Seni Glaister - Mr Doubler Begins Again - The best uplifting, funny and feel-good book for 2019

A brutal wind had stirred up the icy air from all of the surrounding valleys and had deposited it relentlessly on Mirth Farm, leaving almost everywhere warmer than Doubler’s hilltop home, but despite this, Doubler did not hurry. Heading towards the farmhouse, he walked round the perimeter of the yard, stopping to check the angle of the new security camera and again to rattle the locks on each of the brooding barns. Even in happier days, when his wife had been with him, he had been a cautious man with a nervous disposition, but now, imperilled by this series of recent menaces, he had introduced new layers of watchfulness to his daily inspections of Mirth Farm, and his routine now incorporated a multitude of additional checks, which had quickly become mechanical, as if he’d followed them for as long as he’d followed the seasons.

Despite his nervousness, the steps he’d recently taken to protect Mirth Farm from his adversary felt empowering, so having hung up his coat and hat, he immediately turned his attention to the parcel that had arrived in yesterday’s post in the hope that the contents would further bolster his defences. As expected, the package revealed a pair of brand-new binoculars, which he examined critically. He removed the lens guard and quickly replaced it, repeating this action a number of times, cautiously pleased with its certain fit. He planted himself firmly on the window seat, calming his breathing for a few moments before raising his new gift to his eyes.

He played slowly with the focal ring, moving the sight left and right with small, deft increments until the chaffinch on the bird feeder that hung from a twisted bough of the closest apple tree leapt into brilliant, dazzling clarity. Doubler paused for a moment to congratulate himself on the identification of the bird. ‘Chaffinch!’ he exclaimed, surprised.

Even a week ago, it would have been just another small bird idling away its time before it could clear the hedgerows of his fruit. This recently acquired knowledge, this sure-footed identification, gave him a flicker of pleasure he was unable to place, but it compelled him to linger on the chaffinch for a few moments more. The bird’s bright eyes jumped into focus. Doubler was impressed. These binoculars were far superior to his last pair and would undoubtedly make his work more secure. Entirely satisfied, he now swung his attention to the right and refocused on a much further object: the entrance gate to Mirth Farm at the bottom of the hill.

Doubler recalled the feeling of the gate in his hands as he unlatched it and let it swing free. There had been a time when he had opened and closed that gate regularly, with barely a care in the world. He’d hung the gate himself and it had always swung open easily, without complaint or resistance. But there were no comings or goings for Doubler anymore: he was strictly a Mirth Farm man.

This was not something that had happened gradually; he had not taken a slow slide into solitude. He had decided, in fact, the moment his children left home, that he would never leave Mirth Farm again. If you never left, he had persuaded himself, there was no chance that you wouldn’t return.

Doubler snapped back to attention as a car pulled into the bottom of the drive. It was only Mrs Millwood, and he had been anticipating her arrival, but he felt his muscles tense and the hairs stand up on the back of his neck. His anxiety was alleviated by the substantial weight of the binoculars in his hand and it gave him great comfort to train them on this arriving vehicle. He watched every movement as his visitor got out of the little red car, swung open the wooden gate, edged the car forward and once again clambered out of the car to close the gate behind her.

As soon as the vehicle was on his property, he was able to read the car’s number plate and he made a note of it on the edge of the newspaper, intending to transfer it to a logbook that he planned to order specifically for this purpose. The car was making its way steadily up the hill, vanishing out of sight for several seconds at a time, then swinging back into view with each sharp turn. The ascent to Mirth Farm was a long, slow one, and Doubler observed that the quality of the vehicle probably had very little correlation to the speed of its approach – if anything, the faster the car, the slower the progress, as drivers of fast cars tended to be nervous of the ruts and bumps and the glinting edge of the flint that threatened the tyres with every turn. Doubler vowed to begin recording journey times to check this theory. He really didn’t want to leave anything to chance.

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