The planting squad, cleaned of soot and grime, slept soundly in sleeping bags stretched on a wooden floor, excepting Iain, who slept with teenage profundity at home in his own bed.
Noel awoke at dawn. He had chosen a corner near the door but had again slept badly. He lay staring at the wristwatch perched on its strap some 30 centimetres from his head and wondered if he had cried out in the night. At seven o’clock precisely he arose and woke each of the others in turn with a gentle shake. None appeared to have had their slumber disturbed and they grumbled themselves awake in the manner of working men the world over.
Half an hour later, they were dressed and breakfasting at the Argyll bar. The mood was subdued. The fire of yesterday had exhausted something in them and the strange elation felt in the Community Centre had gone. There were no high spirits. No synergy linked them. Each man sat silent over his breakfast. With awakening had come a deep sense of loss.
Robbie entered the Argyll with young Iain and the men turned from their bacon and eggs. Bar stools scraped and the atmosphere tensed.
“Okay,” the ganger said gruffly, “relax. You are all on standby. Go back to the Community Centre and take it easy. There was a meeting late last night. The wood is dense and we can’t get near the fire until it comes up to the road. That’s where we are going to stop it. The cutters are felling along the roadside and when they are ready we’ll burn a firebreak there. We won’t be needed until this afternoon. Rest and eat up. Once we start on the firebreak we will have our work cut out.” He stopped and looked at the silent men perched at the bar.
“I know you have all seen your stuff destroyed. Mackinnon will try to do something about compensation, but you’ll have to get by meantime while we try to stop this bloody fire.”
The men remained stiffly seated. There was little movement. The ganger glanced at Silas, insignificant amongst the others, listening, head bowed. A clatter of plates was heard through the connecting door to the kitchen and the relief barman came through the opening. A striped apron hung to his knees and he awkwardly wiped a hand on it.
“Ah yes, one thing more. Wear four or more layers of clothing to insulate you against the heat. There will be plenty of it. Layers of clothes work as well for heat as for cold. Remember that and use whatever you find in the slop chest. You will be busy.”
“Could you thank the people who gave to the slop chest,” Alex said. “We really appreciate it.”
There was a murmur of agreement. The barman looked diffidently at the clusters of bottles upended on rotary stands. September, a city university, and a first year ‘doing’ either English Literature or Law seemed remote.
“I loved the colours, and some lovely tartans too, ” Roland lifted his chin and inhaled theatrically. “Mac already told us there would be no place to hide today. Trust me, I will be dressed to kill.”
The ganger gazed at the squad and saw resolve begin to unite them. “You want to rest until I come up for you. A proper midday meal will be sent to the Centre. I’m sure our barman can give you a menu and take the orders, isn’t that the way of it?” This unexpected question flustered the barman, who flushed when all faces turned towards him. “Of course,” he said and rubbed his apron.
“That’s it for now,” Robbie said, trying not to stare at Silas and stepping backwards into the youthful Iain who had been stationed behind him for the preceding five minutes.