All Quiet on the Orient Express

Three

I could hear an engine running in the darkness.

“Just a sec,” I said, searching for my boots and pulling them on quickly.

When I came out I saw the pick-up truck parked nearby, headlights blazing. Mr Parker had already returned to the driving seat, so I went over and he spoke through the window.

“I’ve just been down to the lake and there’s no sign of them. We’ll have to conduct a search.”

I got in beside him and we headed off towards the lower field, where the gate was unchained and wide open. Shortly afterwards we arrived at the water’s edge. With some relief I found the tender amongst the reeds where I’d left it. I could just make out its dark shape in the moonlight. The string of boats on the mooring, however, had gone.

“Could you row out and have a look for them?” said Mr Parker.

“Er…yeah,” I replied. “Can if you like.”

This didn’t sound like a very good idea to me. After all, the chance of finding seven boats on a lake this size, in the dark, seemed quite small. However, I wanted to appear to be helping in any way I could, so I went along with it. I got my feet wet again as I cast off, but this didn’t seem very important under the circumstances. As I rowed slowly away from the shore I could see Mr Parker’s figure standing on the jetty, looking in my direction. I got to where the mooring buoy should have been and noticed that it, too, had vanished.

“Can you see them?” called Mr Parker.

“Afraid not,” I called back. “Looks like the whole mooring’s gone.”

“Well, could you search further out?”

This whole exercise was beginning to seem very pointless, as I could hardly see where I was going, let alone catch a glimpse of the escaped boats. To make it worse, the water sounded much noisier tonight that it had done during the day. I could hear it bashing against the tender, and I began to wonder how far it would be safe to go. Still, I carried on plodding along for the time being, in order to satisfy Mr Parker that I’d had a good look. As I did so I wondered what he’d been doing down here at this time of night to notice that the boats had gone. I had no idea what time it was, but it must have been well into the small hours. After a while he called me again.

“Can you come in now, please?”

His way of giving orders in the form of a polite request was very effective, and I suddenly realized I’d inadvertently become his servant. Here I was floating about in the darkness at his beck and call, with wet feet, when I should have been fast asleep. I wasn’t unduly bothered about the inconvenience, but all the same I was pleased that he’d at last decided to abandon our search. Now I could go back to bed.

So it was a bit disappointing when I came ashore and he said, “We’ll have to drive round the lake road and see where they’ve gone.”

“Wouldn’t it be better to wait until morning?” I asked.

“Might be too late by then,” he replied. “And I should hate to lose them.”

We got in the pick-up truck and spent the next two hours on a fruitless search. We went first to Millfold, then over the stone bridge and onto the road that ran south along the far side of the lake. Every time we passed anywhere near the shore Mr Parker stopped and I had to jump out and stand at the water’s edge peering into the gloom.

Then I’d get back in and he’d say, “No sign of them?”

“Sorry, no,” I’d reply, and we’d press on.

There was little other conversation. Occasionally we would pass some property and he’d slow down and look in through the gateway, as if expecting to see his boats hidden somewhere within. Finally, we came to the southernmost tip of the lake and he turned back. I thought that would be enough charging about for one night, but when we arrived at the campsite Mr Parker drove down to the jetty again. For a moment I thought he was hoping the boats had come home of their own accord. Instead it seemed that he’d decided to put the tender back in the hut for safekeeping, so we spent another few minutes struggling to get it locked away. Only then did we rest. Mr Parker had certainly taken the loss of his boats seriously, but there didn’t seem to be any suggestion that it was my fault. As far as I could make out the whole mooring must have come adrift from the bed of the lake, and obviously that had nothing to do with me. All the same, I couldn’t help wondering if I was somehow ‘suspected’.

For his part, Mr Parker was being quite friendly. After he’d locked the hut he turned to me and said, “You’d better come up to the house for some breakfast.”

By this time several streaks of light had appeared in the eastern sky, so I guessed it was about six o’clock. I was ready for bed, but a bit of breakfast in a proper kitchen sounded very attractive, so I accepted the offer.

When we pulled up in the yard I saw Mr Parker’s trailer parked by the big shed. It was loaded with a large piece of equipment whose purpose I couldn’t make out in this light.

I was about to ask what it was when the terrace door opened and Gail Parker appeared.

“Found them?” she asked, with some concern in her voice.

“No, we haven’t,” replied her father. “We’ll have to have another look when it’s light enough. Could you rustle up some breakfast for this one?”

“Morning,” I said, with a polite smile, and she smiled back.

“Eggs and coffee be alright?” she asked.

“Yes, fine, thanks.”

I followed the two of them inside to a warm kitchen with a large wooden table. I noticed Mr Parker left his boots on, so I did the same. Then we sat down and I was given breakfast. This was the first time I’d eaten at a table for some while; and I made the most of it, accepting the eggs and coffee with good grace. There wasn’t much talk, but after a while Mr Parker started up a conversation.

“I see your motorbike’s quite an early model,” he remarked.

“Yes,” I replied. “Pre-unit.”

“Had it long?”

“A couple of years, yes.”

“You’ve hardly been out on it the last few days.”

“No,” I said. “Suppose I haven’t.”

“Been too busy with other things.”

“Yes.”

“You can put it in one of the sheds up here if you like.”

“Oh…er…can I?”

“If you like, yes. Then we can keep an eye on it for you.”

“Well thanks anyway, but I’ll be going at the end of the week. Hardly seems worth your trouble.”

“Alright, well, if you change your mind.”

“Thanks.”

He glanced out of the window. “Here’s Deakin.”

For the last few moments I’d been aware of a rattling noise coming up the hill, and next thing a pick-up truck pulled into the yard. Looking out I saw the dairyman leave the vehicle, grab a pint of milk and run up the steps. There was a ‘clunk’ outside the door, and then he was running back down again. After he’d gone I recalled the conversation I’d had with him while painting the gate, about how he needed to ‘see Tommy about something’. I concluded that the matter can’t have been as important as he’d made out.

“Met Deakin, have you?” asked Mr Parker.

“Er…just once,” I replied. “Does he come up here every day?”

“Most days, yes.”

“Oh,” I said. “I didn’t know that.”

“Well, you’re not usually up this early, are you?”

“No, I suppose not.”

“You’re probably still asleep when he goes by.”

At that moment another vehicle pulled up in the yard. This time it was a Post Office van. The driver bobbed up the steps, opened the kitchen door by four inches and slipped the post onto a shelf inside.

“Thank you,” he said, in a sing-song voice, and was gone again in a flash.

“I never realized it got so busy here,” I remarked.

“Yes, there’s always something going on,” said Mr Parker.

“Must be nice having your own postman.”

“Don’t people have their own postmen in the south then?”

“Well, yeah, but they don’t usually have their own van as well.”

“Oh, that’s right,” he said. “They all go around on bicycles, don’t they? With big sacks.”

“Some of them do, yes,” I replied. “But it’s more sort of house-to-house.”

At that moment a telephone rang in the adjoining room, instantly causing Gail to spring from her seat.

“I’ll get it,” she said, darting next door.

A moment later she was back, “Dad, it’s for you.”

Mr Parker went through and picked up the receiver, while Gail sat down again opposite me.

A few moments passed in silence, and then I said, “School today?”

“Yeah,” she replied. “There’s always school.”

“It’s just I noticed you weren’t wearing your uniform.”

“Oh,” she said. “No. I don’t put it on ‘til the last moment.”

She glanced at a clock on the shelf, smiled at me and then disappeared into another room. By this time I’d more or less finished breakfast and so I decided to make a move. I was feeling very tired, and despite all the coffee couldn’t wait to get back to bed. However, it seemed appropriate to thank Mr Parker for his hospitality, so I got up from my seat and stood waiting by the door. I glanced at the items of mail lying on the shelf, and my eye was caught by a postcard depicting the Taj Mahal. It was very tempting to pick it up and read it, but just then Mr Parker came back into the kitchen.

“Well, that’s a good bit of news,” he announced. “The boats have fetched up at Bryan Webb’s place.”

He said ‘Bryan Webb’ as though I was supposed to know who he was.

“Is that the bloke who goes round in a cardboard crown?” I asked.

“Yes, you’ll have seen him in the Packhorse.”

“Plays a lot of darts.”

“Yes, that sounds like Bryan.”

“Well, thanks for the breakfast,” I said. “Very nice.”

He smiled. “Do you want to come over to Bryan’s and help bring the boats back?”

“How long do you think it’ll take?” I asked.

“A couple of hours should see us through.”

After accepting breakfast it would have seemed churlish not to help, so I agreed. Next thing we were out in the yard heading for Mr Parker’s pick-up. We paused to look at the piece of equipment on the trailer. I could now see that it was a circular saw. All the parts were a dull yellow colour, apart from the huge blade, which was quite heavily rusted.

“What do you think of that?” asked Mr Parker.

“Looks useful,” I replied. “Fits on the back of a tractor, does it?”

“That’s right,” he said. “Picked it up yesterday at the auction.” He rubbed a section of metal and the yellow brightened considerably. “Should clean up nicely.”

“What about the rust?”

“We’ll soon work that off. Now we’ll just get the trailer unloaded, then we can get going.”

The circular saw looked far too big for the two of us to lift, but Mr Parker clearly had the matter in hand. He backed the truck over to the trailer, got them hooked together, then went to the big shed and slid open the doors. Next he reversed the whole outfit up the ramp. While he did all this I stood around uselessly, trying not to get in the way. A moment later he beeped his horn, so I walked up the ramp into the shed. The trailer was now neatly positioned under a chain-and-pulley hoist suspended from a roof girder. He’d already got out of the truck and was heaving the circular saw upwards single-handedly, so I rushed over to help. It hardly made any difference as he seemed to be considerably stronger than I was, and next thing the saw was hanging in the air three feet above the trailer.

“Thank you,” said Mr Parker. “We’ll have to get it fixed onto the tractor sometime.”

While he took a moment’s rest I cast a quick glance round the inside of the shed. Apart from a substantial-looking tractor nearby, there was a huge array of other equipment as well, including a collection of tyres and wheels, and some welding gear. Quite of lot of spare parts lay here and there too. From where I stood I could see what looked like the front section of a snow plough, the chassis and controls of a caterpillar vehicle, and a concrete mixer with a dismantled engine. Also a large pile of wooden planks. There was more stuff piled up at the back of the shed, and the whole place had a combined smell of lubricating oil, paint and grease. It reminded me more of a factory warehouse than an agricultural building.

“Got some good tackle here,” I remarked.

“Yes,” said Mr Parker. “It all comes in handy on occasion.”

As the daylight streamed into the shed I saw something gleaming in the far corner. I tried to see what it was, but he was already on the move again.

“Come on,” he said, getting into the pick-up. “We’d better be getting over to Bryan’s.”

I joined him and we set off, leaving the shed doors open. A minute later we arrived at the front gate and turned out onto the road. As we did so I again noticed how bright the green square looked. Mr Parker had fallen silent for the moment, so I decided to start up a conversation to pass the journey.

“Do you ever go to the Packhorse yourself?” I asked.

“Well, I do from time to time,” he said. “Generally try to avoid it though.”

“Why’s that then?”

“Well, I always seem to end up buying everyone else a drink.”

“Oh, right.”

“Costs a fortune some nights.”

“Don’t they ever buy you one back then?”

“Yes, I suppose they do,” he said, after giving the question some thought. “Still costs a fortune though.”

Bryan Webb’s place turned out to be one of the properties we’d passed during our search of the previous night. It was situated on the opposite side of the lake to Mr Parker’s, and appeared to be some kind of farm. As we pulled into the front entrance a pervading smell of sheep confirmed this, although there was no sign of any actual animals. Bryan’s house was only a few yards from the water’s edge. It stood between a number of outbuildings on the one side, and a Dutch barn on the other, in which was parked a flatbed lorry. He emerged from the house when he heard us arrive, wearing his usual cardboard crown. Also a pair of rubber Wellington boots.

“Thought it might be you,” he announced, before nodding in my direction. “I see you’ve got an assistant.”

“Yes,” replied Mr Parker. “He’s been making himself useful the last couple of days.”

“Smart boy wanted,” said Bryan, giving me a wink. “Your boats are along here.”

He led us through a gate to the foreshore. There, pulled up on some shingle, lay the seven rowing boats, still attached to their mooring buoy.

“That was a stroke of luck, you noticing them,” said Mr Parker.

“I’ll say it was,” replied Bryan. “I wouldn’t normally go to the window at that time in the morning, but Deakin had left the wrong milk again and I was looking across the lake to see how far he’d got.”

“What milk did you ask for then?”

“Well, I prefer homogenized Wednesdays. When my uncle has his tea here.”

“Oh yes, how is Rupert?”

“He’s very well, thank you. Been coming over Wednesdays regular and doing a bit of fencing for me. Almost got it all done now.”

“That’s good.”

“So, anyway,” Bryan continued, “I saw Deakin coming down from your place, which meant he’d be going along to Pickthall’s next. Thought I’d give them a ring, ask them to intercept him, so to speak. I was just walking through to the phone when strike me pink there were all these boats bumping against my foreshore. I rushed out and got a rope on them and…well, there you are.”

Telling this story seemed to take its toll out of Bryan and he sat down on one of the boats for a rest. Meanwhile Mr Parker wandered round giving each of them a brief examination. They were all tied one behind the other with a length of mooring line, and when he got to my boat from the day before he gave the knot I’d tied a little pull, as if checking to see if it held. Then he turned to Bryan.

“Well,” he said. “We’d better see about getting the trailer through here. Looks like it’s going to take three or four journeys to get them all back.”

A few minutes later we had the pick-up and trailer parked on the foreshore, and the three of us began loading the first boat. Only then did I discover that the vessels were designed strictly for floating, not carrying. They seemed to weigh about half a ton each. I knew from my own experience that it was easy sliding one of these boats ashore in shallow water. Lifting it bodily onto a trailer was another matter entirely. There was nothing to hold on to except the gunwales, and we had to get each one up a steep grassy bank from the shingle to where the vehicle was. They were a good fifteen feet long or more, and with room only for two at a time on the trailer, I could see a morning of struggle ahead of us. After a lot of cursing and sweating we managed to get the first one loaded, and then we all stood back to review the situation.

“Wouldn’t it be easier just to row them all across?” I suggested.

As soon as I spoke I realized what I’d let myself in for.

Bryan looked at me expectantly, while Mr Parker peered across the lake towards the distant jetty.

“Well, if you’re offering, that would be very kind,” he said at length. “Thank you.”

“Be a nice run-out for you,” commented Bryan. “Expect you were hoping for another trip in a boat, weren’t you?”

“Er…yes,” I replied. “Well, sort of.”

“So you’ll do that for us, will you?” asked Mr Parker.

“Course he will,” said Bryan. “Look at him. He can’t wait to get back out on the water.”

“Yeah,” I said. “That’s fine by me.”

And so it was ‘arranged’ that I would row the six remaining boats across the lake. To tell the truth I didn’t really mind because I’d quite enjoyed my excursion the day before, but I soon began wondering how long it would all take. The plan seemed to be that I would row one boat and take the rest in tow behind me. I had a feeling from the start that this wouldn’t work, but I went along with it all the same. The two of them helped me cast off and I began pulling the oars, only to find I was getting nowhere quickly. Coming ashore again I got my boots wet for the third time in two days, and we then decided I should try it with fewer boats in tow. After a bit of trial and error I ended up taking three across on the first trip.

“Makes sense really,” said Bryan. “Three first journey, three second journey.”

While we were messing around getting boats tied together and untied again, with their oars shipped correctly, I began to get the impression that neither Mr Parker nor Bryan Webb had the slightest idea about boating. I ended up doing most of the organization, and when I asked them to grab hold of the gunwales they didn’t know what I was talking about. Not that I gained any advantage from my superior knowledge, of course. After all, it was me who had to do the work of actually rowing the string of boats across the lake. Finally I left them behind on the shore and set out on my first journey. The weather was nice again, and although the voyage was very slow it was far from being unpleasant. In fact it turned out to be quite enjoyable, what with the impressive scenery and everything. I hadn’t had much sleep overnight, but out here on the water that didn’t seem to matter much. When I got halfway I paused for a rest. Then, as I lolled peacefully in the sunshine, I began pondering Bryan’s remark about my taking ‘another trip in a boat’. I realized he must have seen me out on the lake the previous day, and it struck me that there was very little you could do around here without somebody else knowing about it. As if to confirm this, a movement over at Mr Parker’s place caught my eye. I watched as he arrived home with the pick-up and trailer bearing the single boat we’d loaded. He didn’t bring it down to the jetty, however, and instead took it up towards the big shed, where I lost sight of him. I continued my break for a few more minutes before pressing on. I’d been half expecting him to come and meet me when I arrived, but after a fruitless wait near the shore I decided to tie the boats on to the jetty and go back for the other three. In doing so I quickly came to the conclusion that Bryan’s mathematics were up the creek. It wasn’t just a case of moving three boats on each journey, because I had to use one of them to get back over to the other side. Which meant I’d actually be moving four boats on the next trip. With this in mind I paced myself and took it nice and easy on the way back across. There was no sign of Bryan when I got there, so I gathered up the remaining boats and set off again without having a rest. This turned out to be a mistake. Midway across the lake I started to feel thoroughly worn out. My back was beginning to hurt, and my shoulders ached, not to mention the blisters on my hands. This ferrying of boats backwards and forwards might have started off as quite a pleasant task, but it had now turned into a relentless slog. Still, I could hardly abandon the voyage at such a late stage. The end was almost in sight, so I had no choice but to keep on going. When I finally made it to the shore Mr Parker was standing waiting for me.

“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.

All the talk in the Packhorse that night was about Bryan Webb’s discovery of the missing boats. I heard the story repeated several times during the evening as new people came into the bottom bar and demanded to hear all the details. Over and over again he recounted the events leading up to the first sighting: how he wouldn’t normally be looking out at that time except that Deakin had left the wrong milk again. I noticed that later versions of the story had Bryan wading out to retrieve the boats, rather than just ‘getting a rope on to them’ as he’d described earlier. Still, this was his privilege. The episode had turned him into a minor celebrity for the time being, and he was entitled to embellish the facts if he so wished. After much speculation about how the boats had got away in the first place, general agreement was reached that the mooring chain must have broken. No one could remember when it had last been replaced, if ever.

“There’s been a mooring there for years,” remarked Bryan. “But I’ve no idea when it was first put down.”

“Well, it’s lost now,” said another drinker. “There’ll have to be a new one made.”

A secondary discussion then ensued concerning Deakin, and how he sometimes got the orders wrong. The bar stool at the end of the counter had its usual occupant, and he gave his opinion on the matter.

“Well, if you ask me,” he said, “Deakin’s taken on too much work. He’s bound to make a mistake occasionally.”

“That’s fair enough,” replied Bryan. “But why’s it always my milk he gets wrong?”

This caused a certain amount of laughter around the bar.

“Did you ring Pickthall’s to intercept him?” someone asked.

“I did after I’d got the boats ashore,” said Bryan, “but they told me he’d already been and gone.”

“So what did you do then?”

“I rang the dairy and left him a message. He’s got until midnight to deliver my homogenized or I’m cancelling all future orders.”

There was more laughter, and Bryan strode triumphantly towards the dartboard. Then, as sets of darts were produced for the evening’s play, another buzz went round the pub.

It seemed that Tommy Parker had arrived in the top bar.