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“Seems alright,” I replied. “Yes, I’m quite pleased.”

I came ashore and began tidying up the remaining gear.

“You’ve done a good job there,” he said.

“Thanks.”

“I hear you’re working at our place tomorrow.”

“Am I?”

“With the circular saw.”

“Oh,” I said. “Er…yeah, right.”

“Eight o’clock, you’re coming.”

“OK.”

Obviously Mr Parker’s advertisement in the Trader’s Gazette had brought some response, but this was the first I’d heard of it. No doubt he planned to tell me about it in his own good time. Meanwhile, I was struck by the thought that I always seemed to be the last to find out about anything round here. Even the old man knew before I did.

“Where is it you live again?” I asked.

“Stonecroft,” he said, pointing along the lake. “Second turning on the left.”

“Righto.”

“About time we got all that timber cut.”

“Yes.”

“Six months it’s been lying there.”

“Well,” I said. “Should be able to get a start on it tomorrow.”

He nodded and wandered off into the trees without saying goodbye. I carried on tidying up, and shortly afterwards Mr Parker arrived in his pick-up.

“Finished then?” he asked, as he got out.

“Yes,” I replied. “Do you want to test it?”

“Could do, I suppose.” He walked onto the jetty and made as if to step onto the floating raft, but then seemed to change his mind. “No, I’ll take your word for it.”

“It’s quite safe,” I said.

“Quite probably,” he replied. “But there’s no point in taking unnecessary risks.”

“No, suppose not.”

I loaded the remaining equipment into the back of Mr Parker’s pick-up, and then waited as he surveyed my handiwork.

“By the way,” he said at length. “I’ll be taking you off the boats again tomorrow, if you don’t mind.”

“Oh, OK. Why’s that then?”

“We’ve got a hire contract for the circular saw, up at Pickthall’s. It’ll be a day’s work cutting firewood.”

“Right.”

“Mr Pickthall wants you there at eight o’clock. Make sure you do a proper job for him, won’t you?”

“I’ll try my best.”

“That’s good.”

It was almost dark now, so we got into the truck and drove up to the yard. Entering the bothy I noticed immediately that Gail had been in and taken the history homework I’d left on the shelf inside the door. In its place she’d deposited her geometry book, along with a note saying the latest exercises had to be handed in the day after tomorrow. It occurred to me that Gail was starting to take advantage of my good intentions. I didn’t mind doing the homework as it was quite easy and gave me something to do after dark. There was even something to learn from it. I’d discovered over the past few weeks, for example, that her geography teacher was very interested in limestone. Questions about stalactites, stalagmites and swallow holes cropped up regularly, and any answers which included the words ‘sediment’ and ‘precipitation’ were sure to receive favourable marks. Meanwhile, the English teacher had a fascination with the concept of irony. Questions about the ironic condition seemed to be his or her stock-in-trade. I only had to suggest in an essay that such-and-such a fictional character seemed to be mocked by fate or circumstance, and I’d be rewarded with a red star and ‘v.g.’ beneath my final paragraph.

Nevertheless, I was slowly beginning to recognize that Gail did much better out of the arrangement than me. After all, she only had to present the latest batch of homework at the bothy and it was completed at the drop of a hat, which left her free every evening to do whatever she liked. The least she could have done in return was bring it over while I was at home. On the other hand, I had to admit I sometimes found it hard to concentrate when she was present. The homework always took twice as long if she was sitting on the sofa waiting for me to finish it off, so maybe delivering it in my absence was just her way of being considerate.

I glanced casually through the geometry exercises, which all seemed fairly straightforward. Gail had already answered one of them herself, and I was quite pleased to see that she’d got it right, apart from spelling hypotenuse incorrectly.

There was no sign of Mr Parker when I arose next morning, but the doors of the big shed had been left open and the tractor and circular saw were all ready to go. I felt quite professional when I arrived at Stonecroft at eight o’clock on the dot. The place was completely different to Hillhouse in that it was sited very low down at the foot of steeply rising ground. Access was by means of a long deep lane running between two hedgerows, and I would never have found the entrance if the old man hadn’t told me it was the second on the left. After a quarter of a mile or so the lane ended in a farmyard, above which loomed a towering fell. As expected, the house was made entirely of stone. I must have got used to being high up at Mr Parker’s, because this place seemed really low down and hemmed in. Also very damp. It was a gloomy day, but I couldn’t imagine the sun shining much here even in the summer. There was a lot of bare rock round about, much of it covered with a mossy sheen as though it never dried out properly. And, of course, the lake was completely lost from view, the only thing to see being the grassy slopes that soared up into the clouds.

The man who emerged from the house to meet me showed signs of having lived in the shade all his life. There I was arriving fully equipped to do some important work for him, and all he did was point glumly to a stack of timber at the far side of the yard. He then looked at his watch to check that I’d turned up on time. Despite this lacklustre greeting, however, I decided to try a bit of friendly chat. Switching the engine off, I got down from the tractor.

“Morning,” I said in a cheery way. “Mr Pickthall, is it?”

“That’s right, yes,” he replied.

“Oh…er, well, I’ve brought the saw.”

“Yes, I can see that,” he said. “And you’re the operator are you?”

“Yep.”

“Right. Well, I want logs for firewood no less than nine inches and no more than fourteen. Got that?”

“No more than nine and no less than fourteen. OK.”

Mr Pickthall gave me a funny look when I said this. He glanced at the machinery and then back at me. “You do know what you’re doing, do you?”

“Oh yes,” I said, with a reassuring nod.

“Right, well, it’s ten past eight so you’d better get started.”

Obviously I didn’t look as professional as I thought. I started the tractor again and set the circular saw into operation, aware that Mr Pickthall was watching my every move. After doing a couple of important-looking safety checks I chose a piece of timber from the stack and began cutting it into chunks. Each one looked as if it was between nine and fourteen inches to me, but after a while he produced a tape from his pocket and took a measurement. Then he came over to the tractor.

“Haven’t you got a yardstick?” he demanded.

“Er…well, no,” I replied. “Don’t usually bother with one.”

“So you’re just guessing the lengths, are you?”

“Yeah.”

He shook his head. “Well, I haven’t got time to stay here any longer, but there had better not be any mistakes.”

“OK.”

“Otherwise Mr Parker’ll hear about it.”

“Right.”

And with that he went back into the house and closed the door. A few minutes later he came out again, glanced towards me, and then headed for a low-roofed shed inside which was parked a pick-up truck. I felt quite relieved when he got in and drove away up the lane without a further word. As soon as he’d gone I switched off and stopped for a rest. I’d begun work so quickly after arriving that I’d barely had a chance to look at the place, so now I stood peering around for a few minutes. The first thing I noticed was that the house seemed to be divided into two parts. The door Mr Pickthall had used was nearest to me, and on the step was an empty milk bottle. At the far end of the building I now saw another doorstep with a milk bottle of its own. For a moment I thought I caught sight of a pink face in the window, peeping out, but there was no time for further observation. Suddenly I heard a vehicle coming along the lane, and thinking it was Mr Pickthall returning I started up and got back to work.