Magnus Mills: All Quiet on the Orient Express

A man wearing a brown linen coat got out.

“Oh,” he said, looking at the gate. “Tommy’s got you doing this, has he?”

“Yeah,” I replied, without stopping work.

“Well, it probably needed doing then.”

“Yes.”

“You’re best painting the outside first and the middle’ll look after itself.”

“That’s what I’m doing,” I said.

He cocked his head sideways and peered along the gate.

“Yes, you’re right,” he said. “You are.”

At this time I happened to be working with the gate half open and half closed, so that I could get at both sides easily. The man now came round the end of the gate and stood beside me, observing.

“Well,” he said at length. “You seem to be very handy with a paintbrush.”

“Thanks,” I replied.

“I’ll just put this a bit nearer. By the way, is Tommy in?”

“No,” I said. “He went out earlier.”

“Did he say when he was coming back?”

“No.”

“It’s just that there’s something I ought to see him about really.”

“Oh yes?”

“Nothing very important, but I’ve got to see him sometime.”

“OK,” I said. “Shall I tell him you came?”

“No, I shouldn’t bother,” he replied. “It’ll keep.”

“Right.”

He fell silent for a moment, and when I looked up I saw he was gazing across at my tent. I’d been crouched down painting for quite a while now, so I stood upright to give my knees a rest.

“Camping here, are you?” he asked.

“Yes, just for a few days.”

“Do you want milk delivered then?”

“It wouldn’t be worth your while, would it?”

“I don’t mind delivering to tents.”

“Well, I’ve been getting milk from the shop actually.”

“What, Hodge?”

“Yes,” I said. “That’s the one.”

“But he only does it in cartons. Mine’s in bottles, straight from the dairy.”

“Oh, right. Er…the thing is, I won’t be here much longer.”

“Oh,” he said. “I see.”

“Thanks anyway.”

“That’s alright. If you change your mind, just let me know.”

“Right.”

“I’d best be off now.”

“OK then. Bye.”

“Bye.”

He went back to his truck, then drove off after giving me a wave, and I resumed my painting. I now had only one short section left to do, so I swung the gate round to leave it hooked in the ‘open’ position. As I did so it caught the tin and knocked it flat, spilling green paint over the concrete. I cursed and quickly grabbed the tin to put it upright again, then set about trying to transfer as much of the lost contents onto the gate as possible. At the same time I pondered how the accident had happened. All afternoon I’d been very careful about where I put the tin in order to avoid this very thing. Now, despite my efforts, there was paint spread everywhere. Then I recalled the words of the dairyman when he said, “I’ll just put this a bit nearer.” I hadn’t really taken any notice of what he was doing, but he must have moved the tin. I was sure he didn’t put it where it would get knocked over on purpose, but nonetheless he shouldn’t have interfered. I got the gate finished as soon as I could, and then turned my attention to the mess on the ground. There was a bright green splodge more than a yard long across the concrete, and it looked terrible.

I couldn’t leave it like that, not right in the middle of Mr Parker’s front entrance. So after some consideration I decided to paint it into a square. I marked out the shape with a piece of chalky stone, using one of my tent poles to get a straight line. Then carefully I began filling it in. By the time I’d finished doing this the gate was touch dry. I stood looking at the new green square and wondered if I’d done the right thing or not. Still, it was too late to worry now. After I’d cleaned the paintbrush I went and made a cup of tea. It struck me that I’d not eaten for several hours, so I prepared a pan of beans as well. Finally, I sat down for a rest.

About twenty minutes later the blue minibus I’d seen in the morning drew up outside the front entrance. My watch now said four o’clock. I saw the schoolgirl get out of the vehicle, wave to someone inside as it drove away, and then walk up the concrete road towards the house. This time she took no notice of me at all. After she’d gone I went across to the gate to see if she’d left any footmarks on the green square.

She hadn’t.

Night was falling when I saw a pair of headlights come along the public road and turn into the gateway. I could just make out the outline of Mr Parker’s pick-up truck and trailer, which seemed to be loaded with something bulky. As the lights flashed up the hill, I got my towel and went over to the shower block. There was an orange-coloured lamp mounted above the men’s entrance, and I allowed its dull glow to guide me through the darkness. During the last few days I’d got used to passing between dimly lit tents in which muffled conversations were being held. Tonight, though, there was only me in the entire field, walking silent and barefoot across the grass. I entered the block and was at once dazzled by a powerful fluorescent light set above the wash basins. It shone on the white tiles and the whitewashed walls, making the place seem very stark and bare. When my eyes had become accustomed to the brightness I chose a shower cubicle and turned the tap on. Oddly enough I discovered it was already fully open, but there was no water coming out. I tried the tap in the next cubicle and it was the same. I was just about to test a third one when for some reason all the showers came on together. The water seemed quite warm so I got under one of them straightaway and began applying some soap. It wasn’t as steaming hot as it had been on previous occasions, but it would do for a quick splash. Half a minute later, however, the water ran cold so I quickly rinsed the lather off and came out again. I was standing there wondering what had happened when the schoolgirl walked into the shower block carrying a mop.

“Have I interrupted?” she asked.

“No, it’s OK,” I replied. “I’ve just finished.”

“Well, will you be wanting another shower at all?”

“Er…not today, no. Thanks.”

“What about tomorrow?”

“Oh yes, I’d like one in the morning.”

“It’s just that we’ll be turning the water off at nights now.”

“Why’s that then?”

“In case there’s a sudden frost.”

“It gets that cold, does it?”

“It might do,” she said. “And there’s a lot of exposed piping.”

“Oh,” I said. “Well, what will I do about a shower?”

“I’ll have to show you how to turn it on and off.”

All the showers were still going at full force as we were talking, so we had to raise our voices a little to make ourselves heard. I stood with the towel wrapped around my waist while this young girl explained the plumbing system.

She started by pointing into the cubicle. “All you do is leave the shower taps turned fully on. You needn’t touch them at all. Then if you’ll just follow me.” She led the way out of the men’s block, through the darkness outside and back into the empty ladies’ section. The layout here was just the same as in the men’s, except that there were more mirrors. All the ladies’ showers were going at full belt as well.

“This big tap here is the stopcock for the main supply,” she continued. “So you open it up before you have your shower and shut it off after.”

“Open before and shut after,” I repeated. “Right.”

“And the other red tap down the bottom is for draining the entire system out. So you close it first, and open it after.”