“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.