Magnus Mills - Three to See the King

‘Well, I think it’s very kind of him,’ replied Mary Petrie. ‘And a clock from Philip!’

That’s even worse.’

‘Why?’

‘You know I don’t like clocks.’

‘Oh don’t start that again,’ she said. ‘Look, you asked me to be nice to them, and I’m trying to be, but now you’re being rude about their presents. Snap out of it, why don’t you?’

‘Well, why do people always bring these things that are supposed to be useful but in fact aren’t?’

‘I don’t know,’ she answered. They’re your friends.’

Just then we heard the sound of feet tramping about overhead.

‘Great,’ I said. They’re on the roof now.’

This was just the sort of behaviour I’d been hoping they would avoid, at least on their first official visit. I’d have thought it was obvious from the previous week that they had to be careful what they did, yet here they were clambering around above us within half an hour of arriving! I suppose it was the consequence of living alone for so many years. Steve and Philip were both free to do more or less what they wanted in their own homes, and had no concept of the sort of domestic life that I was slowly getting used to. If they carried on like this much longer they were likely to make themselves less than welcome.

‘That’s what I’ve noticed about your friends,’ said Mary Petrie. ‘For some reason they all like going up on our roof.’

This was the first time I’d heard her refer to the roof as ‘ours’.

‘Well, I hope they don’t leave any dents up there,’ I remarked. ‘It’s not for walking about on.’

We went outside and saw our two guests perched high up and not looking particularly safe.

‘What are you doing up there?’ I asked, in the friendliest tone I could muster.

‘Just reconnoitring really,’ replied Steve. ‘There’s a good few fixing places: we’re trying to find the best one.’

‘Be careful, won’t you!’ called Mary Petrie.

I had to admit she was going out of her way to be agreeable towards them. She appeared genuinely concerned as the two intrepids helped each other down over the eaves, found footholds on the shutters, then finally dropped to the ground.

‘We’ll need a ladder to do the job properly,’ said Philip. ‘Have you got one?’

‘No,’ I replied. ”Fraid not.’

‘You’ll have been up on the roof before though, surely?’

‘Actually, no I haven’t.’

‘Never been on the roof?’ He looked quite surprised.

‘No.’

‘So you didn’t know you could see Simon Painter’s house from up there?’

‘Oh, yes,’ I said. ‘I knew that: he told me.’

‘You can hear his bell jangling sometimes too,’ added Mary Petrie.

‘Pity no one heard his cries for help,’ said Steve. ‘You know he was blocked in by the sand for five days?’

‘Was he?’

‘Yes, if we hadn’t rescued him he’d still be there now.’

‘Blimey, I didn’t know that.’

‘Poor Simon!’ said Mary Petrie. ‘As if he hasn’t got enough worries.’

I looked at her and wondered what these other worries were supposed to be. As far as I was concerned it wasn’t ‘Poor Simon!’ but ‘I told you so!’

I’d said all along that his door opened the wrong way and he was going to get blocked in if he wasn’t careful, but no one would listen. I was even barred from discussing the subject in my own house! Now, however, everyone was standing round sympathizing with Simon as though his fate-was completely out of his hands.

We were still talking about Simon Painter that afternoon when we sat down at the table for tea. It transpired in the conversation that he’d decided to call his house ‘Sandfire’, and now had a nameplate fixed to the outer wall.

‘What does he want to name his house for?’ I asked.

‘No particular reason as far as I know,’ replied Steve. ‘I think he just likes the sound of it.’

‘You’ve got to admit it’s a nice name,’ said Mary Petrie.

‘Yes, it is,’ I agreed. ‘But I still can’t see the point of giving a house a name.’

‘I think it’s all due to Michael Hawkins,’ remarked Philip.

‘What’s he got to do with it?’

‘Well, apparently Simon’s been out there several times now, and feels very strongly influenced by Michael.’

Straightaway I felt my hackles rising.

‘What do you mean out there?’ I demanded.

‘Well,’ said Philip with a shrug. ‘Michael lives further out than the rest of us, doesn’t he?’

‘No, he doesn’t!’ I said. ‘We all live a long way out, compared with most people!’

I was aware that my voice had suddenly become louder, and that all three of them were looking at me with startled expressions on their faces. With some effort I spoke more quietly. ‘Anyway, what’s all this about him influencing Simon?’

‘It’s the way Michael lives,’ said Steve. ‘He has this sort of perfect existence, very simple, in a house built entirely from tin, and he passes his time doing many interesting things.’

‘Such as?’

‘For example, he gets up early to watch the sunrise.’

‘You can do that here,’ I said.

‘I know,’ replied Steve. ‘But according to Simon it’s different out there.’

‘He’s thinking of moving house,’ added Philip.

‘What, so he can be nearer to this Michael Hawkins person?’

‘Apparently, yes.’

I sighed and shook my head incredulously.

‘Well, I think it’s good that Simon’s found some sense of purpose at last,’ said Mary Petrie. ‘There’s nothing for him round here.’

‘And what’s wrong with round here exactly?’ I asked.

‘There’s no use telling you,’ she answered. ‘You’d never listen.’

‘I agree with Mary,’ said Steve. ‘Simon would be much happier if he made a new start. He just needs a bit of a push, that’s all.’

‘What sort of push?’

‘You know,’ he said. ‘Encouragement. A step in the right direction.’

I could hardly believe what I was hearing. To my ears, all this talk about ‘influence’ and ‘encouragement’ sounded like nothing short of treason. What had happened, I wondered, to the independent lives we’d all enjoyed until so recently? Hadn’t we been content, living the way we chose here on this bleak and deserted plain? I’d always presumed the answer was yes, but now I wasn’t so certain. Just of late, it seemed, disaffection had arisen amongst us.

I was also bothered by a fact that I’d only vaguely recognized before today, namely, that each of us was beginning to get closely involved with someone else. Rather too closely for my liking. As the four of us sat around the table I suddenly realized that we were no longer three men and a woman discussing the exploits of a mutual friend. Instead, we were two couples analysing his problems. I looked at the clock, newly secured to the wall above our heads, and saw that our future as individuals was ticking irredeemably away.

Meanwhile, there were more mundane matters at hand: the weathercock had to be fixed on the roof. A ladder was clearly required to do the job properly, and so Steve offered to go home and collect his. It was arranged that he and Philip would stay overnight with us, then he’d set off alone early in the morning.

‘You’ll have to sleep downstairs tonight,’ Mary Petrie told me while we were sorting out the spare sheets and blankets.

‘Why’s that?’ I asked.

‘Well,’ she replied. ‘What will those two think of me if I just let you jump into my bed?’

‘What will they think of me if you don’t?’ I protested, but I knew there was no point in arguing. Her mind was made up, and that was that. I had to spend the night sleeping alongside Steve and Philip. True, we were all in separate beds, but nevertheless we were close enough together to be easily mistaken for three sardines in a tin can.