Mr Doubler Begins Again: The best uplifting, funny and feel-good book for 2019. Seni Glaister
I need to settle your account for you? Do you need me to drop in on the way back and pay for the groceries?’
‘No. No, that’s fine. There’s nothing to pay. I’ll settle up in April.’
‘Oh.’ Gracie’s daughter shrugged. ‘Fair enough.’ And she took a big slurp of tea. In this, as with so many things, she reminded Doubler of her mother. She knew when to probe and when to leave well alone.
They drank their tea in companionable silence.
‘I’ve placed an ad. Should have some candidates to interview in the next week or two. Shall I bring the promising ones up here?’
Doubler tried his best to compose his face into one of amenable cooperation. But it quickly crumpled.
‘I’m not sure I’m ready. I don’t want to inconvenience you or your applicants, but I’m not quite as adaptable as I lead people to think.’
Midge laughed at the idea. ‘I don’t think anybody would suggest that about you,’ she said, looking around the kitchen and its stark lack of modern gadgetry. Copper pans gleamed on rusty nails, wedged into the crumbling gaps between brickwork. Pewter tankards hung on hooks, and large wooden sieves added a pleasing architecture to the shelves’ contents. There wasn’t a thing in the kitchen that couldn’t have been there a hundred years ago. Or more, Midge mused.
‘I just don’t take well to change, so I think, if you don’t mind, I’ll cope on my own as best as I can. Until, you know . . .’ Doubler allowed the sentence to finish itself by looking hopefully at Midge.
‘Dear Doubler, I rather admire your steadfast refusal to accept the serious nature of Mum’s poorliness. You’re nearly as positive as she is. But I think it would be healthier for us all if you stop assuming Mum is coming back to you. If she does come through this, it is going to be a long haul, and who knows if she’ll even want to work again. She’s probably earned herself a bit of a rest, don’t you think?’
Doubler started to interject, shaking his head fiercely while forming the words that would not just stop Midge in her tracks but would cast aside her doubt and dismissal. He fought to form the words that had the power to reverse the conversation back to a time when the mother, not the daughter, was sitting across the table telling him off.
Midge silenced him with a stern wag of her index finger. ‘No, Doubler, it’s not healthy for you to put your life on hold, and it’s not healthy for Mum to assume her life will continue as it was before this horrible, horrible thing got hold of her.’
Doubler drew a sharp breath and Midge softened. ‘It’s not disloyal to replace her. She will quite understand and so will I. This is a big place and you’re rattling around on your own, so it makes sense to have somebody pop in and keep an eye on you while keeping on top of things.’
‘I need nothing. I need nobody,’ Doubler insisted, his voice cracking.
‘Fine. As you like.’ Midge reached out and held his hand, just as she had when they first met. ‘Shall I pop up again later in the week?’
Doubler nodded furiously. ‘That would be ideal. Lovely.’ He regained his composure quickly and bustled around the kitchen rinsing the cups and looking, he hoped, very much like a man who needed nothing, nobody.
Thinking once again about calling the animal shelter, Doubler sought clarity by walking down to the bottom of the hill, using the driveway rather than following the field’s own pathways. His feet slipped on the icy flint beneath him. There had been a heavy frost in the night and the wind carried a bite that threatened something colder still. It was going to be a late spring. He could hear a woodpecker drilling a tree in the distance, but other than the bird’s persistent hollowing, the air around him was devoid of life. He mused, as he walked, on the possibilities that lay ahead. While making contact with Mrs Millwood’s circle of friends filled him with a deep terror, the thought of Julian’s anxiety should he get involved with a charitable organization at his time of life appealed to him hugely and he wondered if that might just outweigh the fear of leaving Mirth Farm. The walk cleared his head and he walked back up the hill, a little more slowly to match his breathing, wondering when he had become such a bad parent that the notion of challenging his son was motivation enough to jolt him out of years of isolation.
The telephone was ringing in the hall as he walked into the house and Doubler rushed to it, breathless and thrilled with himself for having timed his arrival back to the house to coincide with Mrs Millwood’s hoped-for telephone call.
He snatched the receiver from the hook and reached for a cheerful ‘Good tidings’, which while he assumed might be an unconventional greeting, seemed to fit his mood.
‘Dad?’ The male voice at the end of the phone was puzzled and even a little affronted.
‘Who is this?’ said Doubler, wracked with a gut-wrenching disappointment he was unable to disguise.
‘How many men call you “Dad”?’ said Julian, matching his father’s tone with a barely contained disdain.
‘Oh, it’s you, Julian,’ said Doubler, feeling simultaneously both let down and foolish. ‘You don’t often call.’
‘Don’t guilt me out, Dad. I’m calling you now, aren’t I? And in my defence, I usually assume you won’t be in to answer the phone. You’re normally out with your blasted potatoes. But I thought I’d chance it today. I’ve been thinking things through since I saw you for lunch.’
Doubler felt tired. ‘I’m not selling Mirth Farm, Julian.’
‘I’m not talking about the farm. Well, at least not for now. It’s about the car. That old banger of yours.’
‘My car?’
‘Exactly. I didn’t see it at the weekend and it’s normally on the yard. Are you keeping it inside?’
‘Inside?’
‘Dad, are you OK? You’re sounding more vague than normal. You haven’t had a turn, have you?’
Doubler just managed to refrain from asking, ‘A turn?’ though it was the most intelligible thing he could think of saying.
Julian was continuing to speak, his voice a little tinny and distracted, as though he might be doing something else at the same time. Doubler strained to listen to the noises surrounding the words and could hear the sound of a keyboard being tapped in sporadic bursts. Julian was working as he spoke.
‘I’m wondering about the car. It’s ancient and I don’t think it’s safe for you to drive it anymore. If the weather is bad and you should get stuck, you don’t want to be relying on something past its best. It must be – what, forty years old?’
‘Well, I suppose so, Julian. But I don’t have much call for it, to be honest, and it doesn’t let me down. What on earth made you think of my car?’
‘Oh, I always worry about you in the winter. Seeing you up there reminded me how desolate it can be. I’m wondering if I should take the car off your hands. Swap it for something a little more practical? A Toyota Yaris perhaps, or a small Clio? If you’re keen to keep a four-wheel drive, then there’s a pretty handy little Fiat Panda that would suit you. What do you think?’
Doubler wracked his brains for a suitably grateful response. His son was showing an entirely unprecedented amount of interest in him.
‘I don’t know what to say. You’ve just said a number of words I don’t understand. Yaris, you say? What on earth is a Yaris? And what were the other ones you mentioned?’
‘Don’t worry too much about the what, Dad. I’ll do the research. I’ll find you a good little runaround that will start first time, every time. Just let me know if you’re in agreement in principle and I’ll pop up and fetch the Land Rover.’
The Land