Page 140 of Undefined Terms

‘The steel man,’ Celyn says. ‘Ron talks about you.’

I don’t, I do.

‘I said you don’t talk much,’ I say. ‘That’s all.’

‘Fair,’ Dean says. Goes back to the grinder.

Celyn watches him go. The big shoulders, the visor coming down, the sparks. Writes in the notebook.

‘What are you writing,’ I say.

‘Everything,’ Celyn says. ‘This is the best morning I’ve had in months. Your building’s alive, Ron.’

Celyn leaves at twelve, the hard hat back in the portacabin, the notebook full. I saw the pages, the green ink, the diagrams. Celyn drew the arches, the proportions right.

At the gate, the gap in the hoarding, Celyn turns.

‘Your site’s beautiful, Ron.’

The site, the thing I built.

‘It’s not finished,’ I say.

‘I know. That’s why it’s beautiful.’

Celyn goes and I’m just a bloke on a site in Ancoats and the two lives were in the same room.

Over-engineered. By people who couldn’t build any other way.

Lunch, the portacabin. Gaz eats his sandwich, Dean drinks his tea.

‘Knows buildings,’ Dean says. More than enough from Dean.

‘Yeah.’

‘Drew the arches. Got the proportions right.’ He drinks. ‘Most people can’t draw arches.’

I eat my sandwich, the ham, the cheese. I put cheese on again. Have done since the night Celyn came back.

Dave comes in, sits, the flask, the thermos lid.

‘Nice kid,’ Dave says. Meaning Celyn. ‘Good questions. Tell them the article’s approved. The council’ll like the angle.’

Kid. Celyn would hate that. Celyn’s twenty-five. But Dave calls everyone under forty ‘kid’ and from Dave the word means: you’re in.

I text Celyn at one.

dave says you’re approved, article’s a go

Three dots, fast.

Tell dave I’ll bring him a copy

The site, the concrete. The pour that’s curing on the south wall.

Everything holds.

The hand in mine holds back.