“No, suppose not.”
“I’ve got your groceries here.” He stepped into his kitchen and emerged again with a box. “I took the liberty of ordering you some beans. They weren’t on your list but Hodgey’s doing them at half price so I thought I’d snap them up.”
“Oh, right, thanks,” I said. “What biscuits did you get?”
“All of them,” he replied. “Fig rolls, custard creams, malted milks. That was right, wasn’t it?”
“Yeah, that’s great. How much do I owe you then?”
“Oh, don’t worry about that for the moment. Want a cup of tea?”
“No. Thanks all the same. We’d better keep moving.”
“Righto,” he said. “By the way, where’s Tommy been going off to in his lorry every day?”
“Don’t know,” I said. “Has he gone again this morning then?”
“Yes, I saw him leaving about six o’clock. I could see his headlights.”
“Something to do with oil drums, I think.”
“Oh, well,” said Bryan. “Tommy always knows a good bit of business when he sees it.”
To tell the truth, I was quite glad that Mr Parker was keeping busy. It meant I could get on with my painting uninterrupted, and with a bit of luck I would have the first boat finished before he saw it. With this in mind I completed the milk round as quickly as possible, said goodbye to Mr Pickthall, and then went home and got the stove going in the big shed. When the place had warmed up a bit I selected a tin of gold paint and started work. I wanted each boat to look perfect, and knew that this part of the job could not be rushed. Therefore, I took great care as I applied my paintbrush to the gunwales, the prow and the stern-post.
It was a process that lasted all afternoon. Outside, the weather had begun to turn very wintry indeed, with flecks of sleet occasionally dashing against the shed’s corrugated walls. Inside, however, it was quite cosy and felt like a proper workshop. When I finally stepped back to see the results of my labours, I couldn’t have been more pleased. Yes, I thought, a truly professional finish.
I was having my tea in the bothy when I heard Mr Parker return that evening, so I went out into the yard to meet him. On the back of the lorry were about fifty second-hand oil drums.
“It’s bloody marvellous what they’re doing at that factory,” he said, getting down from the cab. “Runs like clockwork.”
“Thought you’d be impressed,” I replied.
“They put these old, battered drums in at one end, and when they come out the other end they’re fully reconditioned. It’s like new lamps for old.”
“Yeah, I suppose it is.”
“They’ve said they’ll take as many as I can bring in,” he continued. “So I’ve been rushing all over the place chasing them up.”
He seemed to be in an expansive mood, so I said, “There’s a fully reconditioned boat in the shed, awaiting your inspection.”
“That’s good,” he replied.
“And the others are in various stages of completion.”
“Well,” he said. “I haven’t really got time to look at them at the moment, if you don’t mind. I’m rushed off my feet with all these oil drums.”
“Oh…right.”
“So I’ll just leave you to it.”
“OK then.”
“As long as the painting’s done by Christmas, that’s the main thing.”
“Right.”
It was a bit disappointing that Mr Parker didn’t want to inspect my handiwork, but I could understand his reasons. A moment passed and then I spoke again.
“Er…there was something else I wanted to speak to you about, actually.”
“Oh yes?”
“It’s just that I’ve been putting a lot of hours in on the boats just recently.”
“Suppose you must have been, yes,” he agreed.
“And…well, I was wondering if you could let me have some money.”
It was a dark evening, but not dark enough to hide the look of surprise that crossed Mr Parker’s face.
“Money?” he asked.
“Yes.”
“What for?”
“So I can pay off my debts.”
“Oh,” he said. “I see.”
“I wouldn’t ask normally,” I explained. “But the thing is I owe money to Bryan Webb, and I’ve also got a slate at the Packhorse, an account with Kenneth Turner and another one with Mr Hodge. Oh yes, and one with Deakin.”
“Well, I wouldn’t worry too much about that last one,” said Mr Parker.
“No, I suppose not.”
“Plough it back into the business.”
“Alright,” I said. “But I can’t go on much longer like this. I’m used to having a bit of cash on me.”
“You’ve run out, have you?”
“Practically, yes.”
Mr Parker stood looking at the ground, as if reviewing the conversation we’d just had. Then he looked across at the big shed, up at the sky and down at the ground again. Finally, he spoke.
“Well,” he said. “I suppose I’d better let you have something to tide you over.”
He reached into his back pocket and produced a wad of twenty-pound notes. Then slowly he peeled one off and handed it to me, placing it in the palm of my hand. A second note followed. Then a third. All this was done in silence, but I could sense that it was causing Mr Parker a certain amount of distress. Nonetheless, I remained holding my hand out, and he continued laying note upon note until I had a hundred pounds.
Then he paused.
“Thanks,” I said.
“Will that settle it?” he asked.
“Yep,” I replied. “That’s fine.”
He counted the rest of his money and returned it to his back pocket before glancing at me again.
“By the way,” he said. “No one at the factory seems to have heard of you.”
“Don’t they?”
“Afraid not. I asked one or two people around the place, but none of them could think who you were.”
“Well, I was only there a few months,” I said. “Expect they’ve forgotten me.”
“Yes,” he replied. “That’s what it sounds like.”
Eleven
The Packhorse was through to the second round of the Inter-Pub Darts League. This was the news that greeted me on my next visit, and it seemed to be generally agreed that I’d played a valuable part in the campaign.
“We wouldn’t have beaten the Golden Lion without your help,” said Tony as he pulled me a pint of Ex. “We’ll have you back on the team as soon as there’s a place.”
“Thanks,” I said.
“Just keep turning up and you’re bound to be selected in the end.”
A quick look at the fixture list told me that we were to face the Journeyman again in ten days’ time. This was one game I was determined not to miss, so I made a careful note of the date. Then I took my pint and joined the others for darts practice.
In spite of Tony’s assurances, I still felt I was a bit of an outsider at the Packhorse, not quite fully accepted. This was in part due to the fact that I always had to leave before closing time, in order to get to bed at a reasonable hour. As a result, I never partook of ‘after hours’ drinking with Bryan and the rest of them. I was the only one who didn’t stay up late, and I couldn’t help thinking I was missing out on something. They were all friendly enough, but I remained uncertain about whether they were actually ‘friends’.
The same went for old Mr Pickthall, with whom I spent more time than anyone else. My early-morning companion travelled round with me for hours on end, yet I had no idea if he actually liked my company or not. We made a good team and worked well together, there was no doubt about that, but if I ever made a mistake, for example by taking a wrong turn, he would snap at me and call me a damn fool. Sometimes I wondered if I wasn’t a great disappointment to him.