Sign of the Times by Susan Buchanan

within the next six weeks.
    His guests gone, Tom slipped off his tie, picked up a bottle of water and drank it in one go.   He’d needed something to slake his thirst.   Whether that was from the strain and pressure he felt, or if it was down to his hangover, he couldn’t be sure.   Buzzing his secretary, he asked if she could get him a bacon sandwich from somewhere.
    By the afternoon Tom felt more human.   He was due to visit two sites shortly and was glad he’d perked up, as the men would wind him up and say he couldn’t handle his drink.    Although he was the boss, he didn’t rule with an iron rod.   Starting off as a brickie’s apprentice not quite two decades ago, years of hard graft and sheer determination had got him where he was now.    He craved the security that financial success could give him, something his family hadn’t had, when he was growing up.
    His business had started off small, just him, but his reputation had grown, as people were impressed with the job he did, so he had taken on a few labourers.   Six months later he’d needed to employ four more men and the success story continued.   Thinking back to those halcyon days, he wondered where it had all gone wrong.    Was there less competition then?    He quoted a fair price for a good job and liked to pay his labourers fairly, so they wouldn’t want to move on.   Shaking his large, blond head in despair, he wondered how his fiercest competitor was able to quote such killer prices.

    Donning a hard hat as he arrived at the site, Tom flipped open his notepad to check what should have been done since his last visit.   He liked to be involved, to still get his hands dirty, but he really must talk to Jamie about becoming Assistant Manager.   They’d also have to look at doing some advertising, to try and drum up more business.
    Just then, he spotted Jamie striding out of the show home.   Flipping his hard hat back on, Jamie noticed Tom waving at him and with his face set in a grim line, he made his way over.
    “Hi Tom.   How’s it going?”
    “That’s what I’m here to find out.   Everything on schedule?”
    “Sort of.”
    “What do you mean sort of?” asked Tom surprised.
    “Well, one of our timber deliveries has gone missing.   The truck seems to have disappeared off the face of the earth.   Derek and Nigel are off sick.   Nigel fell out of his loft and broke his leg, so he’s going to be out the game for a while.    Joe says his wages were short.   He hasn’t been paid any overtime, so he’s like a bear with a sore head.   He wants to talk to you about it.   We’re a wee bit behind, but we should make it for the twenty ninth.   What do you want to do about Nigel?   Do you want to bring someone over from another site?   I reckon he’ll be out of commission until this site’s complete.”
    Tom took all this in and said, “Ask Admin to put an ad out and I’ll take Ray off the Mollinsburn site.   We’re less stretched there, although I’m not sure Mike will agree.   It’ll only be temporary.   I’ll drop into Nigel’s on the way home, see how he is.”
    “Right boss.   Anything else?”
    “No, I just needed a status update.   I’ll have a walk round the site and then check in with Cynthia about Joe’s wages.   See you Wednesday.”
    “Yep” and Jamie walked back to plot number eight.   Tom strolled around the site, making notes and praising the guys on the good job they’d done so far.    Once he was satisfied, he headed back to the office.

    “Cynthia, can I see the time sheets for Joe Nash please?”
    With a few clicks, Cynthia quickly printed copies of Joe’s timesheets.   “They’re on the printer.”
    Comfortably ensconced in his office, Tom checked Joe’s sheets. It was like reading doctors’ handwriting.   It looked like Jamie had signed off his usual forty hours and another five for Saturday, but then it looked like the totals had been altered.   He checked against