JIM hurried across the car-park to catch up with his work mates their bags slung across their shoulders.
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They headed towards a two-storey brick building enveloped by industrial smoke that, once inhaled, left an acrid taste at the back of the throat.
The men chatting amicably while forming an orderly line to enter the office, a small room that reeked of machine oil and kerosene from a demijohn left on the floor beside the heater.
A squeaky ceiling fan revolved overhead, a predictive tick from the Bundy machine mounted on the wall as each man took turn to clock on.
The door opened to flashes of bright light from machinery on the workshop floor as the manager entered the room. A brief nod all round as he rolled up his shirtsleeves, removed the self-rolled cigarette that dangled from his bottom lip and placed it on a tin ashtray.
Last day with us eh, Jimmy? He patted Jim on the back while spitting tobacco flecks off his tongue.
Yes Mr Turner.
They tell me its been 40 years. Suppose you and your missus will soon be off travelling round Australia in your caravan, eh.
Thats the plan. Jim said.
Lucky devil. Best of luck, mate. He offered his hand.
Jim followed the others into the factory. He hesitated before a furnace that gave off extraordinary heat with a glare that resembled molten lava. It reminded him of the Hell he was warned about at Sunday school. As a young man he worked at casting dies and enjoyed flirting with the dangers of the foundry.
That was all behind him now. This would be his last chance to stand closer than normal without protective gear. The ginger hairs on his forearms appeared to shrivel, beads of sweat broke out on his forehead and ran down his cheeks. He stared into the inferno, saw sprites, imaginary birds and animals in the bright light, heard their cry in a cascade of sparks and felt strangely exhilarated.
Come away, Jim. Youre too close.
He backed away and took a deep breath knowing he would miss the camaraderie, pervasive industrial smells and ear-shattering sounds. He changed into his coveralls to follow his usual routine, waffling enthusiastically about his retirement plans whenever there was a lull in the noise.
The siren sounded at 10am for tea break. Workers shuffled to a dining room, furnished with two long tables, mismatched chairs in a row down either side, tea-making facilities on a bench beside a large hot water urn, the walls painted benign hospital green.
Sit here at the head of the table Jimmy love.
The woman, who wore a headscarf that barely covered her rollers, proffered a large layered sponge with passionfruit icing.
Made it specially for you Jimmy.
She began to slice it with a large knife, licked cream off her fingers.
Someone else handed Jimmy a greeting card that read. Best wishes on your retirement, a few pithy sayings scribbled around the edges with signatures from those assembled.
Thank you, youre very kind. Jim coughed against his fist to fight back the threatening tears.
A siren sounded at 4pm knock-off time.
Keep in touch, Jim.
Give our love to Nancy. Poor dear will have you under her feet every day from now on.
Yeah and shell love every minute of it. Jim laughed.
He alighted from the 329. Craned his neck looking for Nancy. He saw her sitting on the verandah waiting for him, as usual. He waved his pay envelope overhead, grinning from ear to ear expecting her to meet him at the gate.
Well, old girl. He called from a distance. Pack your bag, were off soon as we can get the van packed. He began to sing get your coat and get your hat, leave your worries on the doorstep. Did a little soft-shoe shuffle in the manner of his favourite musical movie star.
Nance, you all right sweetheart? It was only when he touched her cold unresponsive shoulder, that he realised she was gone. Fear gripped his stomach. He yelled for help as he half carried, half dragged her through to the bedroom.
You cant do that to me love. Nance, not now, please sweetheart, come on Nance quit playing round. Its not a joke.
Neighbours crowded at the bedroom door. One said, Get Doc Barry.
Aw geez mate, it was your last day at work too. Pump her chest. Breathe into her mouth Jimmy.
The day after the funeral Jim dressed, packed his sandwiches and caught the 329 to the Steelworks. He looked for his card to Bundy on and felt a tap on his shoulder. Jimbo, what are you doing here, mate?
Cant find me Bundy card.
Mate, you dont work here any more. Remember?
Jim wrestled his old recliner rocker out the front door and onto the verandah where the overhanging roof gave shelter from the sun and cover in inclement weather. He parked it beside the chair where Nancy would sit if she were still alive. Under normal circumstances they would be sitting there together, the two of them, just like Darby and Joan.
Love of my life, he used to say as he swung her round, a difficult feat after she put on weight in middle age. It became their little joke each time he tried to lift her.
Jim had marked the calendar that morning, as he did every day. Exactly one year to the day she passed, also one year to the day that his working life ended. He often relived that last day over and over in his mind. Remembered too well, the joy he felt on retiring, with all the time in the world to spend with his beloved Nancy.
Yes, all the time in the world.