Three to See the King

6

Pulling my boots on, I went outside to greet my guests formally. Steve was now standing about six feet from the house with a surprised look on his face.

‘Made you jump, did I?’ I asked.

‘Yes,’ he replied.

‘Well, why can’t you just knock on the door like normal people?’

‘I was trying to wake you gradually, by degrees.’

‘It’s a tried and tested technique,’ added Philip.

Each of them was wearing an identical heavy coat, but all the same I could see they were both quite chilly.

‘I’ve got a good mind not to invite you in,’ I remarked. ‘Now don’t forget to wipe your feet.’

‘Is that the latest rule then?’ asked Steve.

‘Yes,’ I said. ‘There’s a whole new regime here.’

I hadn’t seen either Steve or Philip for quite a while, and it was good to renew the acquaintanceship. What seemed surprising, though, was the fact of their turning up together. I vaguely recalled Simon Painter mentioning that they’d become friends, but to tell the truth I’d thought this was just wishful thinking, as it fitted perfectly into his scheme for everybody to be friendly with everyone else. The thing I least expected was a joint visit from two individuals I regarded very much as ‘loners’.

Besides, it had always struck me that Steve was the sort of person who’d tax anyone’s patience after a while. He had his own way of doing everything, even down to announcing his arrival at my house. Frankly, I was quite astonished that Philip could tolerate being with him. Yet here they were going about together like a couple of lifelong pals. Even their coats were identical.

The reason the drumming sound had seemed familiar, of course, was because I’d previously heard it at Steve’s house. He found it almost impossible to sit still, so he would pass the minutes by drumming with his fingers on the table, or whatever other surface happened to be nearby. The last time I’d been to see him was to collect some sugar he’d borrowed some months earlier and hadn’t returned. He insisted that I stayed for a while, then subsequently drove me half-mad with this incessant drumming.

When he wasn’t doing that he was rushing round making so-called improvements to his house. It was similar to mine in many respects, built entirely from tin, yet for some reason he was never quite satisfied with it. As a consequence, there was always some half-finished job under way: shutters on and off their hinges; the chimney lengthened or shortened; the stairs rebuilt. On the occasion of that last visit he’d been engaged in fixing a weathercock on the roof, a task with which I somehow became involved. I lost count of how many times I had to hold his ladder while he went up to make adjustments, but at the end of the day he still wasn’t happy with the result.

Another thing I remembered about Steve was that he tended to leave his door open for long periods, which allowed masses of sand to be blown inside his house. He didn’t seem the slightest bit bothered by this and traipsed it all around the place. I knew very well that Mary Petrie would frown on such carelessness, so as soon as he arrived I made a mental note to keep an eye on him.

Philip, on the other hand, was much more of a stalwart figure who could be trusted to leave doors firmly closed. On the few occasions I’d been to his house, everything had been battened down securely against inclement weather. He had never struck me as the type who would be easily given to running round on half-baked schemes of the sort favoured by Steve. Nonetheless, the two of them seemed to get on very well together, so I didn’t question their friendship.

As they sat there at the table, with Steve already beginning to drum his fingers, I wondered what they’d come over for. Neither of them owed me anything, nor I them, and as far as I knew they weren’t in the habit of making calls just for the sake of saying hello. That was much more in Simon Painter’s line than theirs. The only other motive I could think of for the visit was that they wanted some sort of favour. I decided, therefore, that the best course of action was to make breakfast, and let them choose their moment.

‘House is looking good,’ remarked Philip, as he peered around the interior.

‘Yes,’ I replied. ‘I try to keep it ship-shape.’

‘Hmm hmm,’ he murmured.

‘Probably be giving it a good spring-clean once this wind’s dropped.’

‘Hmm.’

He wasn’t the most talkative of people.

‘How’s your place these days?’ I asked.

‘Same as ever,’ he answered.

‘Tell him about your new weathercock,’ suggested Steve.

‘Oh, yes,’ said Philip. ‘I’ve got a new weathercock.’

For a second I thought he might expand on the subject, but instead he merely fell silent. Meanwhile his companion continued drumming on the table top. A violent gust of wind made the whole house creak, which in turn caused both of them instantly to glance towards the stairway. Then they looked expectantly in my direction, and I realized all at once why they’d come.

‘Everything alright?’ I asked, smiling.

‘Yes, yes,’ replied Steve. ‘Fine.’

‘OK then,’ I said. ‘I’ll start breakfast. Make yourselves at home.’

‘Thanks.’

The preparations took about twenty minutes, during which time soft footsteps could be heard moving around on the upper floor. However, I gave no sign of having noticed them.

When breakfast was almost ready I said, quite casually, ‘Would one of you mind laying the table?’

‘I’ll do it,’ said Steve, practically leaping to his feet.

He went and got some cutlery out of the drawer, and there then followed a long pause.

‘How many places shall I set?’ he asked at length.

‘Three of course,’ I replied. ‘Why?’

‘Is there no one else joining us then?’

‘Don’t know,’ I said.

‘Oh … er, right.’

‘I suppose you could lay an extra one if you want to, though, just in case.’

‘OK then.’

He busied himself around the table and finished laying it in seconds. Then I served up breakfast and the three of us began to eat.

‘You never can tell,’ I remarked, nodding towards the empty place. ‘Sometimes she does, sometimes she doesn’t.’

As I finished the sentence I noticed that my two guests’ eyes had suddenly swivelled towards the stairs, and next thing Mary Petrie had come down.

‘Aha,’ I said. ‘Here’s a nice surprise.’

Without saying a word she passed behind my seat and slapped me hard on the back of the head. Then, in the stunned silence that followed, she poured herself a coffee and went back upstairs.

‘Friend of yours?’ asked Steve, keeping his voice low.

‘Yes,’ I replied, equally quietly. ‘She’s been here a few months now.’

That’s what we heard.’

‘From Simon Painter?’

‘Yes,’ he said. ‘Does she do that often?’

‘No,’ I said. ‘First time.’

‘Well, I wouldn’t stand for it.’

‘Wouldn’t you?’

‘No, I certainly would not.’

‘Nor me,’ said Philip.

I looked at these two men sitting at my table: these two men who’d each spent the last few years living alone in a house of tin, and I realized that they knew even less about women than I did.

‘Tell you what,’ I said. ‘Help yourselves to more coffee, and I’ll go up and sort this out.’

‘Alright,’ answered Steve. ‘But take care.’

When I got upstairs Mary Petrie was sitting on the bed leafing through one of her books. She kept these in her trunk because I hadn’t got round to putting up a shelf yet.

‘It’s Steve Treacle and Philip Sibling,’ I said.

‘So I gather,’ she replied, without looking up.

‘Don’t you want to meet them?’

‘Why should I?’

‘Cos they’ve come especially to see you.’

‘I don’t care!’ she snapped. ‘I’m not here for display purposes you know!’

‘Shush!’ I whispered. ‘They’ll hear you.’

‘Don’t shush me! They shouldn’t have banged on the wall with that hammer.’

‘No, that wasn’t them.’

‘What!?’

Just then the door was heard to open, and two pairs of feet trooped outside before it closed again.

‘It was me who banged on the wall,’ I explained. ‘I was teaching Steve a lesson for waking us up.’

‘Well, you’re as stupid as he is then.’

Her tone had softened slightly.

‘Are you going to come down and see them?’ I tried.

‘No,’ she said. ‘I’m not in the mood.’

‘They’ll be ever so disappointed.’

‘Tell them to come back another time, and knock on the door properly.’

‘OK.’

I dashed downstairs to intercept them, thinking they might have taken offence and left. When I got outside, however, Steve was busy shovelling sand while Philip stood watching.

‘Sorry about that,’ I said. ‘It’s sorted out now.’

‘Hmm hmm,’ murmured Philip.

‘She says you’re welcome to come and see us, but it’s a bit inconvenient today, if you don’t mind.’

‘No, no,’ said Steve. That’s fine. I’ll just finish clearing this sand, then we’ll be getting off.’

‘Well, I can do the sand myself,’ I said. ‘Don’t worry about it.’

‘It’s no problem,’ he replied. ‘Just you relax, and I’ll have it done in no time.’

The pair of them returned a week later, and this time they came bearing gifts. Arriving at a civilized hour in the middle of the morning, they knocked gently on the door and waited to be invited in.

The gifts, they seemed to think, were the reason Mary Petrie gave them a friendly welcome, enquired about their health, and asked them to take a seat at the table. Little did they know that I’d spent the intervening days convincing her that they were two of the finest fellows I had ever known, and that therefore she shouldn’t treat them too harshly. They had no idea of the continual praise I’d heaped upon them, and the way I’d kept her entertained with hilarious stories of their various exploits. Gradually she had warmed to them, by proxy, and when I’d reminded her that they both wore identical coats she’d said she thought they sounded ‘quite sweet’. As a matter of fact, she finally conceded, she was rather looking forward to seeing them again. The gifts, if they’d known the truth, were merely icing on a cake I’d already made.

To my dismay we received a clock from Philip, while Steve presented us with a weathercock. This was similar to the one on top of his own house, and a little later he went outside to see if he could recommend a good place to fix it. Philip accompanied him.

‘I don’t want a weathercock,’ I said, once they were out of earshot. ‘I’ve lived here long enough to know which way the wind’s blowing without having to look. It’s west-southwest most of the time and hardly ever varies. What do I need with a weathercock when there’s a prevailing wind?’

‘Well, I think it’s very kind of him,’ replied Mary Petrie. ‘And a clock from Philip!’

That’s even worse.’

‘Why?’

‘You know I don’t like clocks.’

‘Oh don’t start that again,’ she said. ‘Look, you asked me to be nice to them, and I’m trying to be, but now you’re being rude about their presents. Snap out of it, why don’t you?’

‘Well, why do people always bring these things that are supposed to be useful but in fact aren’t?’

‘I don’t know,’ she answered. They’re your friends.’

Just then we heard the sound of feet tramping about overhead.

‘Great,’ I said. They’re on the roof now.’

This was just the sort of behaviour I’d been hoping they would avoid, at least on their first official visit. I’d have thought it was obvious from the previous week that they had to be careful what they did, yet here they were clambering around above us within half an hour of arriving! I suppose it was the consequence of living alone for so many years. Steve and Philip were both free to do more or less what they wanted in their own homes, and had no concept of the sort of domestic life that I was slowly getting used to. If they carried on like this much longer they were likely to make themselves less than welcome.

‘That’s what I’ve noticed about your friends,’ said Mary Petrie. ‘For some reason they all like going up on our roof.’

This was the first time I’d heard her refer to the roof as ‘ours’.

‘Well, I hope they don’t leave any dents up there,’ I remarked. ‘It’s not for walking about on.’

We went outside and saw our two guests perched high up and not looking particularly safe.

‘What are you doing up there?’ I asked, in the friendliest tone I could muster.

‘Just reconnoitring really,’ replied Steve. ‘There’s a good few fixing places: we’re trying to find the best one.’

‘Be careful, won’t you!’ called Mary Petrie.

I had to admit she was going out of her way to be agreeable towards them. She appeared genuinely concerned as the two intrepids helped each other down over the eaves, found footholds on the shutters, then finally dropped to the ground.

‘We’ll need a ladder to do the job properly,’ said Philip. ‘Have you got one?’

‘No,’ I replied. ”Fraid not.’

‘You’ll have been up on the roof before though, surely?’

‘Actually, no I haven’t.’

‘Never been on the roof?’ He looked quite surprised.

‘No.’

‘So you didn’t know you could see Simon Painter’s house from up there?’

‘Oh, yes,’ I said. ‘I knew that: he told me.’

‘You can hear his bell jangling sometimes too,’ added Mary Petrie.

‘Pity no one heard his cries for help,’ said Steve. ‘You know he was blocked in by the sand for five days?’

‘Was he?’

‘Yes, if we hadn’t rescued him he’d still be there now.’

‘Blimey, I didn’t know that.’

‘Poor Simon!’ said Mary Petrie. ‘As if he hasn’t got enough worries.’

I looked at her and wondered what these other worries were supposed to be. As far as I was concerned it wasn’t ‘Poor Simon!’ but ‘I told you so!’

I’d said all along that his door opened the wrong way and he was going to get blocked in if he wasn’t careful, but no one would listen. I was even barred from discussing the subject in my own house! Now, however, everyone was standing round sympathizing with Simon as though his fate-was completely out of his hands.