A Pleasure and a Calling
Page 24
Afterwards I walked back to my riverside apartment (reluctantly I have adopted the prudent habit of keeping up two dwellings, this one with a bed and recognizable furniture) following a circuitous route via the leafy streets of the north side. The afternoon still had plenty of warmth in it. Early summer is my favourite time, with its smells of creosote and mower fuel, the buzz and bang of carpenters, the clang of scaffolding going up and skips being filled. These people are the town’s engine, its living parts. Dressed in spattered clothing and trainers, they come and go to the DIY warehouses and construction wholesalers, arm themselves with hammers and drills. Occasionally I will see a face I know from somewhere but does not know me, fixed in its intention, its eyes set on some achievable future. What hopes, I wonder, charge their imaginations? Where do they think they are going? Where will they fertilize their eggs? Where will they die?
In my lair beside the Common, among my stacks of files and pictures and observations, I have a stupendous sticker chart showing where everyone has been, where they have settled and moved on to – each house-move a line drawn from here to there in coloured pencil, a criss-crossing of desires and dreams, one upon another, across town, out of town and back (newcomers and leavers have little arrows to indicate direction of travel), weaving this way and that until they are indistinguishable from one another, making a great tapestry of wishes, a vast life of plans. I will sit for hours poring over it, cross-referring among my keys and maps and family profiles and holiday snapshots, a god at play.
And why not? This is who I am, guardian of the plans, though I have no plans of my own, of course. I am happy on the fringes, listening and watching, excitedly awaiting your next move. I dissolve into the surroundings and breathe your air. I come in peace. I bring my love.
Acknowledgements
Big thanks to Chris Riddell, Jon Linstead and Tim Adams, without whom I would still be at the thinking stage; to Neil Smith and Jonathan Wilson for unflinching man support; to all at the Fellow in whose precincts this book was brought to the boil. Highest regards to Veronique Baxter and Susanna Wadeson for their guidance and good sense. And love to my wife, Sue, for the usual countless personal reasons.
William Heming – in his doubletalk about the double life – read at least the prologue of Adam Phillips’s excellent book Missing Out: In Praise of the Unlived Life. Any errors arising are his rather than mine, or indeed Adam Phillips’s.
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Phil Hogan was born in a small town in northern England, and now lives in a small town in southern England. A journalist for twenty-five years, he has written for The Observer and The Guardian. He is married with four children.
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Contents
Title Page
Copyright Notice
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Chapter 35
Chapter 36
Chapter 37
Chapter 38
Chapter 39
Chapter 40
Acknowledgements
About the Author
Copyright
This is a work of fiction. All of the characters, organizations, and events portrayed in this novel are either products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.
A PLEASURE AND A CALLING. Copyright © 2014 by Phil Hogan. All rights reserved. For information, address Picador, 175 Fifth Avenue, New York, N.Y. 10010.
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Originally published in Great Britain by Doubleday, an imprint of Transworld Publishers
First U.S. Edition: January 2015
eISBN 9781250060648
First eBook edition: November 2014