Three to See the King

7

We were still talking about Simon Painter that afternoon when we sat down at the table for tea. It transpired in the conversation that he’d decided to call his house ‘Sandfire’, and now had a nameplate fixed to the outer wall.

‘What does he want to name his house for?’ I asked.

‘No particular reason as far as I know,’ replied Steve. ‘I think he just likes the sound of it.’

‘You’ve got to admit it’s a nice name,’ said Mary Petrie.

‘Yes, it is,’ I agreed. ‘But I still can’t see the point of giving a house a name.’

‘I think it’s all due to Michael Hawkins,’ remarked Philip.

‘What’s he got to do with it?’

‘Well, apparently Simon’s been out there several times now, and feels very strongly influenced by Michael.’

Straightaway I felt my hackles rising.

‘What do you mean out there?’ I demanded.

‘Well,’ said Philip with a shrug. ‘Michael lives further out than the rest of us, doesn’t he?’

‘No, he doesn’t!’ I said. ‘We all live a long way out, compared with most people!’

I was aware that my voice had suddenly become louder, and that all three of them were looking at me with startled expressions on their faces. With some effort I spoke more quietly. ‘Anyway, what’s all this about him influencing Simon?’

‘It’s the way Michael lives,’ said Steve. ‘He has this sort of perfect existence, very simple, in a house built entirely from tin, and he passes his time doing many interesting things.’

‘Such as?’

‘For example, he gets up early to watch the sunrise.’

‘You can do that here,’ I said.

‘I know,’ replied Steve. ‘But according to Simon it’s different out there.’

‘He’s thinking of moving house,’ added Philip.

‘What, so he can be nearer to this Michael Hawkins person?’

‘Apparently, yes.’

I sighed and shook my head incredulously.

‘Well, I think it’s good that Simon’s found some sense of purpose at last,’ said Mary Petrie. ‘There’s nothing for him round here.’

‘And what’s wrong with round here exactly?’ I asked.

‘There’s no use telling you,’ she answered. ‘You’d never listen.’

‘I agree with Mary,’ said Steve. ‘Simon would be much happier if he made a new start. He just needs a bit of a push, that’s all.’

‘What sort of push?’

‘You know,’ he said. ‘Encouragement. A step in the right direction.’

I could hardly believe what I was hearing. To my ears, all this talk about ‘influence’ and ‘encouragement’ sounded like nothing short of treason. What had happened, I wondered, to the independent lives we’d all enjoyed until so recently? Hadn’t we been content, living the way we chose here on this bleak and deserted plain? I’d always presumed the answer was yes, but now I wasn’t so certain. Just of late, it seemed, disaffection had arisen amongst us.

I was also bothered by a fact that I’d only vaguely recognized before today, namely, that each of us was beginning to get closely involved with someone else. Rather too closely for my liking. As the four of us sat around the table I suddenly realized that we were no longer three men and a woman discussing the exploits of a mutual friend. Instead, we were two couples analysing his problems. I looked at the clock, newly secured to the wall above our heads, and saw that our future as individuals was ticking irredeemably away.

Meanwhile, there were more mundane matters at hand: the weathercock had to be fixed on the roof. A ladder was clearly required to do the job properly, and so Steve offered to go home and collect his. It was arranged that he and Philip would stay overnight with us, then he’d set off alone early in the morning.

‘You’ll have to sleep downstairs tonight,’ Mary Petrie told me while we were sorting out the spare sheets and blankets.

‘Why’s that?’ I asked.

‘Well,’ she replied. ‘What will those two think of me if I just let you jump into my bed?’

‘What will they think of me if you don’t?’ I protested, but I knew there was no point in arguing. Her mind was made up, and that was that. I had to spend the night sleeping alongside Steve and Philip. True, we were all in separate beds, but nevertheless we were close enough together to be easily mistaken for three sardines in a tin can.

Next morning, very early, I rose and made some coffee while Steve got dressed. Then the two of us sat by the stove, listening to the wind howling outside.

‘Doesn’t sound as if it’s dying off yet,’ he said, in a quiet voice.

‘Well, it never dies altogether,’ I reminded him. ‘It could blow all spring and summer for all we know.’

‘Hope not,’ he replied. ‘Philip and I want to get out and about a bit more this year.’

‘Out and about where?’

‘Well, we thought we might mosey over and see Michael Hawkins for a start.’

‘You as well?’

‘Yes, why not?’

‘No, it’s alright,’ I said. ‘Do as you please.’

‘Have you got something against Michael?’

‘Of course not.’

‘I mean, you ought to give him a chance before you judge him.’

‘Yes, OK,’ I said. ‘You’re probably right.’

Shortly afterwards Steve finished his coffee, put on his coat and left. I went back to bed but for some reason I couldn’t fall asleep again. As the sand scuffed against the outside wall I lay thinking about what he’d said. Maybe I was being a bit unfair on this Michael Hawkins. After all, I’d never even met the man. As daylight came I resolved to try to forget about him and carry on with my own life. Therefore I got dressed, took the shovel and spent an enjoyable couple of hours clearing away the sand. Then I went inside, had breakfast, and waited for Steve’s return.

This must have been round about noon. It was a bit too early for lunch, but as he’d been on the move since before dawn Mary Petrie offered to rustle him up something to eat while Philip and I did the weathercock. This arrangement was all good and well, and should have worked to everyone’s satisfaction had Steve not been such an impetuous person. The trouble was, he considered himself to be something of an expert at erecting weathercocks, having already put up his own and Philip’s. As a result, halfway through his meal he suddenly rushed out of the house to give us some advice. I knew that Mary Petrie wouldn’t have been best pleased about this, but I was hardly entitled to order him back in. Besides, I was fully occupied holding the ladder steady for Philip.

‘It’s got to be dead vertical on its axis!’ Steve shouted. ‘Otherwise it won’t work!’

‘Alright!’ came the reply from the roof. ‘Why don’t you go back in and finish your lunch?’

‘And make sure it can spin freely!’

‘Alright!’

At that moment I noticed Mary Petrie appear in the doorway with an indignant look on her face. I also realized that Steve had left the door wide open. Some sand was already starting to blow into the house, so Mary Petrie took the broom and began tentatively to sweep it away. From my place at the foot of the ladder it still looked as though the day could be saved if Steve would only go back inside and apologize for his absence. Instead, he decided to take command of events, seizing the broom from Mary Petrie and thrusting at the small pile of sand.

‘You’ve obviously never swept up before,’ he said, and instantly her eyes were ablaze.

‘Don’t “obviously” me!’ she cried. ‘I don’t want sand flying about!’

‘It won’t matter when I’ve got it outside!’ Steve answered, brushing even harder, so that the sand flew upwards.

‘Stop it!’

‘Hold tight, Philip!’ I called, abandoning the ladder and rushing over to the door. I grabbed the broom from Steve just as Mary Petrie went inside and ran upstairs, her face dark with anger. ‘You’ve done it now,’ I murmured. ‘Why didn’t you just eat your lunch?’

‘Bit hysterical isn’t she?’ replied Steve.

‘Keep your voice down!’

‘Well, I was only showing her how to sweep.’

‘Look!’ I snapped. ‘Leave it!’

I led Steve by the arm and sat him down at the table to finish eating. Then I went back out and steadied the ladder for Philip, who was complaining loudly from the rooftop. We spent another half-hour getting the weathercock properly positioned, during which time Steve emerged from the house and gave his solemn approval. Philip then came down the ladder and we all went inside to warm up a bit. Meanwhile, Mary Petrie remained silent and brooding upstairs.

The three of us sat round the table, drinking coffee, speaking in quiet tones and generally keeping our voices down. Steve and Philip seemed to understand that they would have to leave fairly soon, to give me the opportunity to sort things out. Occasionally one of them would glance at the ceiling, raise his eyebrows and wince as if expecting a mighty blow to fall. In truth, though, they had no idea of the gravity of the situation. Eventually, late in the afternoon, they took their ladder and departed. I accompanied them for half a mile or so. Little was said on that short journey, but I noticed their steps lightened the further they got away from the house.

‘Well, I’ll say goodbye now,’ I said at last. ‘I’ll be seeing you sometime.’

‘OK then,’ replied Philip. ‘Look after yourself.’

As we parted I shook both their hands, giving Steve an extra crush for good measure. Then I headed home to face the music. It would all be my fault, of course, I knew that.

Pushing open the door I saw Mary Petrie standing at the top of the stairs.

‘Right,’ she said. ‘From now on all your friends are banned.’

‘All of them?’

‘Yes.’

‘How long for?’

‘Always.’

By this time, of course, I’d resigned myself to sanctions of some kind or other. I accepted the severity of the verdict without argument, knowing it would all blow over in a week or two. It was impossible for Mary Petrie to enforce a lifetime ban on my friends and acquaintances, that was obvious, so I only had to ride out the storm until the day’s events were forgotten. Besides, I thought, it would do no harm to cut down on all the friendly coming and going that had lately been endemic at my house, and which was starting to get out of hand.

Indeed, here was an opportunity to return to how things were before. With a great show of contrition I carefully cleared all the sand out of the house, closed the door, and settled down for a period of relative quiet. I didn’t venture upstairs that night, but by the following day the two of us were again talking freely. Late in the afternoon Mary Petrie came outside with me to admire the new weathercock, which, she agreed, looked quite nice. I made no remarks about how unnecessary it was, nor did I point out that the wind showed no sign of abating. Instead I played the part to which I had become accustomed, in which a man remains master of his own home, so long as he observes all the rules.

An uneventful week passed by. Then another. Finally, one morning there was a knock on the door. It was Simon Painter, and he was almost in tears.

‘Can you come and help?’ he said. ‘Someone’s taken my house to pieces.’

8

He was a forlorn sight, standing there in the doorway holding his overnight bag. He looked tired, as if he’d been travelling for several hours, and there were traces of red sand on his clothing.

‘What do you mean, taken to pieces?’ I asked.

‘It’s been dismantled bit by bit,’ he replied. ‘And now it’s just a pile of tin. What am I going to do?’

He was clearly very desperate.

‘Sorry, Simon,’ I said. ‘I’d like to help but I’m barred from seeing my friends.’

‘Don’t talk nonsense,’ said Mary Petrie, moving me aside. ‘Come in out of the cold, Simon, and we’ll make you some breakfast.’

‘Oh, thank you,’ he said. ‘You’re so kind.’

‘How would you like it if it happened to you?’ she hissed after he’d gone in.

‘Just obeying orders,’ I shrugged.

She soon had him sitting down at the table with a hot cup of coffee, and once he’d recovered a little he told us what had happened.

‘I don’t know if you’ve heard,’ he began, ‘but I’ve been out to stay at Michael Hawkins’s place quite a few times lately.’

‘Yes,’ replied Mary Petrie. ‘We’d heard that.’ (I understood from the look she gave me that I wasn’t allowed to pass comment on the subject.)

‘Well, I was there until quite late last night,’ he continued. ‘Couldn’t drag myself away until the small hours, but the moon was out — did you see the moon?’

‘No, we didn’t.’

‘Marvellous, it was, very shiny, so I decided to travel home by moonlight. We do things like that at Michael’s: getting up early, staying up late, it’s all part of daily life out there.’ He paused and took a deep breath. This was followed by a sigh. ‘Anyway, as I drew nearer I expected to see the outline of my house appear ahead of me, but instead there was nothing. It was dawn when I got to where it should have been, and all that remained was this big pile of tin, with the flagpole lying nearby.’

‘What about your captive balloon?’ I asked.

‘They’ve let it down.’

He was beginning to look tearful once more, so Mary Petrie put her arm round his shoulder and said, ‘There, there, you’ll soon put it together again.’

‘I don’t know how,’ he moaned.

‘Well, we’ll help, won’t we?’

She eyed me firmly, and I realized I was going to have a busy few days ahead.

‘Yes, of course,’ I said. ‘We’ll have a nice breakfast, and then we’ll go and see what can be done.’

To tell the truth, by the time we were ready to leave I was quite looking forward to the project. It would be a fruitful pastime, I thought, reassembling someone’s house, and thereby earning their eternal gratitude. Of course, when Mary Petrie had said we’d help she actually meant me. For her part, she knew nothing about building from tin, and would have been no use at all. Actually, I knew nothing either, but I assumed it would be fairly straightforward.

Mary Petrie saw us off after breakfast, and said she might have a walk across later to see how we were getting on. Meanwhile, she’d have some space to herself, which would be an agreeable change for her. By now I was pleased to see that Simon was getting some of his bounce back, and as we approached his place we shared a general feeling of optimism.

This disappeared the moment we saw the enormity of the job. I had expected it to be quite obvious which piece went where, but when we were confronted by that huge pile of tin I was frankly dumbfounded. How were we supposed to tell the roof from the walls, the back from the front, and so on? The only readily identifiable parts were the door, the shutters and the chimney, which had been carefully set to one side.

‘Considerate of someone,’ I remarked, as we stood surveying the ruins. They’ve even folded up your balloon.’

There didn’t seem to be any malice attached to the dismantling of Simon Painter’s house. I mean to say, anybody who wished to destroy it would have been better off using dynamite. Instead they’d simply taken it to pieces and left it in a heap. There was a separate stack which turned out to be all his worldly goods, neatly bundled together so as not to come to any harm.

‘You didn’t leave the door locked then?’ I asked in passing.

‘Of course not,’ replied Simon. There was no need … normally.’

I could see he was quite upset, so I decided the best thing would be to get started immediately, in order to keep his mind occupied.

Where to begin, though? It was like attempting to solve a jigsaw puzzle that had come in a box without an illustration on the lid.

‘We should have brought that picture you gave me,’ I said. ‘You haven’t got another one anywhere have you?’

‘There’s one on the bedroom wall.’

‘Well,’ I said. ‘At least that’s a clue: we’ll start there.’

I approached the pile of tin and began going through it in search of the piece with the picture attached. Deep inside, though, it felt like a hopeless task. Even if we did find part of his bedroom wall, how on earth were we going to build the rest of the house around it?

‘I’m sorry I can’t offer you a coffee,’ said Simon. The stove won’t work without the chimney.’

‘Not to worry,’ I replied. ‘What about lighting a fire out in the open? That’ll cheer us up a bit.’

‘No fuel,’ he said. ‘I’ve spent so much time at Michael’s lately that it’s completely run down.’

‘Blimey, you have got it bad haven’t you?’

‘Suppose so.’

‘Hello,’ I said. ‘Here comes the cavalry.’

There were two figures moving towards us in the distance, and as they drew nearer I recognized Steve and Philip. Then all at once they started running.

‘Don’t touch the tin!’ shouted Steve, as soon as he was close enough. ‘Each piece is specially marked!’

‘Alright!’ I called back. ‘We’ve only moved a few!’

They dashed up and began manhandling the pile until it was more or less back to how it had been before. Meanwhile, Simon stood and watched them in stunned silence.

‘This and this are right,’ said Steve as he attended to the last pieces. ‘But that has to be put on top of there.’ He and Philip heaved a long section of tin onto the pile, then turned and looked at Simon with an air of satisfaction.

‘Righto,’ announced Steve. ‘You’re all ready to get moving.’

‘Moving where?’ Simon asked.

‘Towards Michael Hawkins’s, of course.’

‘You mean move my house there?’

‘Yes.’

‘Oh … I see.’

Simon’s reaction was interesting, because instead of exploding with rage at Steve and Philip’s audacity, he just stood there blinking as the idea sunk in.

‘Is this the “encouragement” you were talking about the other day?’ I asked. ‘A “bit of a push”?’

‘Yep,’ said Steve.

‘And you never thought to consult Simon first?’

‘Nope.’

1 suppose we should have really,’ remarked Philip. ‘When you come to think about it.’

‘No, it’s alright,’ said Simon, suddenly breaking his silence. ‘It’s a marvellous thing you’ve done, setting me on a path I should have taken a long while ago. Thank you both! Yes, I will move. I’ll build my house within a mile of Michael.’

At this moment I thought it wise not to set forth my own opinion on the matter. Nonetheless, I was surprised at the ease with which Simon accepted his new circumstances. Here he was being practically evicted by a pair of well-meaning neighbours, yet he talked as if it was part of his destiny. I’d already noticed how he adopted a very solemn tone of voice whenever he spoke of Michael Hawkins. Now, it seemed, he was prepared to stake everything on their friendship.

‘How are you going to get it all budged?’ I asked.

‘Simple,’ replied Steve. ‘We’ll take it one piece at a time.’

Apparently he and Philip had been planning all this for a good while. They’d known in advance that Simon would be away for a couple of days, and as soon as he’d departed they’d come over. Then the pair of them had gone all round the house, marking each section with chalk before dismantling it, so it would be easy to assemble again. This had been a two-day job. Having finished the work late on the previous evening, they’d popped over to Philip’s for supper and bed, planning to return in the morning and surprise Simon. As it was, he’d decided to travel overnight and had got back sooner than expected, which is why he’d wound up in a distraught state at my place.

‘All the chalk marks correspond,’ explained Steve. ‘So as long as we keep the pieces in order, we’ll have the whole outfit back together in no time.’

‘When shall we start?’ asked an eager Simon.

‘Soon as you like.’

While the three of them stood planning the expedition, I went and had a quiet look at the chalk markings. Sure enough, each part of the house bore an inscription, such as TRH, LHT or FRS. I couldn’t make head or tail of any of it, but I guessed that Steve had the method of assembly all worked out, and therefore I enquired no further.

By this time they’d agreed to set off immediately with the first few pieces. Simon had now thought of a possible site to establish his new home, and he estimated that it would take about five hours to get there.

‘We can stay at Michael’s tonight,’ he said. ‘Then come back for some more bits tomorrow.’

‘If we go via my place we can stop for a meal on the way,’ suggested Steve. Then he looked at me. ‘Unless, of course, you’d prefer your own cuisine?’

‘How do you mean?’ I asked.

‘Well, if you want to nip home first we’ll wait for you.’

I gathered from this remark that they assumed I was going with them, which, of course, I wasn’t. In my view it was one thing to turn out and help someone get over a little local difficulty, but quite another to spend several days moving a tin house overland.

‘Actually, I won’t be coming,’ I said. ‘I’ll stay here and be quartermaster instead.’

‘Quartermaster?’ asked Steve.

‘Yes, you know, I’ll look after the pieces while you’re away. Stop them being stolen, that kind of thing.’

There’s no one here except us,’ he replied. ‘Who’s going to steal them?’

‘Well, they might get blown around.’

‘Alright,’ he said. ‘If you’re not interested it doesn’t matter.’

Without further word he walked away to join the others, leaving me feeling a little awkward. Subsequent conversation was held only between the three of them as they prepared for their forthcoming journey. A little later they set off, each bearing part of a house of tin.

No one said goodbye. Not even Simon.