So we can’t get the lighting done until Mr Redlitch appears or we get hold of Nancy’s number?’ Meg placed her hands on her hips.
‘That’s about the sum of it.’
‘And we have no lighting until that time?’
‘It’s not just that: no ceiling lighting and no lit displays, but also no electrical safety certificate. And without that, no general liability insurance, meaning we can’t let the public set foot over the door.’ Juno inhaled strongly.
‘Shit,’ Meg muttered under her breath.
‘Yes, shit. A couple of the kitchen team are getting jumpy, worried that we aren’t going to open and that their jobs are in jeopardy. No one wants to be out of work three weeks before Christmas. I keep telling them everything is fine, but I guess they’re worried that if we can’t get up and
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