by Magnus Mills
'Yes,' I replied. 'I try to keep it ship-shape.'
'Hmm hmm,' he murmured.
'Probably be giving it a good spring-clean once this wind's dropped.'
'Hmm.'
He wasn't the most talkative of people.
'How's your place these days?' I asked.
'Same as ever,' he answered.
'Tell him about your new weathercock,' suggested Steve.
'Oh, yes,' said Philip. 'I've got a new weathercock.'
For a second I thought he might expand on the subject, but instead he merely fell silent. Meanwhile his companion continued drumming on the table top. A violent gust of wind made the whole house creak, which in turn caused both of them instantly to glance towards the stairway. Then they looked expectantly in my direction, and I realized all at once why they'd come.
'Everything alright?' I asked, smiling.
'Yes, yes,' replied Steve. 'Fine.'
'OK then,' I said. 'I'll start breakfast. Make yourselves at home.'
'Thanks.'
The preparations took about twenty minutes, during which time soft footsteps could be heard moving around on the upper floor. However, I gave no sign of having noticed them.
When breakfast was almost ready I said, quite casually, 'Would one of you mind laying the table?'
'I'll do it,' said Steve, practically leaping to his feet.
He went and got some cutlery out of the drawer, and there then followed a long pause.
'How many places shall I set?' he asked at length.
'Three of course,' I replied. 'Why?'
'Is there no one else joining us then?'
'Don't know,' I said.
'Oh . . . er, right.'
'I suppose you could lay an extra one if you want to, though, just in case.'
'OK then.'
He busied himself around the table and finished laying it in seconds. Then I served up breakfast and the three of us began to eat.
'You never can tell,' I remarked, nodding towards the empty place. 'Sometimes she does, sometimes she doesn't.'
As I finished the sentence I noticed that my two guests' eyes had suddenly swivelled towards the stairs, and next thing Mary Petrie had come down.
'Aha,' I said. 'Here's a nice surprise.'
Without saying a word she passed behind my seat and slapped me hard on the back of the head. Then, in the stunned silence that followed, she poured herself a coffee and went back upstairs.
'Friend of yours?' asked Steve, keeping his voice low.
'Yes,' I replied, equally quietly. 'She's been here a few months now.'
That's what we heard.'
'From Simon Painter?'
'Yes,' he said. 'Does she do that often?'
'No,' I said. 'First time.'
'Well, I wouldn't stand for it.'
'Wouldn't you?'
'No, I certainly would not.'
'Nor me,' said Philip.
I looked at these two men sitting at my table: these two men who'd each spent the last few years living alone in a house of tin, and I realized that they knew even less about women than I did.
'Tell you what,' I said. 'Help yourselves to more coffee, and I'll go up and sort this out.'
'Alright,' answered Steve. 'But take care.'
When I got upstairs Mary Petrie was sitting on the bed leafing through one of her books. She kept these in her trunk because I hadn't got round to putting up a shelf yet.
'It's Steve Treacle and Philip Sibling,' I said.
'So I gather,' she replied, without looking up.
'Don't you want to meet them?'
'Why should I?'
'Cos they've come especially to see you.'
'I don't care!' she snapped. 'I'm not here for display purposes you know!'
'Shush!' I whispered. 'They'll hear you.'
'Don't shush me! They shouldn't have banged on the wall with that hammer.'
'No, that wasn't them.'
'What!?'
Just then the door was heard to open, and two pairs of feet trooped outside before it closed again.
'It was me who banged on the wall,' I explained. 'I was teaching Steve a lesson for waking us up.'
'Well, you're as stupid as he is then.'
Her tone had softened slightly.
'Are you going to come down and see them?' I tried.
'No,' she said. 'I'm not in the mood.'
'They'll be ever so disappointed.'
'Tell them to come back another time, and knock on the door properly.'
'OK.'
I dashed downstairs to intercept them, thinking they might have taken offence and left. When I got outside, however, Steve was busy shovelling sand while Philip stood watching.
'Sorry about that,' I said. 'It's sorted out now.'
'Hmm hmm,' murmured Philip.
'She says you're welcome to come and see us, but it's a bit inconvenient today, if you don't mind.'
'No, no,' said Steve. That's fine. I'll just finish clearing this sand, then we'll be getting off.'
'Well, I can do the sand myself,' I said. 'Don't worry about it.'
'It's no problem,' he replied. 'Just you relax, and I'll have it done in no time.'
The pair of them returned a week later, and this time they came bearing gifts. Arriving at a civilized hour in the middle of the morning, they knocked gently on the door and waited to be invited in.
The gifts, they seemed to think, were the reason Mary Petrie gave them a friendly welcome, enquired about their health, and asked them to take a seat at the table. Little did they know that I'd spent the intervening days convincing her that they were two of the finest fellows I had ever known, and that therefore she shouldn't treat them too harshly. They had no idea of the continual praise I'd heaped upon them, and the way I'd kept her entertained with hilarious stories of their various exploits. Gradually she had warmed to them, by proxy, and when I'd reminded her that they both wore identical coats she'd said she thought they sounded 'quite sweet'. As a matter of fact, she finally conceded, she was rather looking forward to seeing them again. The gifts, if they'd known the truth, were merely icing on a cake I'd already made.
To my dismay we received a clock from Philip, while Steve presented us with a weathercock. This was similar to the one on top of his own house, and a little later he went outside to see if he could recommend a good place to fix it. Philip accompanied him.
'I don't want a weathercock,' I said, once they were out of earshot. 'I've lived here long enough to know which way the wind's blowing without having to look. It's west-southwest most of the time and hardly ever varies. What do I need with a weathercock when there's a prevailing wind?'
'Well, I think it's very kind of him,' replied Mary Petrie. 'And a clock from Philip!'
That's even worse.'
'Why?'
'You know I don't like clocks.'
'Oh don't start that again,' she said. 'Look, you asked me to be nice to them, and I'm trying to be, but now you're being rude about their presents. Snap out of it, why don't you?'
'Well, why do people always bring these things that are supposed to be useful but in fact aren't?'
'I don't know,' she answered. They're your friends.'
Just then we heard the sound of feet tramping about overhead.
'Great,' I said. They're on the roof now.'
This was just the sort of behaviour I'd been hoping they would avoid, at least on their first official visit. I'd have thought it was obvious from the previous week that they had to be careful what they did, yet here they were clambering around above us within half an hour of arriving! I suppose it was the consequence of living alone for so many years. Steve and Philip were both free to do more or less what they wanted in their own homes, and had no concept of the sort of domestic life that I was slowly getting used to. If they carried on like this much longer they were likely to make themselves less than welcome.
'That's what I've noticed about your friends,' said Mary Petrie. 'For some re
ason they all like going up on our roof.'
This was the first time I'd heard her refer to the roof as 'ours'.
'Well, I hope they don't leave any dents up there,' I remarked. 'It's not for walking about on.'
We went outside and saw our two guests perched high up and not looking particularly safe.
'What are you doing up there?' I asked, in the friendliest tone I could muster.
'Just reconnoitring really,' replied Steve. 'There's a good few fixing places: we're trying to find the best one.'
'Be careful, won't you!' called Mary Petrie.
I had to admit she was going out of her way to be agreeable towards them. She appeared genuinely concerned as the two intrepids helped each other down over the eaves, found footholds on the shutters, then finally dropped to the ground.
'We'll need a ladder to do the job properly,' said Philip. 'Have you got one?'
'No,' I replied. ''Fraid not.'
'You'll have been up on the roof before though, surely?'
'Actually, no I haven't.'
'Never been on the roof?' He looked quite surprised.
'No.'
'So you didn't know you could see Simon Painter's house from up there?'
'Oh, yes,' I said. 'I knew that: he told me.'
'You can hear his bell jangling sometimes too,' added Mary Petrie.
'Pity no one heard his cries for help,' said Steve. 'You know he was blocked in by the sand for five days?'
'Was he?'
'Yes, if we hadn't rescued him he'd still be there now.'
'Blimey, I didn't know that.'
'Poor Simon!' said Mary Petrie. 'As if he hasn't got enough worries.'
I looked at her and wondered what these other worries were supposed to be. As far as I was concerned it wasn't 'Poor Simon!' but 'I told you so!'
I'd said all along that his door opened the wrong way and he was going to get blocked in if he wasn't careful, but no one would listen. I was even barred from discussing the subject in my own house! Now, however, everyone was standing round sympathizing with Simon as though his fate-was completely out of his hands.
7
We were still talking about Simon Painter that afternoon when we sat down at the table for tea. It transpired in the conversation that he'd decided to call his house 'Sandfire', and now had a nameplate fixed to the outer wall.
'What does he want to name his house for?' I asked.
'No particular reason as far as I know,' replied Steve. 'I think he just likes the sound of it.'
'You've got to admit it's a nice name,' said Mary Petrie.
'Yes, it is,' I agreed. 'But I still can't see the point of giving a house a name.'
'I think it's all due to Michael Hawkins,' remarked Philip.
'What's he got to do with it?'
'Well, apparently Simon's been out there several times now, and feels very strongly influenced by Michael.'
Straightaway I felt my hackles rising.
'What do you mean out there?' I demanded.
'Well,' said Philip with a shrug. 'Michael lives further out than the rest of us, doesn't he?'
'No, he doesn't!' I said. 'We all live a long way out, compared with most people!'
I was aware that my voice had suddenly become louder, and that all three of them were looking at me with startled expressions on their faces. With some effort I spoke more quietly. 'Anyway, what's all this about him influencing Simon?'
'It's the way Michael lives,' said Steve. 'He has this sort of perfect existence, very simple, in a house built entirely from tin, and he passes his time doing many interesting things.'
'Such as?'
'For example, he gets up early to watch the sunrise.'
'You can do that here,' I said.
'I know,' replied Steve. 'But according to Simon it's different out there.'
'He's thinking of moving house,' added Philip.
'What, so he can be nearer to this Michael Hawkins person?'
'Apparently, yes.'
I sighed and shook my head incredulously.
'Well, I think it's good that Simon's found some sense of purpose at last,' said Mary Petrie. 'There's nothing for him round here.'
'And what's wrong with round here exactly?' I asked.
'There's no use telling you,' she answered. 'You'd never listen.'
'I agree with Mary,' said Steve. 'Simon would be much happier if he made a new start. He just needs a bit of a push, that's all.'
'What sort of push?'
'You know,' he said. 'Encouragement. A step in the right direction.'
I could hardly believe what I was hearing. To my ears, all this talk about 'influence' and 'encouragement' sounded like nothing short of treason. What had happened, I wondered, to the independent lives we'd all enjoyed until so recently? Hadn't we been content, living the way we chose here on this bleak and deserted plain? I'd always presumed the answer was yes, but now I wasn't so certain. Just of late, it seemed, disaffection had arisen amongst us.
I was also bothered by a fact that I'd only vaguely recognized before today, namely, that each of us was beginning to get closely involved with someone else. Rather too closely for my liking. As the four of us sat around the table I suddenly realized that we were no longer three men and a woman discussing the exploits of a mutual friend. Instead, we were two couples analysing his problems. I looked at the clock, newly secured to the wall above our heads, and saw that our future as individuals was ticking irredeemably away.
Meanwhile, there were more mundane matters at hand: the weathercock had to be fixed on the roof. A ladder was clearly required to do the job properly, and so Steve offered to go home and collect his. It was arranged that he and Philip would stay overnight with us, then he'd set off alone early in the morning.
'You'll have to sleep downstairs tonight,' Mary Petrie told me while we were sorting out the spare sheets and blankets.
'Why's that?' I asked.
'Well,' she replied. 'What will those two think of me if I just let you jump into my bed?'
'What will they think of me if you don't?' I protested, but I knew there was no point in arguing. Her mind was made up, and that was that. I had to spend the night sleeping alongside Steve and Philip. True, we were all in separate beds, but nevertheless we were close enough together to be easily mistaken for three sardines in a tin can.
Next morning, very early, I rose and made some coffee while Steve got dressed. Then the two of us sat by the stove, listening to the wind howling outside.
'Doesn't sound as if it's dying off yet,' he said, in a quiet voice.
'Well, it never dies altogether,' I reminded him. 'It could blow all spring and summer for all we know.'
'Hope not,' he replied. 'Philip and I want to get out and about a bit more this year.'
'Out and about where?'
'Well, we thought we might mosey over and see Michael Hawkins for a start.'
'You as well?'
'Yes, why not?'
'No, it's alright,' I said. 'Do as you please.'
'Have you got something against Michael?'
'Of course not.'
'I mean, you ought to give him a chance before you judge him.'
'Yes, OK,' I said. 'You're probably right.'
Shortly afterwards Steve finished his coffee, put on his coat and left. I went back to bed but for some reason I couldn't fall asleep again. As the sand scuffed against the outside wall I lay thinking about what he'd said. Maybe I was being a bit unfair on this Michael Hawkins. After all, I'd never even met the man. As daylight came I resolved to try to forget about him and carry on with my own life. Therefore I got dressed, took the shovel and spent an enjoyable couple of hours clearing away the sand. Then I went inside, had breakfast, and waited for Steve's return.
This must have been round about noon. It was a bit too early for lunch, but as he'd been on the move since before dawn Mary Petrie offered to rustle him up something to eat while Philip and I did the weathercock. This arrangement was
all good and well, and should have worked to everyone's satisfaction had Steve not been such an impetuous person. The trouble was, he considered himself to be something of an expert at erecting weathercocks, having already put up his own and Philip's. As a result, halfway through his meal he suddenly rushed out of the house to give us some advice. I knew that Mary Petrie wouldn't have been best pleased about this, but I was hardly entitled to order him back in. Besides, I was fully occupied holding the ladder steady for Philip.
'It's got to be dead vertical on its axis!' Steve shouted. 'Otherwise it won't work!'
'Alright!' came the reply from the roof. 'Why don't you go back in and finish your lunch?'
'And make sure it can spin freely!'
'Alright!'
At that moment I noticed Mary Petrie appear in the doorway with an indignant look on her face. I also realized that Steve had left the door wide open. Some sand was already starting to blow into the house, so Mary Petrie took the broom and began tentatively to sweep it away. From my place at the foot of the ladder it still looked as though the day could be saved if Steve would only go back inside and apologize for his absence. Instead, he decided to take command of events, seizing the broom from Mary Petrie and thrusting at the small pile of sand.
'You've obviously never swept up before,' he said, and instantly her eyes were ablaze.
'Don't "obviously" me!' she cried. 'I don't want sand flying about!'
'It won't matter when I've got it outside!' Steve answered, brushing even harder, so that the sand flew upwards.
'Stop it!'
'Hold tight, Philip!' I called, abandoning the ladder and rushing over to the door. I grabbed the broom from Steve just as Mary Petrie went inside and ran upstairs, her face dark with anger. 'You've done it now,' I murmured. 'Why didn't you just eat your lunch?'
'Bit hysterical isn't she?' replied Steve.
'Keep your voice down!'
'Well, I was only showing her how to sweep.'
'Look!' I snapped. 'Leave it!'
I led Steve by the arm and sat him down at the table to finish eating. Then I went back out and steadied the ladder for Philip, who was complaining loudly from the rooftop. We spent another half-hour getting the weathercock properly positioned, during which time Steve emerged from the house and gave his solemn approval. Philip then came down the ladder and we all went inside to warm up a bit. Meanwhile, Mary Petrie remained silent and brooding upstairs.