Halfway along the lane I met the younger Mr Pickthall returning in his pick-up. I noticed he was carrying four empty oil drums in the back. There was no room to pass so I had to reverse all the way to the yard with him following, and as soon as we arrived he got out and came over to the tractor.
“Where are you going?” he asked.
“Back to Hillhouse.”
“Why?”
“The saw’s seized up.”
“But what about my timber?”
“Well,” I said. “I’ll just have to come back another day.”
“I don’t want you back another day!” said Mr Pickthall, raising his voice. “The contract was for immediate completion!”
“Sorry, but I can’t see what else I can do.”
“Don’t ‘sorry’ me!” he roared. “I’ll be speaking to Mr Parker about this!”
And with that he marched into his house and slammed the door.
Before things went wrong I’d been quite looking forward to the drive back to Hillhouse. Rumbling through hidden country lanes on a tractor would be a pleasant way to end a hard day’s work. Instead, all I could think about was Mr Pickthall making an irate phone call to Mr Parker, and then him losing his temper with me. It was one thing being slow on the uptake and clumsy with tins of paint; it was another matter entirely to put a perfectly good piece of machinery out of action. Bryan Webb and the others had warned me countless times about Tommy Parker’s temper, and this time I was certain I would be on the receiving end of it. Nonetheless, I had no choice but to go home and face the music.
As if to worsen my plight, the skies darkened and it started raining. There was no cab on the tractor, so by the time I got to Hillhouse I was soaking wet. The painted green square in the gateway looked particularly conspicuous in these conditions, and did nothing to lift the feeling of unease which was descending upon me. I briefly considered the idea of claiming to have been ‘rained off’ from the timber work, but I soon dismissed this as a feeble excuse. And anyway, the truth would have to come out eventually, so there was no getting away from it.
No one was around when I put the tractor back in the shed. Mr Parker didn’t seem to be back yet and Gail was still at school, so I changed out of my wet clothes, hung them in the boiler room, and continued work on the boats. I tried to remember the last occasion I’d actually been in here doing what I was supposed to be doing. It seemed like ages although it was probably only a few days. With the rain hammering on the shed roof I got quickly back into the swing of things, and soon picked up where I’d left off. This, I decided, was the project I liked best, and in a few days’ time I would have the first boat ready for painting. After a bit of hard graft with the electric sander I’d practically forgotten all about the problem with the circular saw. Then the shed door opened and Mr Parker walked in.
Eight
“Rained off?” he asked.
“Yes…Well, no…Sort of,” I replied.
He smiled. “Which?”
“Haven’t you spoken to Mr Pickthall then?”
The smile disappeared. “No, I’ve only just got back. Why?”
“Well, I seem to have had a bit of trouble with the saw.”
He glanced towards the tractor. “What sort of trouble?”
“I think it’s seized up.”
“But you went round it with the grease gun before you started, didn’t you?”
Mr Parker had now begun to examine the saw closely. He placed his hand on the circular blade and tried to give it a spin, but it refused to move.
“No, sorry,” I said. “I forgot.”
He turned to me sharply. “Forgot? How could you forget when I’ve shown you over and over again?”
“Don’t know.”
A moment passed, during which I expected Mr Parker to lose his temper. Instead, he simply sighed and shook his head.
“Dear oh dear oh dear,” he said. “What are we going to do with you?”
I stood in silence as he continued to survey the damage.
The evidence suggested that the bearings had indeed seized up. Vaguely I wondered how much it would cost to replace them, and how long it would take.
“Mr Pickthall’s a bit upset ‘cos I didn’t finish the job,” I ventured at last.
“I’m sure he is,” said Mr Parker. “And of course I won’t be able to send him a full invoice.”
“No, I suppose not.”
He sighed again. “Bit of a lost day, really, isn’t it? Luckily the saw came with a spare set of bearings. You won’t go ruining those as well, I hope?”
“No, no. Of course not.”
“Tell you what then, come back after tea and we’ll get it fixed.”
“Right. Er…what about Mr Pickthall?”
“Don’t worry about him.”
“OK…thanks.”
I left the shed and headed across the yard feeling quite jaunty. It seemed as if I’d got off fairly lightly. Halfway to the bothy I remembered I had some clothes drying in the boiler room so I cut back to collect them. It was dark now, and as I approached the door I noticed that the light was on inside. Without giving it a second thought I entered and saw Gail standing in her underwear.
“Oops, sorry,” I said, backing out again.
“It’s alright,” she said. “You can come in if you like.”
“Are you sure?”
“Yeah, it’s OK.”
I went in and started to collect my clothes from the drying rack, on which now hung most of Gail’s school uniform.
“Got caught in the rain,” she said with a smile. “Just giving it a dry.”
“Oh…right. Er…haven’t you got a dressing gown or anything?”
“Hardly worth it,” she replied. “Another ten minutes and it’ll all be ready.”
“Yes,” I said. “It does get quite hot in here, doesn’t it?”
“Yes.”
In those few moments I couldn’t help noticing the whiteness of her brassiere. Also the slight impression it made in the soft flesh of her shoulders. Bundling up my dry clothes I headed for the door. “Right, bye.”
“Is it alright to bring over some geography homework later?” she asked.
I turned at the door and faced her. “Well, actually I’ve been meaning to speak to you about that.”
“Oh yes?”
“Yeah. You see, the thing is, I’m beginning to find it a bit difficult.”
“Why?”
“I just am.”
“But I thought you said it was easy.”
“Well, the homework itself is easy, yeah. But you’re growing up very quickly and…er…I really think you should start trying to do it yourself.”