Magnus Mills - All Quiet on the Orient Express

“That’s all of them now, is it?” he asked, as I tied up.

“Yep,” I replied. “That’s the lot.”

“Good.”

“Do you want them left tied to the jetty?”

“No. I think we’ll pull them ashore while we’re both here.”

“Oh,” I said. “OK.”

Heaving the six boats ashore used the last of my energy, but it seemed Mr Parker still hadn’t finished with me.

“Now then,” he said. “We’ve seen what you can do with a paintbrush. What are you like with a hammer and nails?”

“Er…well, not too bad,” I replied. “‘Competent’ would be the right word, I suppose.”

“So you can hit a nail straight, can you?”

“Most times, yeah.”

“Cos we’ve got another little job for you if you’re interested.”

“What’s that then?”

He indicated the jetty. “These planks need replacing.”

“Oh yes,” I said. “I noticed that. They could give way at any moment.”

“So you’re in full agreement that the job needs doing?”

“Should be looked at fairly soon, yes.”

“Well, we’ve got lots of planks up in the shed. They just need cutting down to size, that’s all. Have you ever operated a circular saw?”

“No, I haven’t. Sorry.”

“That’s alright,” he said. “We can soon give you a run-through. Are you interested then?”

“Yeah, I don’t mind having a go at it,” I replied. “But I could do with a bit of a rest first.”

“Alright. We’ll get you started tomorrow, if that’s OK.”

“Right.”

“By the way, there’s a caravan up in the top yard. You can use it if you wish.”

“Oh, well, no,” I said. “Thanks anyway, but I’m quite happy in my tent.”

“Plenty of hot water up there as well,” he added.

“Is there?”

“No end of it. You’ll be welcome to take as much as you like.”

“Oh…er, well, in that case, yes, alright. Thanks.”

“Same arrangement about the rent, of course. Fix the jetty and you can stay there for free.”

This deal didn’t seem to balance out properly, but in my exhausted state of mind I couldn’t quite think why. Mr Parker then announced that he had to go off somewhere, but that I could move into the caravan immediately.

“Make yourself at home,” he said, before driving away.

After packing my tent, I went up to the top yard. The first thing I noticed when I arrived there was the increased number of oil drums gathered next to the gateway. I’d counted twelve the last time I looked, but now several more had appeared, taking the figure nearer to twenty. Mr Parker was apparently building up his collection.

In a far corner I found the caravan. It was very neat and tidy inside, quite airy, with wooden panelling and old-fashioned gas lamps. I put my bag on the folding bed and flopped down beside it, intending to unpack one or two things. Before doing so I glanced at a pile of journals on the cabinet nearby. They were all copies of a local publication called the Trader’s Gazette , and I picked one up and began leafing through it.

The newsprint was of cheap quality, but a banner headline claimed a circulation of several thousand. Inside, it was packed with page after page of goods to buy and sell. As well as an extensive classified section, there were also notices for auctions, debt clearances and other forthcoming public sales. The centrefold carried an array of advertisements for garden sheds and greenhouses, with blurred photographs showing what they looked like when assembled. Somewhere near the back I came across special mail-order bargains for extra-durable leather footwear, the price of each illustrated item displayed inside a star, above the encompassing words ‘ALL SIZES: M & F’.

For some reason I began working my way through the classifieds to see if there were any boats for sale, and what sort of prices they were likely to change hands for. I ran my eyes down the first column, then the second…

♦

When I woke up it was dark, and there was a knocking sound coming from close by. For a moment I couldn’t think where I was. A journal lay in my hand and my left leg had developed pins and needles. The knocking came again. When I remembered I was in a caravan I felt my way to the door and opened it. Standing in the darkness was Gail Parker.

“Do you know what the answer to this is?” she asked, shining a torch in my face.

I could see a school exercise book in her hand, and she was holding it open at a certain page. “Can’t see it,” I said. “Do these lights work?”

“Should do,” she replied. “Let me have a look.” I stepped out of the way and she came into the caravan and felt around for something. Then I heard a gas tap being opened. She struck a match and the lamp above the wash basin lit up. I could now see that she was out of school uniform again. When she’d lit the other lamp she turned and gave me the exercise book.

“Question four,” she said.

I read the question. It was written out in a feminine hand:

4). The ratio of the circumference of a circle to its diameter is known as what?

I glanced at the other questions on the page, some of which had already been attempted. Then I looked up and saw that Gail was watching me intently.

“Do you know what the answer is then?” she asked.

“Yes,” I said. “Pi.”

“Pie?”

“No. Pi. It’s Greek, I think.”

“How’s it spelt?”

“Just p…i.”

“OK.” She sat down on the folding bed to write in the answer. “Thanks.”

“That your homework, is it?” I enquired.

“Yes,” she replied. “Geometry. My dad said you were the best person to ask.”

“Oh,” I said. “So he knows you’re here, does he?”

She nodded vaguely. “Yeah…Is this right?” She was pointing to the next question.

“Well, you’ve almost got it, but you’ve spelt hypotenuse wrong.”

I sat down beside her and took her pencil, writing the word correctly inside the book cover.

“Thanks,” she said. “What about the other questions?”

“Tell you what,” I said. “Why don’t you leave it with me and I’ll have a look through them all. When’s it got to be in?”

“Day after tomorrow.”

“Alright, I’ll give it you tomorrow night then.”

“OK,” she smiled. “Thanks.”

She stood up and made ready to depart.

“Aren’t you a bit…er…grown up to be still at school?” I asked.

“I’m younger than I look,” she replied. “I can leave when I’m sixteen.”

“When’s that then?”

“Easter,” she said. “Anyway, thanks again. Bye.”

“Yeah, bye.”

And a moment later she was gone. I had meant to ask her what time it was, but for some reason I didn’t get round to it. Eventually I found my watch buried in the bottom of my bag and discovered that it was nine o’clock. Which meant the pub was only open for two more hours! I ran some water into the basin for a quick wash, and it came out brown for half a minute before turning clear. It remained cold though, and I realized that the hot supply I’d been promised wasn’t going to be on tap. I should have known really. After all, this was only a caravan at the end of a farmyard, probably with a hose running to it from one of the outbuildings. If I wanted hot water I was going to have to go over to the house for it. I decided to find out about that in the morning, and make do tonight with a cold wash.

A short while later I was ready to go out. The unscheduled sleep had left me refreshed despite my earlier exertions, so I again set off walking to the pub. As I did so it struck me that I hadn’t been anywhere on my motorbike for several days now, apart from moving it up to the top yard during the afternoon. The engine could really have done with having a proper run somewhere. Still, I’d be making up for the lack of use when I hit the road in a day or two. I could hardly see the repairs to the jetty taking any longer than that.