The moment I walked into the bottom bar I knew something was wrong. It was half past nine and the place should have been packed out on a darts night. Instead it was almost deserted. There was no sign of Tony or Gordon. The landlord was talking to one or two people in the top bar and took no notice of me for some time. When at last he did decide to serve me he was far from friendly.
“Yes?” he said.
“Where is everybody?” I asked.
“They’re playing at the Journeyman,” he replied. “Where you’re supposed to be.”
“But I thought darts was on Thursdays.”
“That’s home games!” he snapped. “Away matches are Tuesdays.”
“Oh,” I said. “I didn’t know that.”
“Don’t you ever read the fixture list?”
“Er…no, sorry.”
“Well, you’re too late now. The match’ll be half over.”
“Sorry.”
“What do you want?”
“Pint of Ex, please.”
“Barrel’s finished.”
“Oh.” I said. “Well, I don’t mind waiting while you change it.”
“I’m not going to change it.”
“Aren’t you?”
“No, I’m afraid not.”
And with that he returned to the top bar, where his cronies all seemed to be glaring down at me. I remained standing there feeling awkward and wondering what to do, when I noticed that I wasn’t quite alone. Also present in the bottom bar was Bryan Webb’s accomplice from the sheep-moving day. Since that occasion we’d become slightly better acquainted, and I now knew that his name was Maurice. Apparently he was the man who drove the school minibus. He beckoned me to join him, so I went over and he spoke quietly.
“Understandable mistake,” he said. “Couldn’t be helped.”
“No,” I said. “I’d have come earlier if I’d known. I’ve been looking forward to playing the Journeyman again.”
“I know you have, but you’ve gone and upset them all now, so you’ll have to keep your head down for a while.”
“What shall I do then?”
“Well, your best bet is to drink somewhere else for a week or two, until they’ve forgotten all about it.”
I felt a sudden surge of dismay.
“But there’s only the Ring of Bells,” I said.
Maurice looked at me with sympathy. “That’s it then, isn’t it?”
Seven
The following afternoon I was working inside the shed when ‘Half a pound of treacle’ came floating in from the yard. Quickly I went over and peered through the crack in the door just as a yellow and white ice-cream van pulled up outside. It was a very traditional sort of vehicle. There was a large plastic cornet mounted on the roof, below which were written the words ‘SNAITHES OF WAINSKILL’ in blue letters. The vehicle came to a halt with its refrigerator unit whirring away, and all its lights blazing. For a few moments I couldn’t see the driver, whose head was hidden as he fiddled about underneath the dashboard. He seemed to be having considerable trouble with the chimes, which kept repeating ‘Half a pound of treacle’ at random, and over which he apparently had no control. They were quite loud too. The sound emanated from four silver horns at the front of the vehicle before echoing off the various buildings around the yard. I slid the shed door open and went outside. Looking into the cab I could see that the driver was desperately trying to relocate various wires in an attempt to influence the chimes, but to little effect. I knocked on the window and he glanced round. It was Deakin.
“These damn chimes,” he said, sliding across the driving seat and climbing out. “They keep getting stuck.”
“Can’t you turn them off altogether?” I suggested.
“No,” he replied. “If I do that the headlights go out and the refrigerator stops working.”
“Oh dear.”
“It’s all wired up wrong and I can never get it sorted out.”
“What happened to the rest of the tune then?”
“Don’t know,” he said. “I’ve never heard anything except ‘Half a pound of treacle’.”
While we talked we were being constantly interrupted by blasts from the quadruple horns, and on each occasion we had to break off our conversation until the din subsided.
“Would you like me to have a look at it?” I asked.
“Can if you like,” he said. “I’m at the end of my tether. Tommy’s not here, I suppose?”
“No, sorry.”
I got into the cab and discovered that it was just as noisy in there, what with the refrigerator unit throbbing away and the chimes sounding repeatedly overhead. There was a control switch on the dashboard, below which a number of coloured wires protruded. I tried swapping some of them around, but only succeeded in making the lights inside the plastic cornet start flashing on and off. I put the wires back how I’d found them and got out. Then I proposed that we went into the shed for a bit of peace and quiet.
“Your name’s not Snaithe, is it?” I enquired when we got inside.
“No,” he said. “It’s Deakin.”
“That’s what I thought. So who’s Snaithe then?”
“He’s the man who owned the ice-cream factory at Wainskill.”
“Oh,” I said. “I didn’t know there was one there.”
“Well he’s been bought out by the wholesalers now, but they kept the name.”
“So how come you’re driving that van then?”
Deakin shook his head. “Don’t even ask.”
“Oh, OK.”
“Well, I’ll tell you if you want.” He glanced round at the upturned boats, and sat down on the nearest one before continuing. “That ice-cream van used to come here during holiday time and do good business. There was always a queue of campers wanting cornets and wafers. And lollies. Bit of a gold mine, it was. When Snaithe sold up he kept the franchise separate and offered it to Tommy with the van included. Tommy snapped it up, of course, but then he persuaded me to take it over.”
“But you’re too busy doing your milk round, aren’t you?”
“That’s what I told him, but he insisted I could do the ice-cream as well, in my spare time.”
At that moment Deakin was interrupted from outside by a chorus of ‘Half a pound of treacle’.
“Why didn’t you just say no?” I asked, when it was over.
Deakin sighed and shook his head again. “Tommy made it sound like a good idea. I ended up trading in my lorry for the pick-up and the van.”
“Is that the lorry over at Bryan Webb’s?”
“That’s the one.”
“Any cash involved?”
“No, it was a mutually beneficial agreement. But that’s what I want to see Tommy about. I was only supposed to be taking the van on trial, but I seem to be stuck with it now.”
“Didn’t you like selling ice-creams then?”
“It was so busy I was worn to a frazzle!” said Deakin. “Then the season ended and it went dead.”
“Yes, I suppose it would.”
“So I’ve decided against it. The van’s no use for anything else and I want to give it back.”
“Well, why don’t you?”
“Cos I can never catch Tommy.”
An air of gloom and despondency had begun to descend upon Deakin. He sat on the boat rubbing the palms of his hands over the sanded-down paintwork in an agitated manner. As a result they gradually turned maroon. When he noticed this a look of dismay crossed his face, and I had to resist an urge to put my arm round his shoulder and say, “There, there.”
Instead, I offered him a cloth to wipe his hands on, followed by tea and biscuits in the bothy.
“If you take my advice,” I said, while we waited for the kettle to boil, “you’ll have a word with Tommy next time you see him.”