KAT FRENCH
Table of Contents
Marla squinted at her new neighbours from the upstairs office window and fumbled around on the desk behind her for her glasses.
‘Holy crap, Emily … Emily, quick!’
‘Where’s the fire?’ Emily appeared around the doorway, puffed-out from sprinting the length of the aisle and up the steep, rickety chapel staircase.
‘Oh, it’s worse than that. Come and see this. ’
Emily joined Marla, and the two women stood shoulder to shoulder at the window, gazing out in silent, duplicate horror. Before them were two nervous-looking workmen balancing on stepladders, inching brand new shop signs above their heads as a huge, bald guy yelled instructions at them from across the street.
He was flinging his arms around him like a possessed windmill, and his hairy beer belly was sliding in and out from underneath the hem of a tea-stained T-shirt that had clearly not seen an iron in the last decade.Marla slid her glasses up her nose and cracked the window open a little, all the better to eavesdrop. Not that they needed much extra help, because the bald guy was bellowing at the top of his Irish lungs.
‘Up a bit. Not that much!’ He hopped from foot to foot and clutched his bowling ball of a head in exasperation. ‘Down a bit! Feck it, man, it’s practically vertical!’