Another question was where I was going to spend the night. I had no doubt that Simon, Steve and Philip would all make me quite welcome, but first I had to find one of their houses. I was now drawing near to the half dozen or so I’d seen earlier, but I had no idea whether any of them belonged to my friends. In former days I’d always known whose place I was approaching simply because of its location. Simon lived to the west of me, for example, while Steve lived west-north-west of him. Here, where the houses all stood together, it was difficult to tell them apart. Admittedly they varied slightly, some being higher than others, or having different gable ends. Essentially, however, they were all the same. Each was built entirely from tin.
The moon had now begun to make fitful appearances amongst the clouds, and as my eyes grew accustomed to its pale light I saw many rooftops ahead. Shortly afterwards I was passing between the first of the houses, and I noticed that the shutters were all firmly closed, as were the doors. I found it pleasing to think that this tradition was being maintained in what was basically a new settlement. Up until now I’d assumed that these newcomers would be the types who’d want to keep their shutters thrown open whatever the weather. Instead, it seemed, they had more sense. Already this evening, accumulations of sand had begun to drift against the tin walls, but it looked unlikely that any was going to enter these dwellings. I paused next to one of them and listened. Inside, I could hear the sound of muffled conversation. Also, somebody singing. I moved on.
There was no fixed distance between the houses, nor did they appear to have been laid out in any uniform pattern. Instead there were rows heading off in all directions, higgledy-piggledy, as if each had been added one after another. I recalled Steve’s remark about Michael Hawkins having shown them where to build their houses, and I tried to work out the logic of the arrangement. The only thing I could see for sure was that they were all sited very close together, but for the moment I had no idea why.
The trouble with wandering along in the dark like this was that it was easy to forget which way I’d come. I knew I’d turned right at a house with four front shutters and two at the sides, and had then walked past one with a markedly angled roof. Yet when I returned a short distance to check my bearings, I couldn’t find either of them. Continuing back a little further, I discovered a side-junction I hadn’t noticed before. I followed it round.
Then, somewhere away to my left, I heard the faint clanging of a bell. It was a sound I’d recognize anywhere, and soon I was standing outside Simon Painter’s house. There was no captive balloon hoisted in the air above it, nor was there a flagpole on the roof. Nevertheless, I knew I had the right place. The bell hung on a bracket beside the door, swaying gently in the breeze and chiming from time to time. I was about to make myself known when I heard a peal of laughter within. It came from several voices, one of which I knew to be Simon’s. The rest belonged to women. I waited and heard Simon say something else, then more laughter followed.
It certainly sounded as if they were having a good time in there, and I was reluctant to interrupt. Just then, however, the door opened and a smiling young woman emerged. When she noticed me standing there, partially hidden by shadows, she appeared not at all surprised. ‘Simon!’ she called into the house. ‘We’ve got a visitor!’ ‘Come in!’ I heard him cry. ‘Come in! Whoever it is!’ Apparently the young woman was just heading off somewhere. She smiled and held the door for me. ‘Thanks,’ I managed.
‘That’s OK,’ she replied, slipping away through the darkness. I hesitated for a few more seconds, then stepped over the threshold.
14
As I entered, Simon was half-rising from behind a table, around which sat four women and another man.
‘Hello!’ he boomed. ‘You decided to join us after all!’ ‘Yes, well,’ I replied. ‘I thought I’d come and have a look anyway.’
‘Good! Good! Michael will be so pleased to see you!’ There then followed a swirl of greetings, handshakes and introductions as I met the rest of the group, all of whom apparently knew I was an ex-neighbour of Simon’s. Not being used to dealing with so many people at once, I found their names tended to go straight in one ear and out the other. Nonetheless, they treated me like a long lost friend. Soon I had a drink in my hand and a place of honour at the table. Simon immediately told the story of how his house had been dismantled while he was away, and how I’d gone over to help him out. He described his despair at seeing the pieces of tin all stacked up on top of each other, his former existence thereby reduced to a meaningless puzzle. Inevitably, of course, we had to listen to the bit at the end where Michael Hawkins came along and put everything right again. It quickly became clear that Simon was an established raconteur amongst his new-found circle of friends, and I was quietly impressed by the way they listened enthralled to every word he said. All the same, I was slightly baffled by his earlier comment that Michael would be so pleased to see me, as though this had some extra special significance. If he’d said, ‘I’m so pleased to see you’, or even ‘Steve will be so pleased to see you’, I could have understood the remark perfectly. Instead, it seemed only to matter what this Michael Hawkins thought, and I wondered why Simon should abase himself in such a manner. Still, there was no cause to dwell on these questions right now. The present company was most acceptable and I had nothing to complain about. Quite the opposite actually. While Simon was talking, I began to notice I was getting a good deal of attention from one of the women. Several times she cast meaningful glances in my direction, and she smiled at all the parts of the story that involved me. I had a feeling she was called Jane, which was one of the names that had been bandied around during the introductions, but I couldn’t be sure. For the moment I decided I would just have to pretend I knew her name, and see how things went. Judging by the looks she gave me, the prospects were certainly promising.
In the meantime, Simon’s tale was coming to an end.
‘These days we can build a house of tin with our eyes shut,’ he concluded. ‘But, of course, it helps if we keep them open!’
There followed a gale of laughter from his listeners, and it struck me that Simon’s gift as a storyteller was in marked contrast to the streams of enquiry which had characterized his past conversations. I thought back to those dreary afternoons when he’d questioned me on whether I’d seen Steve or heard from Philip, and I decided that the new Simon was a great improvement. If only he would stop going on about Michael Hawkins! He was at it again a few minutes later when the woman who’d let me in returned.
‘Michael could be coming to visit us tomorrow,’ she announced. ‘I’ve just seen Philip and he says there’s a strong probability.’
As she spoke her eyes were sparkling, and in the same instant I felt a stir of anticipation pass round the table.
‘Oh that’s marvellous,’ said Simon. ‘Did he tell you when, exactly?’