Seni Glaister - Mr Doubler Begins Again

Chapter 8

Thinking once again about calling the animal shelter, Doubler sought clarity by walking down to the bottom of the hill, using the driveway rather than following the field’s own pathways. His feet slipped on the icy flint beneath him. There had been a heavy frost in the night and the wind carried a bite that threatened something colder still. It was going to be a late spring. He could hear a woodpecker drilling a tree in the distance, but other than the bird’s persistent hollowing, the air around him was devoid of life. He mused, as he walked, on the possibilities that lay ahead. While making contact with Mrs Millwood’s circle of friends filled him with a deep terror, the thought of Julian’s anxiety should he get involved with a charitable organization at his time of life appealed to him hugely and he wondered if that might just outweigh the fear of leaving Mirth Farm. The walk cleared his head and he walked back up the hill, a little more slowly to match his breathing, wondering when he had become such a bad parent that the notion of challenging his son was motivation enough to jolt him out of years of isolation.

The telephone was ringing in the hall as he walked into the house and Doubler rushed to it, breathless and thrilled with himself for having timed his arrival back to the house to coincide with Mrs Millwood’s hoped-for telephone call.

He snatched the receiver from the hook and reached for a cheerful ‘Good tidings’, which while he assumed might be an unconventional greeting, seemed to fit his mood.

‘Dad?’ The male voice at the end of the phone was puzzled and even a little affronted.

‘Who is this?’ said Doubler, wracked with a gut-wrenching disappointment he was unable to disguise.

‘How many men call you “Dad”?’ said Julian, matching his father’s tone with a barely contained disdain.

‘Oh, it’s you, Julian,’ said Doubler, feeling simultaneously both let down and foolish. ‘You don’t often call.’

‘Don’t guilt me out, Dad. I’m calling you now, aren’t I? And in my defence, I usually assume you won’t be in to answer the phone. You’re normally out with your blasted potatoes. But I thought I’d chance it today. I’ve been thinking things through since I saw you for lunch.’

Doubler felt tired. ‘I’m not selling Mirth Farm, Julian.’

‘I’m not talking about the farm. Well, at least not for now. It’s about the car. That old banger of yours.’

‘My car?’

‘Exactly. I didn’t see it at the weekend and it’s normally on the yard. Are you keeping it inside?’

‘Inside?’

‘Dad, are you OK? You’re sounding more vague than normal. You haven’t had a turn, have you?’

Doubler just managed to refrain from asking, ‘A turn?’ though it was the most intelligible thing he could think of saying.

Julian was continuing to speak, his voice a little tinny and distracted, as though he might be doing something else at the same time. Doubler strained to listen to the noises surrounding the words and could hear the sound of a keyboard being tapped in sporadic bursts. Julian was working as he spoke.

‘I’m wondering about the car. It’s ancient and I don’t think it’s safe for you to drive it anymore. If the weather is bad and you should get stuck, you don’t want to be relying on something past its best. It must be – what, forty years old?’

‘Well, I suppose so, Julian. But I don’t have much call for it, to be honest, and it doesn’t let me down. What on earth made you think of my car?’

‘Oh, I always worry about you in the winter. Seeing you up there reminded me how desolate it can be. I’m wondering if I should take the car off your hands. Swap it for something a little more practical? A Toyota Yaris perhaps, or a small Clio? If you’re keen to keep a four-wheel drive, then there’s a pretty handy little Fiat Panda that would suit you. What do you think?’

Doubler wracked his brains for a suitably grateful response. His son was showing an entirely unprecedented amount of interest in him.

‘I don’t know what to say. You’ve just said a number of words I don’t understand. Yaris, you say? What on earth is a Yaris? And what were the other ones you mentioned?’

‘Don’t worry too much about the what, Dad. I’ll do the research. I’ll find you a good little runaround that will start first time, every time. Just let me know if you’re in agreement in principle and I’ll pop up and fetch the Land Rover.’

The Land Rover. Just the words made Doubler glow with warmth. Of course, his old banger was the Land Rover. He’d bought it new, soon after he’d bought the farm, and it had never let him down. As faithful as his potatoes really. Doubler thought back over that time span. Two-thirds of his life. Had anyone else been that reliable? Marie? Certainly not. The kids? Barely. On balance, they’d caused him as much worry as pleasure. That car, though, was as beautiful and sturdy as the day he’d bought it. It’s dusty-green colour and its cream roof had seemed undeniably splendid when he’d first driven it home, but it had quickly become part of the landscape, camouflaged among the hues of the farm and as familiar to him as his own face.

Julian was waiting for a quick answer, impatient now as his busy day clamoured to reclaim him. ‘Dad? Are you there?’

‘Julian. Yes. I’m just mulling it over. I don’t really think I need a new one, though it’s jolly nice of you to worry about me. Other than running down to the lower fields, I don’t exactly do much mileage. It sometimes needs a bit of bullying to start, but other than that, it’s fine. I doubt there’s anything much more suited to my lifestyle than that.’

‘Dad, I’m trying to help you here. Don’t put up barriers. I can find you something small and nippy that will get you in and out of town, and it will stop me having to worry about it. I won’t hear another objection from you.’

Doubler looked at his watch and realized with horror that Mrs Millwood could be calling him from her bedside at that very moment. ‘Julian? I am very, very touched, but I’m expecting another phone call, so I can’t completely focus on what you’re saying. Would you mind calling back another day?’

‘Another phone call from who, Dad? You’re acting a little strange. You’ve not done anything daft, have you?’

‘Heavens, no. Chance would be a fine thing,’ said Doubler, enjoying the sound of the echo down the phone just before he hung up with a resounding click.

The phone rang almost as soon as he had replaced the receiver.

‘You were engaged. I wondered if you had left it off the hook. I thought I might need to send Midge up to check in on you.’

Doubler exhaled happily. ‘You’re fussing over me again, Mrs Millwood, when your energy is supposed to be focused on getting you better. And it’s always a pleasure to see your daughter, but I’d like her to think well of me. I don’t want her thinking I’m a burden.’

‘Oh, I don’t think she thinks you’re a burden. I think she might see you as a mission, though.’

‘A mission? What sort of mission?’ Doubler’s mind flicked through a mental Rolodex of images, scanning these for potential meanings, something he had started to do recently when words were being elusive. The word now triggered, in quick succession, a series of pictures of white men in heavy clothing wielding Bibles in hot countries.

‘Oh, she thinks you’re lonely,’ said Mrs Millwood, dispelling the images in Doubler’s mind. ‘I believe she wants to sort you out with pigs or chickens. Or both.’

‘Ah yes. Pigs and chickens. I probably wouldn’t mind having a bit of a go with some livestock. I’ve been feeling a little more hopeful lately.’