Magnus Mills - Three to See the King

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.

The three of us sat round the table, drinking coffee, speaking in quiet tones and generally keeping our voices down. Steve and Philip seemed to understand that they would have to leave fairly soon, to give me the opportunity to sort things out. Occasionally one of them would glance at the ceiling, raise his eyebrows and wince as if expecting a mighty blow to fall. In truth, though, they had no idea of the gravity of the situation. Eventually, late in the afternoon, they took their ladder and departed. I accompanied them for half a mile or so. Little was said on that short journey, but I noticed their steps lightened the further they got away from the house.

‘Well, I’ll say goodbye now,’ I said at last. ‘I’ll be seeing you sometime.’

‘OK then,’ replied Philip. ‘Look after yourself.’

As we parted I shook both their hands, giving Steve an extra crush for good measure. Then I headed home to face the music. It would all be my fault, of course, I knew that.

Pushing open the door I saw Mary Petrie standing at the top of the stairs.

‘Right,’ she said. ‘From now on all your friends are banned.’

‘All of them?’

‘Yes.’

‘How long for?’

‘Always.’

By this time, of course, I’d resigned myself to sanctions of some kind or other. I accepted the severity of the verdict without argument, knowing it would all blow over in a week or two. It was impossible for Mary Petrie to enforce a lifetime ban on my friends and acquaintances, that was obvious, so I only had to ride out the storm until the day’s events were forgotten. Besides, I thought, it would do no harm to cut down on all the friendly coming and going that had lately been endemic at my house, and which was starting to get out of hand.

Indeed, here was an opportunity to return to how things were before. With a great show of contrition I carefully cleared all the sand out of the house, closed the door, and settled down for a period of relative quiet. I didn’t venture upstairs that night, but by the following day the two of us were again talking freely. Late in the afternoon Mary Petrie came outside with me to admire the new weathercock, which, she agreed, looked quite nice. I made no remarks about how unnecessary it was, nor did I point out that the wind showed no sign of abating. Instead I played the part to which I had become accustomed, in which a man remains master of his own home, so long as he observes all the rules.

An uneventful week passed by. Then another. Finally, one morning there was a knock on the door. It was Simon Painter, and he was almost in tears.

‘Can you come and help?’ he said. ‘Someone’s taken my house to pieces.’

8

He was a forlorn sight, standing there in the doorway holding his overnight bag. He looked tired, as if he’d been travelling for several hours, and there were traces of red sand on his clothing.

‘What do you mean, taken to pieces?’ I asked.

‘It’s been dismantled bit by bit,’ he replied. ‘And now it’s just a pile of tin. What am I going to do?’

He was clearly very desperate.

‘Sorry, Simon,’ I said. ‘I’d like to help but I’m barred from seeing my friends.’

‘Don’t talk nonsense,’ said Mary Petrie, moving me aside. ‘Come in out of the cold, Simon, and we’ll make you some breakfast.’

‘Oh, thank you,’ he said. ‘You’re so kind.’

‘How would you like it if it happened to you?’ she hissed after he’d gone in.

‘Just obeying orders,’ I shrugged.