Magnus Mills - All Quiet on the Orient Express

“Oh dear.”

“It’s all wired up wrong and I can never get it sorted out.”

“What happened to the rest of the tune then?”

“Don’t know,” he said. “I’ve never heard anything except ‘Half a pound of treacle’.”

While we talked we were being constantly interrupted by blasts from the quadruple horns, and on each occasion we had to break off our conversation until the din subsided.

“Would you like me to have a look at it?” I asked.

“Can if you like,” he said. “I’m at the end of my tether. Tommy’s not here, I suppose?”

“No, sorry.”

I got into the cab and discovered that it was just as noisy in there, what with the refrigerator unit throbbing away and the chimes sounding repeatedly overhead. There was a control switch on the dashboard, below which a number of coloured wires protruded. I tried swapping some of them around, but only succeeded in making the lights inside the plastic cornet start flashing on and off. I put the wires back how I’d found them and got out. Then I proposed that we went into the shed for a bit of peace and quiet.

“Your name’s not Snaithe, is it?” I enquired when we got inside.

“No,” he said. “It’s Deakin.”

“That’s what I thought. So who’s Snaithe then?”

“He’s the man who owned the ice-cream factory at Wainskill.”

“Oh,” I said. “I didn’t know there was one there.”

“Well he’s been bought out by the wholesalers now, but they kept the name.”

“So how come you’re driving that van then?”

Deakin shook his head. “Don’t even ask.”

“Oh, OK.”

“Well, I’ll tell you if you want.” He glanced round at the upturned boats, and sat down on the nearest one before continuing. “That ice-cream van used to come here during holiday time and do good business. There was always a queue of campers wanting cornets and wafers. And lollies. Bit of a gold mine, it was. When Snaithe sold up he kept the franchise separate and offered it to Tommy with the van included. Tommy snapped it up, of course, but then he persuaded me to take it over.”

“But you’re too busy doing your milk round, aren’t you?”

“That’s what I told him, but he insisted I could do the ice-cream as well, in my spare time.”

At that moment Deakin was interrupted from outside by a chorus of ‘Half a pound of treacle’.

“Why didn’t you just say no?” I asked, when it was over.

Deakin sighed and shook his head again. “Tommy made it sound like a good idea. I ended up trading in my lorry for the pick-up and the van.”

“Is that the lorry over at Bryan Webb’s?”

“That’s the one.”

“Any cash involved?”

“No, it was a mutually beneficial agreement. But that’s what I want to see Tommy about. I was only supposed to be taking the van on trial, but I seem to be stuck with it now.”

“Didn’t you like selling ice-creams then?”

“It was so busy I was worn to a frazzle!” said Deakin. “Then the season ended and it went dead.”

“Yes, I suppose it would.”

“So I’ve decided against it. The van’s no use for anything else and I want to give it back.”

“Well, why don’t you?”

“Cos I can never catch Tommy.”

An air of gloom and despondency had begun to descend upon Deakin. He sat on the boat rubbing the palms of his hands over the sanded-down paintwork in an agitated manner. As a result they gradually turned maroon. When he noticed this a look of dismay crossed his face, and I had to resist an urge to put my arm round his shoulder and say, “There, there.”

Instead, I offered him a cloth to wipe his hands on, followed by tea and biscuits in the bothy.

“If you take my advice,” I said, while we waited for the kettle to boil, “you’ll have a word with Tommy next time you see him.”

“Yes,” said Deakin. “I must come and get it sorted out.”

“Don’t put it off any longer than necessary.”

“No, you’re right.”

“By the way, I ought to settle up with you for my milk.”

“Don’t worry about that,” he said. “There’s plenty of time.”

Now that he’d got the matter of the ice-cream van off his chest Deakin seemed to perk up a bit. By the time I’d served him a cup of tea with some biscuits he was beginning to return to normal. Then his eyes fell on the new copy of the Trader’s Gazette .

“Ooh yes,” he said. “There’s something in here I must show you.”

He reached over and began leafing through until he found the page he wanted. It came as no surprise when he showed me the item advertising ‘CIRCULAR SAW WITH MAN FOR HIRE’.

“That’s you,” he announced.

“Yes,” I replied. “I thought it must be.”

“Hasn’t Tommy mentioned it then?”

“Not directly, no.”

“Well,” said Deakin. “He hires you out for so much an hour, and pays you so much an hour, and the difference is his profit.”

“Does that include wear and tear?”

“Er…no. Wear and tear would be a separate calculation.”

“Oh, right,” I said. “Have you any idea what his hourly rate is?”

“No, sorry.”

“Well, what did he pay you?”

“When?”

“When you helped him build the shed.”

“Nothing.”

“What!”

“The thing is,” he said, “Tommy doesn’t like parting with cash. Not if he can help it.”

“No, I’ve noticed.”

“But I dare say I got something or other for my trouble.”

“You mean payment in kind?”

“Sort of, yes.” Deakin rose to his feet. “Anyway, thanks for the tea and biscuits, but I must get a move on. I’ve got some homogenized milk in the refrigerator. Special delivery.”

“Where to?”

“It’s for Bryan Webb’s Uncle Rupert. He’s always there on Wednesdays.”

Not long after that Deakin was on his way. I went out into the yard and stood watching as he descended the concrete road in his surplus ice-cream van. Then I heard the clarion call of ‘Half a pound of treacle’, and he was gone.

♦

That night I began my two-week sentence at the Ring of Bells. Two weeks of sitting in a pub with no women, no darts and no Topham’s Excelsior Bitter wasn’t very appealing, so I put it off until about quarter to ten. Prior to that I passed a couple of hours drawing up plans for the mooring raft and wondering why I’d talked myself into building the thing. The truth was that although I knew what it was supposed to look like, I had no actual experience of putting one together. Only after I’d messed about with a pencil and paper for half the evening did I come up with a suitable ‘design’. Then, when I’d run out of things to do, I went out.

The Ring of Bells seemed even quieter now than it had done during my previous visit. The same people sat in the same places and stared at their drinks, while the landlord (whose name, apparently, was Cyril) stood behind the counter and polished glasses. The conversation was at best desultory. Occasionally someone would make a remark about the weather, or mention whom they’d seen during the day, but most of the talk was less interesting than that. Hodge was present, of course, occupying one of the stools near the counter. He nodded when I walked in and I nodded back, and it struck me, not for the first time, that our relationship was an odd one. I’d been regularly phoning in with my grocery orders for quite a while now, and receiving invoices which I hadn’t paid yet. I was sure it was Hodge who answered when I rang, but he never acknowledged the fact and I never identified myself either. I just asked for the groceries to be delivered to the bothy. If Hodge knew it was me, then he didn’t let on. For my part, I had no idea when I was supposed to settle the invoice. Nothing was ever said, and we just sat side by side drinking and having little to do with one another.