A nail was such a small thing, Rose thought. But when you had to make 7000 of them by hand, store-bought nails seemed like an unimaginable luxury.
‘Stop staring at those nails and come on!’ said her boss Old Steve, striding ahead down the aisle of Gruntings Hardwarehouse.
Old Steve had already powered his way through Nuts, Bolts and Washers, and was fast entering the Extension Leads aisle. He was surprisingly spry for a man in his late fifties. She’d be losing him soon in this maze.
Gruntings was a vast warehouse: 47 hectares of everything a tradesperson could possibly need, want or even imagine. And Old Steve wanted a lot more than he was actually buying. They’d been roaming the aisles for three hours now; Rose wasn’t sure where the exit was at this point. Rows and rows of metal shelving surrounded them, stacked all the way to the ceiling, but none of the merch seemed to meet Old Steve’s exacting standards.
Rose was starting to suspect he just liked wandering around, chatting to the other tradies. Mid-week, mid-morning, the store was full of them: buzzing about in a purposeful yet unhurried fashion, like hi-vis bees. Every now and then a mobile phone would chirrup, and a figure in polar fleece and work shorts would drift past, saying, ‘Hello? Where are ya? Yeah, nah … I’m in Security Doors …’
Old Steve’s old-fashioned, artisanal approach to cabinet making was exactly the kind of work Rose had wanted when she’d finished her apprenticeship six months earlier. But she hadn’t realised exactly how artisanal Old Steve’s approach could get. For the first three months, all he’d let her do was clip lengths of wire from a seemingly endless bale. And then, one Monday morning, Steve had ceremoniously handed her a file. ‘You’re ready now,’ he said.
‘Ready for what? Breaking out of jail?’
Old Steve had pointed at the pile of cut wire. ‘You’ve gotta sharpen those at one end,’ he said, ‘and then flatten the other.’
‘I’ve been … making nails?’
‘Before you can make a door,’ Old Steve had said sagely, ‘you’ve gotta know what you’re walking into.’
The quality of Steve’s work was legendary. But Rose didn’t just want to learn; she wanted to run her own business some day. Old Steve had coughed pitifully throughout their first meeting, and hinted heavily that he was planning to retire soon. Rose had believed him; when she’d asked around about him, the reports of his fanatical commitment to hand-crafting had dated back decades. And after all, everyone called him Old Steve. But no sooner had she started in the job than Old Steve’s cough miraculously vanished. Now he seemed to have all the time in the world, like a tape measure that would never stop paying out inches.
She caught up with Old Steve at the Garden/Solar Lighting aisle. ‘Are we done yet?’ she said, optimistically.
Old Steve laughed. ‘Next we’ve gotta get axe handles.’
‘What do we need those for?’
‘Because you’re gonna sand them down into hammer handles. It’s the only way to get them fitting your hands right.’
Rose didn’t even bother to hide her groan.
Old Steve had already moved on, turning the corner from Extension Leads and striding down the Extension Cords aisle. Ahead, at Extension Cables, several other tradies were gathered in conversation. As they got closer, Rose realised she knew one of them.
‘Young Steve?’ Rose said. A nuggety young tradie, in a faded polo shirt and khaki shorts, turned at her voice.
‘Rose?’ Young Steve broke into a grin. ‘How are you? It’s been ages.’
‘When’d you get back?’ she said. ‘I haven’t seen you since before I finished up at Graham’s.’
‘You left? That was a tough apprenticeship. They really should have kept you on.’
‘They tried. But I wanted to make cabinets, not just cut wood.’
Young Steve frowned. ‘So if you’re making cabinets, what are you doing here in electrical?’
‘We’ve stopped in at just about every bloody department today. Right now my boss has us looking for axe handles to turn into hammer handles.’
He laughed. ‘Good one! Next thing you’ll be telling me you’re working for Old Steve.’
Up ahead, Old Steve was realising Rose had fallen behind. ‘Hey!’ he yelled over his shoulder. ‘If you can’t handle the pace, how are you going to pace the handles?’
‘Oh shit, you are working for Old Steve,’ Young Steve said, giving Rose a pitying look. ‘I’m so sorry.’
Rose hung her head. ‘Not as sorry as I am.’
‘Is it true he makes his own nails?’
‘If you mean “does he get me to make his nails?”, then yes. Yes, it’s true.’
‘I heard he had one guy making glue out of this disgusting –’
‘Done that too,’ Rose said quickly, shuddering at the memory of Old Steve’s Blood Moon Glue. She still couldn’t look at bananas the same way. ‘Next week he’s got me making plywood. Out of sawdust. Got to make the sawdust first, though.’
‘Mate, you gotta get out of there.’
‘I’d love to, but I need the money,’ said Rose. ‘Plus, Old Steve’s nail salon doesn’t really leave me time to go job-hunting. I keep asking around, but nobody here has any leads.’ She paused. ‘Any big-paying jobs up north?’
‘No idea. I’m back here now for the coroner’s inquest.’
‘Wow. Who died?’
‘Didn’t you hear?’ Young Steve said. ‘Viewers were blaming the tradies after the bridge collapsed during the stampede challenge. It was massive on the socials. Hashtag too-shoddy-for-the-forest.’
Rose frowned. ‘Um, I don’t watch … reality television? Is that what you were doing?’
‘Yeah, I was on Too Hot for the Forest. Working on the show, I mean. I think you saw my hands holding a screwdriver in one episode.’
‘Is that the one where they bring a bunch of D-grade celebrities out to the bush and abandon them there with no clothes on?’
‘Naked, sure, but they’re hardly abandoned. We built a little luxury village in the trees about five metres off-camera. All mod cons, fully plumbed. And fully wired, courtesy of yours truly.’
Rose was trying to decode his proud smile. ‘So … you’re famous now?’
‘Oh no, I’m strictly behind-the-scenes. But the production company’s pretty decent. They’ve got me working on Surprise Funerals down here until it all blows over. That is not a show you want to make an appearance on.’
‘I dunno,’ Rose said, ‘if the money’s right …’
‘Well,
