A Glimmer of Hope (The Avalon Chronicles #1)(15)

From the outside, the main building looked like a large aircraft hangar, but inside it was divided into two parts. There was a walkway along the left-hand side where those not working on the trains could walk in safety, although they had to wear a bright orange high-vis vest at all times. It was a rule that once broken was quickly punished with a trip to some random human resources person, who’d probably been employed a week earlier, and would be replaced a week later.

“Hey, Layla,” a man called from behind her.

She turned and smiled as Marcus Dawson walked toward her. He was nearly six feet tall and a little chubby, although he’d recently started going to the gym to get rid of it. He was in his mid-thirties and had grown a beard since Layla had last seen him a few weeks earlier. Unfortunately for him, it was growing in patches and didn’t look as cool as he’d probably hoped. “Hey, Marcus, how’s you?”

“Late,” he said, as he caught her up and they began walking together.

Layla checked her watch. She was thirty seconds late. Damn it.

Before anyone was allowed to work in the depot, they had to go to the shift manager’s office and sign in to the big book on the desk next to the supervisor. Being late was punishable on a random basis, depending on who was sitting at the supervisor’s desk.

Marcus worked in the main office downstairs, while Layla worked upstairs, where the majority of the management sat during the day. She knew him well enough to say hi and keep a conversation going, but that was how she would describe her acquaintance with most people in the depot. She kept mostly to herself at work, preferring to come in, do the job, and leave.

Marcus opened the door to be greeted with the smiling face of Jack Simmons. “You’re late, Marcus. Do you want to tell me why?” Jack Simmons was the kind of man who, after being given a small measure of power, thought he was a king amongst men. His inflated opinion of himself was only matched by how much of a kiss-ass he was to those above him.

Layla hoped she could just sign in and leave, but Marcus was in front of the signing-in book, blocking her and forcing her to wait.

“I didn’t realize you were my supervisor, Jack,” Marcus said, his ability to open his mouth and put his foot in it more than evident.

“I’m a supervisor, Marcus. If you like, I can have a word with your manager about your attitude.”

“You go right ahead,” Marcus said and left the office.

Layla signed in to the book.

“Late, Layla?” Jack asked.

“Little bit.”

She looked over at him and he winked. She fought down her gag reflex and managed a weak smile before leaving the office. Jack was well known in the depot for hitting on every attractive woman almost as soon as they arrived. And to him, “attractive woman” meant anyone who wasn’t male.

Everyone on site knew about this tendency, although only a tiny number of people actually complained about it. Some women even seemed to find it charming or funny, but Layla just thought he was a creepy jerk. A man with a huge ego who liked the sound of his own voice so much that he couldn’t imagine a world where a woman wouldn’t find him irresistible. Layla wondered how his wife felt about that.

Layla left the office as quickly as possible and walked a short distance to a gray door. She opened it and stepped into the corridor beyond, walking the few steps to a second identical door, which she pushed open to reveal the staircase to the floor above.

“He’s such a dick,” Marcus said as he left the nearby kitchen area, a cup of something hot in his hand.

“Yes, but you antagonized him.”

“Because of his earlier mentioned dickish personality.”

“You know he’s going to talk to your manager, right?”

Marcus nodded but didn’t seem overly bothered, and walked off humming something to himself. Layla shook her head; sometimes people just couldn’t help themselves.

She ascended the stairs and used her swipe card to get into the managerial section. The reception area was unmanned, the receptionist having gone home some time earlier, along with most of the managers. Layla imagined work here during the day was something akin to having to sit next to a hornets’ nest for eight hours; working from four o’clock to midnight might not be many people’s idea of a good shift, but it was quiet, peaceful, and it was a lot easier to ignore e-mails than it was to ignore someone standing beside you.

She entered the office and found her desk at the far end, next to a large window overlooking the rails that sat outside of the main building. A bridge ran over them, connecting the main office to the outside world, and a quick count told Layla that four blue-and-white trains were waiting for work to be done on them. She had no idea what work, and she didn’t much care.

Each train coming into the depot would be given an examination, and the work completed was written down to be inputted onto the database. Layla’s job was to input that data.

She’d recently started going out onto the depot floor to help with simple tasks, but she wasn’t safety-critical competent, so wasn’t allowed to do anything that involved the electrical or safety systems. Even so, she was looking forward to a two-week block where she was going to shadow one of the teams of technicians. She’d spent a lot of time as a young teenager learning how to fix her mom’s old motorbike, which was probably where she’d gotten her love of metallurgy. Maybe working on trains would bring back that same sense of enjoyment.