Three to See the King Read online

  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 dista
nce, 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.

  9

  I stayed there for a long time after they'd gone, reluctant to leave the remaining pile unguarded. I knew as well as they did that this was quite unnecessary, for as Steve had pointed out, there was no one around except us. Even so, I felt obliged to make certain everything was secure. A length of rope lay coiled amongst Simon's possessions, and I used it to tie down all the various pieces. This, I assured myself, would protect them from the wind. Then, when I was satisfied there was no more I could do, I headed for home. Halfway back I met Mary Petrie. She was carrying a basket in her hand.

  'That was quick work,' she said. 'Have you put Simon together already?'

  'Not quite,' I replied. 'He's decided to move.'

  The basket contained a flask of coffee, along with some cakes which she'd brought to keep us going. I told her what had happened, and how the others had left without saying goodbye.

  'Well,' she remarked. 'At least you've still got me, haven't you?'

  This was one way of looking at it, of course, but as we returned home I couldn't help thinking that I might never see my friends again. After all, they had little cause to come calling any more. These thoughts played on my mind quite a lot that night. By the following morning I'd resolved to go over to Simon Painter's place every day with a basket of provisions for the three of them. Then they'd know that although they were gone, they were by no means forgotten. For some reason, however, I couldn't face seeing them in person. This wasn't because I felt ashamed for not helping with the move. It was just that I didn't think I'd know what to say to any of them. Accordingly, I decided not to pay my visit until the late afternoon, by which time I reckoned they should have arrived and departed again.

  Sure enough, when I got to Simon's about an hour before dusk the first thing I noticed was that three more pieces of tin had been taken away. I was pleased to see they'd used the rope to tie down the rest of the pile, just as I had, but apart from that there was no sign of anyone having been there. I checked everything was secure, then left the basket of victuals in a prominent position.

  When I went back the next day the pile had again been reduced by three items. It was disappointing to discover, though, that the flask of coffee had not been touched. Only the cakes were gone.

  'Perhaps the coffee went cold overnight,' suggested Mary Petrie when she heard about it.

  Of course, I thought, how stupid of me! After that I switched to making my delivery early in the morning, then returning again in the afternoon to retrieve the basket. This system was quite time-consuming, involving two journeys there and back, but I felt somehow rewarded the first time I found the coffee had been drunk and all the cakes eaten.

  As the days went by I found that these trips became increasingly important to me. I would study closely the diminishing stack of tin to see which pieces had been removed, and always I looked to see if anything new had been left behind. There was nothing I was expecting in particular, I should add, but I thought I might find an occasional message saying how they were getting on, or maybe a 'thank you' note. Instead, there was only t
he empty basket. It soon became clear that my daily offerings were of little importance compared with the task of moving an entire house bit by bit. This did little, however, to reduce my interest, which was now starting to become obsessive. I began to recognize the ways in which the pieces of tin had been marked for reassembly, and I kept a note of them for my own reference. I'd soon worked out, for example, that FRS was an abbreviation of front right side, while LHT meant left hand top. The more I became acquainted with this special code Steve Treacle had devised, the more I suspected that it was doomed to failure. My doubts were confirmed when I came across a part marked TLH. What was the difference, I wondered, between top left hand and left hand top?

  After two weeks the pile had decreased considerably in size. Still the coffee and cakes were consumed daily, and still I received no acknowledgement. Undeterred, I maintained my regular visits. This soon caused trouble at home. Mary Petrie mentioned frequently that I seemed to be spending a lot of time away, so one afternoon I invited her to come with me on my journey. Then she could find out for herself what was so fascinating about a heap of tin, as she put it. We arrived quite late because of the speed she walked, then all she did was stand gazing in silence at the deserted site. This was actually her first visit to Simon Painter's house, and I could see that its reduced condition meant nothing to her. Therefore, I thought I'd better explain the layout.

  'Simon used to live right on this very spot,' I said. 'The door was here and the kitchen was there, and the stove was in that corner. Don't you find that interesting?'

  'Not if he's left the place, no,' she replied. 'Where's his bell?'

  A short search revealed it hidden amongst his other possessions, along with the Sandfire nameplate, the wind chimes and the rolled-up flag. I gave the bell a ring, and when she heard its familiar tone her eyes welled up with tears.

  'How come you're so engrossed with Simon all of a sudden?' she demanded. 'When he was living here all you did was criticize him!'