Doubler looked beyond his son to the view out of the window. He could see for miles at this time of the year, despite the frosted glass. In the summer, the view was curtailed by the wisteria that wrapped itself round the house, the vigorous new growth fighting with the honeysuckle and roses that entwined it. The foliage shaded the room, cutting down on the sunlight that crept in, and this, coupled with the thick flagstones, ensured the room remained beautifully cool. Doubler loved this view. He loved this room, hot and smoky in the winter, cold and shady in the summer. He was not a materialistic man; he was a man of the soil, but nevertheless he wondered whether he could love a house more.
Camilla was having a good look around her, too. ‘Your daily is obviously doing a good job still: the place is immaculate.’
A small flicker of warmth enveloped Doubler’s heart. Mrs Millwood! he thought to himself, but as quickly the thought of her dispelled. She had no place here; theirs was strictly a table for two.
‘Mmmm,’ he said non-committally.
‘Is she still up here full time?’ ventured Julian, doing a quick calculation in his head. ‘Seems like a bit of an indulgence, Dad. If you had a smaller place, you wouldn’t need all that help. Less to worry about at your time of life.’
‘Seconds?’ Doubler addressed the table.
‘Really, Dad, you should get your head out of the sand. Opportunities can go just as quickly as they come. Think about how you will cope in five years’ time, ten years’ time. It’s not going to get any easier.’
Doubler didn’t feel old. He felt his years, but with these years came a host of benefits. He knew his body well, and he and it had come to a steady understanding. He fed it the fuel it required – not too much, not too little – and he maintained it to a good working standard. And in turn, it didn’t let him down. Doubler felt that the mutual respect shared by mind and body might well mean that together they would go on for ever. But when Doubler’s son was around, he felt different. Not older but much less sure. Julian made him feel fallible, and his impatience with his father if he were slow to stand to his feet or if he paused for a moment’s reflection before speaking gave way to such obvious contempt and open hostility that Doubler became quite capable of doubting both his body and his mind.
‘I’m not old,’ he said, ‘but goodness me, you make me feel tired.’ This, he said to himself.
Plates found their way back to Doubler, and as he layered thin slices of beef on each and sent the plates on their course for seconds of vegetables, he contemplated his son, who, somewhere in the background, was continuing to whine on about how old and incompetent his father would soon be.
That’s me he’s talking about, thought Doubler, somewhat abstractly. That’s his old man’s life he’s wishing away. Now all he talks about is when I get old, when I die, what I’m worth. What he really wants to know is when he can bank some of my wealth in his account. I know what’s on his mind. He’s worried I might well fritter it away or do something stupid. Or give it to the animal shelter.
Doubler’s thoughts drifted easily from the animal shelter to Mrs Millwood. Mrs Millwood volunteered at an animal shelter. Doubler didn’t know much about the comings and goings of such a place, other than the tales he heard over lunch. And at their lunches, Mrs Millwood tended only to wield accounts of heartwarming kindness, designed to elevate his mood. But Doubler understood quite a bit about abandonment.
‘There might be a need for some cash – you’re right, Julian,’ Doubler said, pulling himself out of his reverie, and experiencing a little thrill of anticipation at the knowledge that he was about to provoke his pompous son.
Julian looked up from his plate, surprised that his words had finally reached their target.
‘Now you’re talking, Dad. Go on . . .’
‘The local animal shelter is doing a fundraising drive and I’m thinking of getting involved. You know, lending a hand.’
‘The local what?’ Julian spat the question out, looking very much like a man who had swallowed an indigestible morsel.
‘You know, the animal shelter. It’s where they provide refuge to animals in need. They get all kinds up there, you know. You’d be amazed at people’s cruelty when they no longer get any pleasure from an animal they used to be fond of. Particularly the old ones. The donkeys and ponies and the like. They’re hard to house. And loads of older cats and dogs that have just been abandoned. It’s really astonishing that human beings can be so selfish.’
‘Dad. That is not what you need cash for. Do not do anything stupid. Camilla, Darren, back me up here. You don’t want to see your inheritance buying straw for donkeys, do you?’
‘Oh, Julian, they need a lot more than straw,’ interrupted Doubler earnestly. ‘They need grass all year round. Once I finish with the potatoes, this land would make great grazing for some donkeys in need. I’ve already suggested it to the folk up at the shelter.’
‘You’ve done what?’ Two spots of pink rose on Julian’s cheeks and his eyes bulged, unblinking.
‘I’ve just talked it through. The pros and cons. You know, what I would need to do to make a concrete contribution to the good work they are doing down there.’
‘Jesus, Dad. By all means make a contribution. Put some money in the collection pot when you are doing your grocery shopping. Take the sticker. Goddamn it, wear the sticker! But that’s it. That’s all they’re getting from you.’
Camilla put her knife and fork down on her plate with a clatter. ‘Julian, once again you really are taking a very hard line here. If Dad has a new interest, then I think that’s just great. Go and volunteer, Dad. Go for it! Don’t just put your loose change in the collection pot – rattle the collection pot! Go and join the troops in the High Street. Those volunteers can be extremely persuasive, too, and it’s very rarely threatening, you know. I mean, sometimes it is just a little, well, daunting, if you’re hurrying and you need your change for the parking machine and it’s just there in your hand and you can feel their eyes burning into you as you rush past. You have to say something, don’t you? You can’t help but feel obliged. I often find myself apologizing to them as I pass.’ Camilla’s eyes darted round the table, searching for consensus among her fellow diners.
Darren made a rare interjection, interrupting his wife as she spoke. ‘Volunteer. But I’m going with Julian’s gut on this one. Don’t sign anything.’
‘Well, of course Dad’s not going to sign anything, are you, Dad? I mean, not without talking to us first?’ Camilla looked at her father for reassurance.
Julian, impatient with his sister’s feeble enrolment to his cause, cut her off sharply. ‘How long has this, er, relationship been going, Dad? How deeply have they got their claws in?’
He looked up at the three pairs of eyes watching him.
‘Oh, don’t worry. I shan’t do anything daft. I’m not at that stage yet.’
‘Well, tell us when you are about to do something daft, Dad.’
‘I did something daft when I allowed my genes to reproduce themselves,’ Doubler said, to himself. And he continued to eat his food in silence.
Overnight, the thick cloak of disquiet Doubler felt after Sunday lunch with his family wrapped itself firmly round the seed of anxiety already generated by the three Manila envelopes lurking in the drawer. The envelopes hadn’t been clamouring for his attention, but Doubler was painfully familiar with the impact of leaving one mouldy potato among a sack of sound potatoes and he feared the contents of the envelopes may well be festering and could perhaps become more volatile through lack of attention.
The weekends were always long, but he now