‘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!’
‘Yes, but only as a friend,’ I replied.
‘You were never friendly to him!’
‘I was.’
‘No you weren’t!’ she cried. ‘And now he’s gone and you deserve it!’
Next moment she had turned away and was stalking homeward. I wanted to go after her and find out what fault I was supposed to be guilty of now, but there were one or two things I needed to do first. Quickly I counted the pieces of tin to see what still remained, then I checked the rope was secure, grabbed the basket and set off in pursuit.
It was remarkable how far she’d got in that short time. I judged she’d covered a couple of hundred yards already, which was some distance considering her earlier complaint that she couldn’t walk any faster! She marched along with such a determined stride that anyone would have thought she was trying to put as much space between us as possible.
For my part I had no intention of exerting myself just to catch up, so I strolled along at a normal pace, knowing that I was bound to overhaul her eventually. This actually took longer than I’d estimated, and it wasn’t until we were nearly home that I got close enough to speak.
‘I deserve what, exactly?’ I asked.
‘You deserve to be left on your own!’ replied Mary Petrie.
‘What, just because I criticized Simon Painter once or twice?’
‘Don’t drag Simon into it!’ she snapped. ‘At least he cares about other people! All you care about is yourself and your silly little house of tin!’
She was still making no effort to slow down, but pressed on with her eyes looking straight ahead. The house in question was now in full view.
‘What’s silly about it?’ I enquired.
‘It’s all silly! Look at it! Sticking up in the middle of nowhere, miles from anyone else!’
‘But that’s why it’s so perfect!’
‘You really believe that, don’t you?’ she said. ‘You really think you’re living some sort of enviable existence. That’s the reason you keep going over to Simon’s all the time: you just can’t accept that he could ever dream of moving away. Oh no, there can’t be anywhere better than here because this is the centre of the world! Everyone else must be wrong! How can they not want to live on a cold, windy and desolate plain, in a silly little house of tin where you have to shovel sand every morning and bolt the door to stop it flying open?’
Suddenly Mary Petrie stopped in her tracks and faced me.
‘I’ll tell you why you’re here,’ she said. ‘You’re here because you think it makes you different. You think this silly little tinpot life of yours, this self-imposed isolation, makes you more interesting than other people. Don’t you? Eh? You’re convinced that if everybody had the chance then they too would live in a house built entirely from tin. You can’t see that all you’re doing is playing, the same as Simon, Steve and Philip were playing before they grew out of it! You’re playing at being a loner who can get by without anyone else. That’s why you cut yourself off like some recluse! You couldn’t find a cabin in a canyon so you chose this place instead. A gleaming, grey, two-storey edifice with a sloping roof and a tin-plate chimney! You believe it’s a fortress, but I’ll tell you something: it’s tinny and it’s temporary and one of these days it’s going to fall down about your ears!’
When she’d finished speaking she stood glaring at me with her hands on her hips and her eyes ablaze.
I waited a moment and then said, ‘So you don’t like my corrugated dwelling?’
Mary Petrie sighed. ‘You still don’t understand,’ she said. ‘What I mean is, it’s not where you are that counts but who you’re with.’
‘Does that mean I shouldn’t go to Simon Painter’s any more?’
‘Of course not, but try to pay me some attention too.’
‘Alright then.’
Her look softened. She sighed again and turned towards the house. I watched as she walked the remaining distance before disappearing inside, then spent a few minutes pondering what she’d said. The gist of it, as far as I could gather, was that the whole place was on the verge of collapse. Obviously I didn’t want her to feel insecure, so I gave it a quick examination for structural weakness. As I expected there was nothing wrong at all, but I thought it better not to go inside straightaway as she obviously needed time to herself. Instead, therefore, I waited around while the pale afternoon light began to fade.
This was a time of day I’d always enjoyed, when I could watch the horizon being gradually encroached by gloom. The air felt slightly warmer than usual, suggesting that the wind had veered a little. A glance at the weathercock told the same story. The vane had been pointing steadfastly west-south-west ever since we’d fixed it to the roof. Now, however, it had swung towards Simon Painter’s house. In former times this would have allowed the futile clanging of a bell to drift into our hearing. Lately, of course, there was nothing but the moan of the wind, which at last appeared to be losing some of its harshness. There was less sand being borne along with it than usual, and I glanced idly towards the house to see if any needed clearing away. As I did so a distant movement caught my eye. It was far away to the north, where a dense bank of clouds was settling down for the night. I peered into the dimness, trying to work out what I’d seen. Then, after a few more moments had passed, I spied a remote and solitary figure wandering slowly from east to west.
10
Eventually the morning came for my final trip to Simon Painter’s. Several more days had gone by, and the pile of tin had continued steadily to diminish. In the end there were just three items left.
Before I set off with the provisions, Mary Petrie said, ‘Are you going to try to see them today?’
‘I don’t think so,’ I replied. ‘What would we talk about?’
‘Well, they’re your friends,’ she said. ‘Surely you can think of something.’
‘Not at the moment, I can’t, no.’
‘So you’re going to leave it, are you?’
‘Probably.’
‘Suit yourself then, but I tell you, you’ll regret it.’
Several times recently she’d urged me to time my visits so that I’d be there when they arrived, but unfortunately I still remained unable to face them. In fact, the longer I left it the more difficult it seemed to become. Today, as Mary Petrie was trying to point out, was my last chance to confirm our friendship. After that we were likely to drift even further apart.
Arriving at Simon’s, I looked at what was left of his house. Besides the three pieces of tin, the only reminder that it had ever existed was a faint rectangle marked in the sand. His flagpole, the bell and the rest of his personal possessions had been removed on intervening days, and now there was almost nothing. With some misgivings I placed the basket in a safe position, and went home.
When I got back Mary Petrie was still out on her daily walk, so I poured some coffee and went to wait on the doorstep. The wind had continued to lessen during the past week, and there was now little danger of sand coming into the house. As a matter of fact, the weather had taken a general turn for the better. I was almost prepared to say that spring had come at last!
After a while I saw Mary Petrie in the distance. She’d been following her normal circuit of the house, keeping it only just in sight, and now she was on her way back. As a gesture of goodwill I went inside and put some fresh coffee on the stove. When she arrived a few minutes later, it was almost ready.