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“Er…actually,” I said, “while we’re on the subject of work…”

“You’re quite right,” said Mr Parker, rising abruptly to his feet. “We’re not going to get anything done by sitting here.”

Next thing he was heading for the kitchen door, and I had no choice but hurriedly to finish my breakfast and follow.

We went outside and crossed the yard to the mixer, which was still rotating its empty bucket round and round. Beside it was a barrow containing the ingredients for the concrete. Also a wheel hub and a huge length of galvanized chain. It was too noisy by the mixer to pursue the question of my wages, so I gave up for the time being. Besides, there was no real urgency as I hadn’t been required to part with any money for some time now. I was still running a slate at the Packhorse, while all my groceries and milk were being delivered on credit. Obviously these concurrent debts would have to be sorted out in the near future, but nobody seemed in much of a hurry to collect, so I decided not to worry about it.

Making up the mooring weight was quite straightforward. I attached one end of the chain to the wheel hub, and then began shovelling sand, gravel and cement into the mixer. As soon as he was satisfied that I knew what I was doing, Mr Parker said he would ‘leave me to it’, and set off somewhere in his pick-up with the trailer in tow. Shortly afterwards Gail headed down the hill in her school uniform, giving me her usual little wave. When the concrete was ready I poured it into the wheel hub, and left it to set. I reckoned it would need a week to cure before it could be safely dropped to the bottom of the lake.

This task hadn’t taken very long at all, and the result looked OK. Before I resumed work on the boats I decided to reward myself with a cup of tea, and wandered over to the bothy. Lying on the table was the latest copy of the Trader’s Gazette. I’d got into the habit of borrowing it after Mr Parker had gleaned all the information he required. This was simply out of interest and curiosity, as I had no intention of buying any of the items advertised inside. I made a mental note that now I had a book token I really should get myself something proper to read, but in the meantime I opened the Gazette at a random page. There my eyes fell on an advertisement I hadn’t seen before. It was listed under ‘Services’ in the Millfold area and said:

CIRCULAR SAW WITH MAN FOR HIRE

All timber-cutting work undertaken on site. Enquiries T. Parker

A telephone number was also given. I read the advert several times to make sure I wasn’t mistaken, then continued turning the pages. Further along someone was inviting advance orders for Christmas trees. Ten per cent discount would be given for immediate payment. This struck me as a bit early until it occurred to me that Christmas was now only a couple of months away. Autumn had certainly crept up on me as I laboured away at my boats, and a blast of wind outside confirmed this. I’d hardly noticed that the weather was slowly worsening because I spent a good part of each day in the big shed. Even so, the signs were obvious. Despite all the riveting I’d done, the shed continued to creak and groan as the elements pounded against it. There were other indications too. The trees were bare, and the temperature was declining slowly. When I walked to the pub at night I could hear seabirds out in the middle of the lake, squawking and arguing. It sounded as though there were thousands of them. I had no idea where they’d come from, but they seemed to have settled in for the winter. I thought about the seven boats waiting to be painted, the darts fixtures and the endless pints of Topham’s Excelsior Bitter, and realized that I’d settled in for the winter as well.

It was almost dark when Mr Parker returned with yet another load of oil drums.

Having just finished work for the evening, I went out into the yard to meet him. There was something I wanted to ask him about the mooring weight.

“It’s quite heavy,” I said. “How are we going to get it out onto the lake?”

“You’re the boat man,” he replied. “You tell me.”

“Well, if we use the tender it’ll tip straight over.”

“Will it?”

“Yeah. We need a proper mooring raft really, with a hole in the middle to drop the weight through.”

“Oh,” he said. “I see.”

When Mr Parker first told me he knew nothing about boats I hadn’t really taken him seriously, but over the past few weeks I’d come to realize it was true. He didn’t seem to have any idea about how to lay a mooring, and I now saw that I was going to have to take charge of the operation.

“So how do we make a mooring raft?” he asked.

“Quite easily,” I replied. “It just takes four empty oil drums and some planks.”

“Well I can’t spare any oil drums.”

“Oh…can’t you?”

“Not really,” he said. “I wanted to sell them all to that factory of yours.”

“Is that why you’ve been collecting them?”

“Of course it is. You told me I’d get a good price.”

“Yeah, but…it’s miles away.”

“That’s alright. I don’t mind how far I have to go as long as I make a profit.”

“How will you get them all there though?”

“On my lorry.”

“I didn’t know you had one.”

“Yes, you’ve seen it. Over in Bryan Webb’s barn.”

“Oh, right.”

“He keeps his hay here, I keep my lorry there.”

“Sounds like a handy arrangement.”

“It’s mutually beneficial and saves exchanging cash.”

I nodded and we fell silent. Mr Parker gazed at the mooring weight and appeared to be pondering my suggestion.

“Well,” he said at length. “I suppose I could set aside four drums at a push. Can you build this raft?”

“Can if you like, yes.”

“OK then,” he said. “The job’s yours.”

As usual in the evening I treated myself to a bath. This was probably the best thing about staying in the bothy. There was plenty of hot water, and although the bath took a long time to fill, it was always a luxurious moment at the end of a hard day. I generally waited until after I’d taken my evening meal, and then spent an hour or so wallowing before going out to the pub. Tonight was no exception. Round about eight o’clock I began running the taps and slowly the bathroom filled with steam. Ten minutes later I slid into the hot water, easing myself down until it lapped over me. How long I’d been lying there before I was interrupted I wasn’t sure. I had my ears below the surface and my feet up on the sides of the bath when I became aware of a knocking noise. For a moment I thought it was a loose panel on the shed, but then I remembered it couldn’t have been that. No, this noise was coming from somewhere much closer. I sat up and listened again. Someone was tapping the window from outside. Leaving the bath I went over and peered through the frosted glass. I could just make out a pink oval in the darkness.

“Hello?”

It was Gail.

“We’ve just had the Packhorse on the phone,” she said. “You’re supposed to be at darts.”

“But it’s the wrong night,” I said.

“That’s the message,” she replied, and the pink oval was gone.

Wondering how much she’d seen through the glass, I quickly got dried and dressed. The message made no sense at all. Every darts match up until now had been on a Thursday. Today was only Tuesday, so I had no idea what they wanted me for. Surely they wouldn’t ring up just to get me to a practice session? It was only a game, after all. Still, I thought I’d better get going right away, so I went across to the big shed to get my bike out. Finding that Mr Parker had locked it up for the night, I decided to walk instead. I’d long come to the conclusion that this was more sensible anyway, judging by the amount of beer that flowed at these darts nights. In the event, though, it probably would have been better to take the bike.