Читать книгу Mr Doubler Begins Again - Seni Glaister - Страница 12

Chapter 6

A heavy bank of cloud planted itself above the farm and rained relentlessly on Doubler’s misery. The newly furrowed soil, dense and sticky, collected on his boots as he trudged round the fields, making each step heavier than the last. There was no glimmer of reprieve to suggest that this new pattern would ever be broken. Alone with the mud and his memories, Doubler had found the last few days intolerable, and by the end of the fourth, he was thinking of Mrs Millwood with rising resentment. His days had lost form and he found himself quite unable to fall into his usual routine without the additional punctuation Mrs Millwood’s visits usually provided, and he blamed her for this interruption to his routine and his ensuing aimlessness. He started many jobs but finished few, and even those tasks that were essential felt lacklustre and without purpose. He pulled himself begrudgingly around the farm, but even this, one of his most joyous of routines, lacked urgency with no lunch companion to hurry home to.

The threat from Peele had paled into insignificance. Doubler wondered now why he’d even concerned himself with the written letters. Peele wanted to buy the farm; Doubler didn’t want to sell it. That, as far as Doubler was concerned, was the end of the matter. He put the envelopes back in the drawer and buried them beneath a pile of paperwork. Peele would grow tired of waiting and turn his attention to some other prey. Doubler’s research either would or would not be contaminated by Peele’s farming methods. It didn’t feel important anymore.

That morning, he had wondered whether he might stay in bed. If he didn’t go downstairs, nothing would need tidying up and he then wouldn’t be constantly reminded of her absence. He wasn’t sad, he was irritable, and he wasn’t concerned for her, he was overwhelmingly concerned for himself. Self-pity washed over him in waves, and as his mood darkened, he felt less and less inclined to give the day any of his attention.

When he finally dragged himself slowly downstairs, he’d found the tea caddy was empty. Briefly confused, he realized he didn’t know what day of the week it was. He hastily made a new blend, carelessly tipping tea from each bag into the canister without weighing it and sweeping a mix of spilt leaves back into the first package he reached for. He took a sip and chided himself for his haste. It didn’t taste right and he knew it never would unless he started afresh.

He left his tea unfinished and reluctantly forced himself out into the cold and damp morning, not stopping for a coat or hat. The wind burnt his ears and squeezed tears from his eyes as he made a cursory inspection of the bare land. He glanced at the barns, looking for signs of breach, and as he returned to the farmhouse, he stopped to glower briefly at the security camera. A bilious anger rumbling deep inside him, he flung open the kitchen door and pulled off his boots, pushing them forcefully with his toe under the boot rack. He made his way upstairs, now certain that his bed was the only place he could feel comfortable. As he reached the top landing, the phone rang in the hallway beneath him. Doubler grimaced, interpreting the intrusion as part of a conspiracy to ruin his life. The phone didn’t stop. He turned round and padded down to the draughty hall below, where the telephone vibrated noisily on the small table.

His bad humour prepared Doubler for the worst and he was almost relishing the thought that it might be Peele calling him. As he reached for the telephone, he was already lining up a suitably sharp response, if it indeed were his rival having the audacity to disturb this precious time of quiet self-loathing. There was a small, disconcerting pause when Doubler lifted the receiver to his ear and into that pause swept a hesitation and uncertainty that Doubler felt echoing within the tiny space. He held the receiver more closely to his ear so that he didn’t miss the unspoken words while he waited for the spoken ones.

‘Mr Doubler. Where on earth were you? I timed my call in the certain knowledge you’d be in for your tea, but you took an age to answer the phone. I thought something might have gone awry.’

‘Awry here, Mrs Millwood? No, all is quite in order, thank you,’ boomed Doubler, projecting his voice in the general direction of the hospital. His response was immediately cheerful, all traces of that earlier hesitation vanishing at the sound of her voice. He squeezed the receiver to his ear even closer but wanted, really, to hold it to his heart, as, much to his surprise, that was the piece of him that most wanted to hear her voice.

‘How are you keeping?’ she was asking.

‘Me? How am I keeping? How are you keeping? That’s the pertinent question.’

‘Oh, not too bad, all things considered. I was supposed to be home, but the doctors, in their wisdom, want to keep me here. Some nonsense about my response to the treatment, when any fool could see it’s my body’s response to hospital that’s the root of the problem. My next few days are therefore a little unpredictable, but everything is going as well as can be expected.’ She paused and then launched into the reason for her call. ‘Mr Doubler, I’ve got some worries on my mind and Midge seemed to think you might help.’

Midge! Doubler repeated silently to himself and then, in joyful recognition, Mrs Millwood’s daughter! He congratulated himself on piecing this together for himself.

‘Midge, your daughter. Well, of course I would be delighted. Anything.’

‘Well, I’m a bit worried about my colleagues down at Grove Farm – you know, the animal shelter. I’ve left them in the lurch and I need my shift covered. Do you think you could manage it? It’s only a couple of hours twice a week, and I’m sure they’ll already be looking out for a more permanent replacement, but I think they’ll be struggling for staff for the next month or so.’

Doubler’s heart lurched, recognizing the threat in the words before his mind had a chance to process them.

‘What do you mean by a “permanent” replacement, Mrs Millwood? You’re coming back to us, aren’t you? I mean to the animal shelter and to Mirth Farm?’

‘Oh, heavens, yes, but you know what these doctors are like. Once they’ve got their claws into you, they never want to let you go.’

Claws. All Doubler could picture were sharp-taloned fingers prying and poking, tearing at Mrs Millwood while she was at her most vulnerable. Those same claws should be attacking the monster with teeth, not Mrs Millwood herself.

‘But it’s all going according to plan, is it? A bit of treatment in the hospital your daughter said, then you’ll be an outpatient. Is that still the plan? Home soon, right as rain?’

‘Well, that’s certainly my plan, but we’ll have to wait and see. I don’t want to promise anything as I don’t like letting people down. I just want to make sure there’s cover for me down at the shelter. I really don’t want the added responsibility of worrying about them when I’ve got quite enough to worry about here.’

‘What’s troubling you the most there? Other than . . . the obvious.’

‘Oh, they’re wonderful here – I’m in great hands – but I’m parched most of the time and that blessed tea trolley taunts me. I can hear it as it makes its journey round the place. It’s got a distinctive rattle. I swear it accelerates past me several times a day, only to slow right down again the minute it’s snuck by my ward.’

Doubler beamed.

Mrs Millwood continued, ‘I lie here dreaming of a cuppa, but it’s running me a bit of a merry dance, to be honest.’ Mrs Millwood paused. ‘Mr Doubler,’ she said sternly, ‘I can hear you smiling. It’s really not funny.’

Doubler bit his lip, trying not to let his joy escape noisily at the sound of her voice.

‘You know the worst of it? If I’m sleeping when they come, they don’t wake me! So I have to lie permanently alert just in case they pop their heads round the curtain. Sod’s Law says I’ll drift off or just close my eyes in a little daydream and that trolley is hotfooting it to the next ward. Practically mocking me it is.’

‘Oh, Mrs Millwood! That sounds like my idea of hell. Tea needs to be on demand.’

‘I’m lucky if I get three cups a day.’

‘Three? Only three? That sounds like a travesty!’

‘Quite. But other than that, no complaints. Shouldn’t even complain about that really – what with them working flat out to save my life.’

‘Your life, Mrs Millwood, shall be saved. By a combination of advanced medical techniques and Camellia sinensis. And if there are shortcomings in that area, just say the word and I’ll be there.’

‘Well, that’s a cheering thought, but my main concern is the shelter. Particularly darling old Percy. Would you be a dear?’

‘It would be my honour. I’ll give them a holler, shall I? Percy, is it?’ Doubler registered with a stealthy hostility the use of the word ‘darling’.

‘Oh, heavens, no. Fat lot of good that’ll do you. Speak to Colonel Maxwell – he’ll be the one sorting the schedules out. He’s not officially in charge, but he doesn’t really know any other way. If he were a woman, he’d be called bossy, but he’s not a woman, so I guess he’s just called a natural leader.’

‘Mrs Millwood?’

‘Oh, sorry, Mr Doubler. Was I ranting?’

‘No. No, not at all. At least, you were beginning to, but I like it. Rant away. That’s all.’

‘Has something got into you? Are you coping all right? You sound uncommonly cheerful.’

‘I’m coping just fine. I’ve been a little out of sorts, but I’m feeling very much improved.’

‘Good, good. Don’t forget to call Colonel Maxwell, will you? I’ll check in with you in a few days’ time, shall I?’

‘Marvellous, yes, do. Cheerio, then.’

Doubler held the receiver to his ear for a while listening to the conclusive hollow echo before replacing the receiver carefully with a smile, and he continued to smile as he went in search of a recent copy of the Yellow Pages. ‘This is meant to be!’ he exclaimed joyfully as he lugged the heavy book from the back of a cupboard. ‘Julian will have the fright of his life!’ Doubler said delightedly, plopping the thick volume down on the kitchen table. Grinning impishly, he flicked through the thin leaves until he found the number for the shelter, listed as Grove Farm Animal Rescue Centre. He drew a careful red line round it and wrote the name ‘Maxwell’ neatly in the margin. He carried the book back to the hall and positioned himself by the phone, a pen in his hand should he need to make any notes.

He stared at the phone and imagined himself making the call. The smile that had been on his face since he’d first heard Mrs Millwood’s voice began to fade.

The minutes ticked painfully by, and the longer he stared at the phone, the less able he was to recall his previous sense of purpose. He frowned a little, thinking about who might answer. Would it be Maxwell himself or another of Mrs Millwood’s circle of friends? Would darling Percy answer the phone? This unimaginable cast of characters must indeed be good friends for her to be worrying about them while she was undergoing unspeakable procedures in that place.

He imagined lifting the receiver and dialling the number. In Doubler’s head, the abrasive shriek of the telephone would puncture a room full of laughter. The receiver would be picked up with impatience. Doubler would have to explain himself to a stranger and then to Maxwell, a natural leader no less, who would be compelled to ask what on earth Doubler could offer them. They were a close-knit circle of friends with years of animal care under their belts, and he was a nobody. He didn’t even have a goldfish; he’d only ever cared for potatoes . . . and Marie. And look what had happened to her.

Doubler folded the corner of the page in a neat triangle and returned the book to where he’d found it. He made his way slowly back to the kitchen wondering why he had felt so alive just a moment before. He lifted the lid on the tea caddy, inhaled deeply, frowned and closed the lid again, shaking his head. He studied his potatoes in silence, but finding no answer there, he returned to his seat by the window, raised the binoculars to his eyes and fixed his attention on the driveway with renewed anxiety.