Seni Glaister - Mr Doubler Begins Again

Midge! Doubler repeated silently to himself and then, in joyful recognition, Mrs Millwood’s daughter! He congratulated himself on piecing this together for himself.

‘Midge, your daughter. Well, of course I would be delighted. Anything.’

‘Well, I’m a bit worried about my colleagues down at Grove Farm – you know, the animal shelter. I’ve left them in the lurch and I need my shift covered. Do you think you could manage it? It’s only a couple of hours twice a week, and I’m sure they’ll already be looking out for a more permanent replacement, but I think they’ll be struggling for staff for the next month or so.’

Doubler’s heart lurched, recognizing the threat in the words before his mind had a chance to process them.

‘What do you mean by a “permanent” replacement, Mrs Millwood? You’re coming back to us, aren’t you? I mean to the animal shelter and to Mirth Farm?’

‘Oh, heavens, yes, but you know what these doctors are like. Once they’ve got their claws into you, they never want to let you go.’

Claws . All Doubler could picture were sharp-taloned fingers prying and poking, tearing at Mrs Millwood while she was at her most vulnerable. Those same claws should be attacking the monster with teeth, not Mrs Millwood herself.

‘But it’s all going according to plan, is it? A bit of treatment in the hospital your daughter said, then you’ll be an outpatient. Is that still the plan? Home soon, right as rain?’

‘Well, that’s certainly my plan, but we’ll have to wait and see. I don’t want to promise anything as I don’t like letting people down. I just want to make sure there’s cover for me down at the shelter. I really don’t want the added responsibility of worrying about them when I’ve got quite enough to worry about here.’

‘What’s troubling you the most there? Other than . . . the obvious.’

‘Oh, they’re wonderful here – I’m in great hands – but I’m parched most of the time and that blessed tea trolley taunts me. I can hear it as it makes its journey round the place. It’s got a distinctive rattle. I swear it accelerates past me several times a day, only to slow right down again the minute it’s snuck by my ward.’

Doubler beamed.

Mrs Millwood continued, ‘I lie here dreaming of a cuppa, but it’s running me a bit of a merry dance, to be honest.’ Mrs Millwood paused. ‘Mr Doubler,’ she said sternly, ‘I can hear you smiling. It’s really not funny.’

Doubler bit his lip, trying not to let his joy escape noisily at the sound of her voice.

‘You know the worst of it? If I’m sleeping when they come, they don’t wake me! So I have to lie permanently alert just in case they pop their heads round the curtain. Sod’s Law says I’ll drift off or just close my eyes in a little daydream and that trolley is hotfooting it to the next ward. Practically mocking me it is.’

‘Oh, Mrs Millwood! That sounds like my idea of hell. Tea needs to be on demand.’

‘I’m lucky if I get three cups a day.’

‘Three? Only three? That sounds like a travesty !’

‘Quite. But other than that, no complaints. Shouldn’t even complain about that really – what with them working flat out to save my life.’

‘Your life, Mrs Millwood, shall be saved. By a combination of advanced medical techniques and Camellia sinensis . And if there are shortcomings in that area, just say the word and I’ll be there.’

‘Well, that’s a cheering thought, but my main concern is the shelter. Particularly darling old Percy. Would you be a dear?’

‘It would be my honour. I’ll give them a holler, shall I? Percy, is it?’ Doubler registered with a stealthy hostility the use of the word ‘darling’.

‘Oh, heavens, no. Fat lot of good that’ll do you. Speak to Colonel Maxwell – he’ll be the one sorting the schedules out. He’s not officially in charge, but he doesn’t really know any other way. If he were a woman, he’d be called bossy, but he’s not a woman, so I guess he’s just called a natural leader.’

‘Mrs Millwood?’

‘Oh, sorry, Mr Doubler. Was I ranting?’

‘No. No, not at all. At least, you were beginning to, but I like it. Rant away. That’s all.’

‘Has something got into you? Are you coping all right? You sound uncommonly cheerful.’

‘I’m coping just fine. I’ve been a little out of sorts, but I’m feeling very much improved.’

‘Good, good. Don’t forget to call Colonel Maxwell, will you? I’ll check in with you in a few days’ time, shall I?’

‘Marvellous, yes, do. Cheerio, then.’

Doubler held the receiver to his ear for a while listening to the conclusive hollow echo before replacing the receiver carefully with a smile, and he continued to smile as he went in search of a recent copy of the Yellow Pages. ‘This is meant to be!’ he exclaimed joyfully as he lugged the heavy book from the back of a cupboard. ‘Julian will have the fright of his life!’ Doubler said delightedly, plopping the thick volume down on the kitchen table. Grinning impishly, he flicked through the thin leaves until he found the number for the shelter, listed as Grove Farm Animal Rescue Centre. He drew a careful red line round it and wrote the name ‘Maxwell’ neatly in the margin. He carried the book back to the hall and positioned himself by the phone, a pen in his hand should he need to make any notes.

He stared at the phone and imagined himself making the call. The smile that had been on his face since he’d first heard Mrs Millwood’s voice began to fade.

The minutes ticked painfully by, and the longer he stared at the phone, the less able he was to recall his previous sense of purpose. He frowned a little, thinking about who might answer. Would it be Maxwell himself or another of Mrs Millwood’s circle of friends? Would darling Percy answer the phone? This unimaginable cast of characters must indeed be good friends for her to be worrying about them while she was undergoing unspeakable procedures in that place.

He imagined lifting the receiver and dialling the number. In Doubler’s head, the abrasive shriek of the telephone would puncture a room full of laughter. The receiver would be picked up with impatience. Doubler would have to explain himself to a stranger and then to Maxwell, a natural leader no less, who would be compelled to ask what on earth Doubler could offer them. They were a close-knit circle of friends with years of animal care under their belts, and he was a nobody. He didn’t even have a goldfish; he’d only ever cared for potatoes . . . and Marie. And look what had happened to her.

Doubler folded the corner of the page in a neat triangle and returned the book to where he’d found it. He made his way slowly back to the kitchen wondering why he had felt so alive just a moment before. He lifted the lid on the tea caddy, inhaled deeply, frowned and closed the lid again, shaking his head. He studied his potatoes in silence, but finding no answer there, he returned to his seat by the window, raised the binoculars to his eyes and fixed his attention on the driveway with renewed anxiety.

Chapter 7

Gracie’s daughter was called Midge, as Doubler had learnt when Mrs Millwood had called from her hospital bed. Satisfied with this knowledge, he observed her arrival and noted the hesitancy with which she tackled the incline’s sharper bends, but there was a degree of enjoyment to be taken in the observation of the differences between these two women, who were so clearly similar in many ways.

‘Morning,’ Midge shouted in a melodic voice as she tried the front door and, finding it open, let herself in. Doubler might have been offended by this rather brazen intrusion, but the days since her last visit had been long and empty, and he was glad for the company.