“You can’t keep letting people down all the time,” added Hodge. “Not if you’re thinking of starting a milk round.”
“But I haven’t said I am.”
“You should be trying to make friends, not going about upsetting people.”
At these words the other customers murmured in agreement.
“Alright,” I said, draining my glass. “I think I’d better go.”
“But you’ve only just got here,” said Cyril. “You can’t go yet.”
“Yes I can. Goodnight.”
I headed for the door.
“We’re only offering friendly advice,” said Hodge, as I stepped out into the darkness.
“Goodnight,” I repeated.
“Goodnight,” said a chorus of voices from inside. Then the door swung shut behind me.
I stood in the middle of the square recovering from my recent cross-examination, and swore never again to set foot in the Ring of Bells. Which meant, of course, that I was now effectively exiled from both pubs in Millfold.
OK, well, that was no big deal. I would just have to do without drink for the time being, and that didn’t bother me in the slightest. After all, there were plenty of other things for me to do. Why should I waste my evenings hanging around in pubs?
I decided to walk back to Hillhouse by way of the lakeside path, and as I passed the Packhorse I glanced over the beer garden wall. From the bottom bar came the sounds of glasses tinkling and raucous laughter, and in the window I thought I saw the silhouette of a man wearing a crown.
Then I turned towards the lake. It was a dark night, but I’d done this walk so many times by now that I could probably have found my way blindfold. The main obstacles were usually provided by the roots of trees straying across the path. However, I’d only had one pint of lager tonight so these didn’t present much of a problem. In fact, I hardly took any notice of where I was going at all. Most of the time I found myself thinking about what it would be like if I did indeed start up a milk round, as everyone kept suggesting. For a while it began to seem like an attractive proposition. I quite liked the idea of setting off early in the morning to make my deliveries. There were plenty of potential customers, even though they were spread out a bit, and it would be a good way of getting to know the area properly. Also, if I got the work completed quickly, I’d then have the afternoons free to get on with other things I was interested in, such as looking after Mr Parker’s boats.
Something else came to mind as well. I’d almost forgotten about it, but when I was a child I used to help a milkman on his rounds. It was a holiday job, riding around on the back of a milk-float, plonking bottles on doorsteps and bringing back the empties. This milkman had been coming up and down our road for as long as I could remember, and I’d often wondered if he needed a helper. Then one morning he suddenly pulled up while I was riding my bike along the pavement and said, “Want a job?”
Obviously I’d jumped at the chance, and spent several weeks assisting him until the holidays ended. He always let me do the houses at the end of a row, or at the top of a long flight of steps. Meanwhile he remained with the float and checked off his order book. As far as I knew I was the only kid in the vicinity who was allowed to help him, which gave me a certain amount of local prestige (even though he never actually paid me). If my memory was correct, I had this job the same summer as I’d learnt to row a boat in our local park. All that seemed a long time ago now, but the idea of doing a milk round triggered off some pleasant recollections, so I toyed with it for a while. The reality, of course, was different. How could I set up in business without any capital? For a start I’d need to buy a pick-up (milk-floats were for town suburbs only), and I would have to establish some sort of credit with the dairy which supplied me. Then I’d have to poach all Deakin’s customers off him, which as I said before I had no intention of doing. When I thought about it seriously I realized that the whole project was nothing more than a pipe-dream, and as I wandered along in the darkness I decided to forget all about it.
Approaching the water’s edge I again heard the cries of seabirds from somewhere out in the middle of the lake. There must have been thousands of them gathered together there, but it struck me at that moment that they all sounded quite lonely. I wondered how far from home they were, and why they’d made this their winter sanctuary. After all, the lake was no calm oasis. The water had grown steadily choppier over the past week, and in daylight hours had a permanent grey look to it. The wind that howled through the trees at night was hardly an inviting prospect either.
Which reminded me: we would have to get the new mooring weight put down soon.
A few days ago Mr Parker had spoken as though this was a matter of the utmost urgency, but since I’d finished building the raft he’d engaged me in a string of other tasks and the job had been put off. When I passed the jetty I stopped to check that the raft was still tethered there safely. It was. I could just about see it in the blackness, gently rocking back and forth.
♦
Next morning Deakin was late with the milk. His usual arrival time came and went but there was no sign of him, and I began to wonder if there was some sort of problem. I didn’t bother mentioning the matter to Mr Parker though. He seemed to have something on his mind this morning and wasn’t in a very conversational mood. Besides, it was hardly important what time Deakin turned up really, as there was always some spare milk in the fridge. We’d been sitting at the breakfast table for about fifteen minutes when the phone rang. As usual, this caused Gail to rise instantly from her seat.
“I’ll get it,” she said, darting into the next room. A moment later she came back.
“Dad, it’s for you.”
After Mr Parker had gone to take the call Gail turned to me and said, “Shall we start practising tonight then?”
“You mean darts?” I asked.
“Yeah.”
“Can if you like.”
“You sure you don’t mind?”
“No, course not. Come over about seven.”
She smiled. “Alright then, thanks.”
Her father came back into the room. “That was Bryan Webb. He was ringing up to find out if we’d heard from Deakin this morning. He’s worried about his Uncle Rupert’s homogenized.”
“Blimey,” I said. “Deakin must be way behind schedule if he hasn’t even got to Bryan’s yet.”
“That’s what I said,” agreed Mr Parker. “Anyway, I haven’t got time to worry about Deakin now. I want to go over to Bryan’s and fetch the lorry, so we can load up those oil drums. Then I suppose we’d better get that mooring weight put down before the weather gets any worse.”
“Oh, right,” I said. “I was going to mention that.”
Instead of acknowledging my remark Mr Parker fell unusually silent, and it again struck me that there must be something on his mind.
It wasn’t until well after ten o’clock that Deakin finally arrived, and I saw straight away why he was late: he was making the deliveries in his ice-cream van. The inside of the vehicle was laden with milk crates which clinked and rattled as he came up the hill, heralded by an uncontrolled double blast of ‘Half a pound of treacle’.
Poor Deakin. He had such a harassed look on his face that I felt quite sorry for him. To get at the milk he had to open the access door at the back of the van, squeeze inside between the crates, and then squeeze out again. It looked like a real struggle, especially since he had so many calls to make.
“Better late than never!” I called by way of encouragement, as he did a frantic dash across the yard. “Where’s your pick-up then?”
“Kenneth Turner’s giving it a full service,” he replied, dodging up the steps to the house. “Otherwise it’ll never get through the winter.”