‘Gosh. You’re a bit harsh, Doubler.’
‘Am I? Is that what you think?’
‘Oh yes. A bit brutal.’
‘Oh,’ said Doubler, who was quite interested in this revelation. ‘I don’t really know what was expected of me. I’ve just stayed here. I got on with my life in the only way I knew. I set about growing my potatoes and I’m still growing my potatoes. My children aren’t my legacy. My potatoes are my legacy.’
‘Yes, quite, quite brutal.’
‘Will you stop saying that?’ said Doubler, who felt he had been very understanding of Olive and her circumstances and that perhaps he might expect similar generosity in return.
Olive continued, ‘What do you mean, your children aren’t your legacy? I mean, they actually are. They are what you will leave behind.’
‘I don’t really think of it that way. They’re flesh and blood, but I don’t see myself in them. When I breed potatoes, and let’s face it, I’ve bred a lot more potatoes than I’ve bred children, I can weed out the not so good and I can keep producing the good. I’ve refined and refined; I’ve had a say in what those potatoes have become. In the meantime, I’ve been unable to influence my children at all; I see nothing of myself in them. They are not interested in me or my farm, or my life’s work.’
‘Well, I mean, I’m not being rude . . .’ said Olive, preparing to be rude, ‘but it is just potatoes. That’s probably not very thrilling to the young. It’s hard for the young to get excited about a bit of root vegetable growing in the ground. I mean, can you honestly blame them for wanting to find their own path?’
Doubler cried out in response. ‘But what I’m doing here is groundbreaking!’ Then, conscious that he rarely spoke of these matters, he lowered his voice. ‘I have created a potato that will be hailed as the holy grail of potatoes.’
‘Oh, well, that sounds a bit more impressive. The holy grail, you say? Now you’ve got me excited. I could get excited about a holy grail. Anyone could.’ She thought about this and then backtracked a little. ‘But not the young. I’m not sure when they’ve got all of the world at their feet, not to mention YouTube, they could get excited after all. They probably find the holy grail a bit backward-looking.’
‘Backward?’ Doubler objected. This was his life’s work she was dismissing.
‘Well, it’s the past, isn’t it? Everyone’s been looking for the holy grail for ever. It’s not going to pay the mortgage or get you a promotion. You can’t drive it or go on holiday in it. It’s probably not very desirable these days.’
‘But it’s the holy grail of potatoes.’
‘You’re not selling it to me. Frankly, you’ve just downgraded it a notch by putting it that way.’
Doubler rarely spoke about his Great Potato Experiment, but he had never felt as challenged about his conviction for the project as he felt now, under the scrutiny of Olive. ‘The thing is, I am confident that my patent will be worth an absolute fortune. There won’t be a potato grower in the land who won’t want to buy my potatoes one day,’ he claimed boldly.
‘Have you got enough? Can you supply them all? It’s supply and demand, Doubler, and it sounds like you’ll need a lot if you’re going to supply every potato grower in the land.’
‘It’s not as simple as that. Did you ever grow potatoes on your farm?’ Doubler asked Olive.
‘We did. But we gave up, to tell you the truth. Sorry to belittle your life’s work, but they were a bit of a nuisance. You couldn’t grow them in the same soil from year to year; they were prone to disease and pest and blight. That blighted blight!’ Olive laughed nostalgically, as if she would trade all the mod cons in the world to return to those days of potato blight.
‘Exactly. That’s what I’m telling you. I’ve developed a potato that is resistant to blight. You can grow potatoes on the same patch of land over and over and over again.’
Olive’s eyes widened. ‘Well, that is interesting. I think Don would have been immensely interested in that, too. I seem to remember him convincing me that potatoes weren’t worth the bother, but without the blight? We’d probably still be growing them. But I was married to a farmer; we lived on the land; I’m interested in that sort of thing. I’m interested in your farm and what you’re growing, and I’m interested in the land, like you are. A bit of groundbreaking work in the field of potatoes is relatable. But I can see your children running a mile; it’s just not very glamorous.’
‘I don’t do the work to be glamorous,’ insisted Doubler.
‘I know. You did it because you cared about your legacy. And that’s fine. I’m not going to judge you. I think, if I were to wear a judgemental hat at all, I’d say you’ve been a tad extreme with your children. I don’t think you’ve applied the “blood is thicker than water” rule of thumb.’
‘No, perhaps not.’ Doubler thought about an equivalent rule he could adhere to. ‘Perhaps I’ve applied the “starch is thicker than blood” rule of thumb.’
‘Yes, that sounds more like your approach to parenting.’
‘Well, we can’t all be perfect parents, can we?’
‘No. And our children can’t all be perfect, either,’ acknowledged Olive sagely, admitting to more than she’d allowed throughout the entire conversation.
Doubler fell silent, reflecting on this reservoir of understanding. Their stories were so different, but the outcome was the same. Neither of them had children who were going to play an entirely satisfactory role in their concluding years. Both of them had resigned themselves to their circumstances with stoicism, but Olive’s disappointment was barely disguised. Doubler couldn’t help her with the sense of abandonment, that was something he knew too much about for his own perspective to be of any use to anyone else, but he wondered whether he might be able to help her with her empty days.
‘I think the team could definitely use you – we’re creaking a bit,’ said Doubler boldly, knowing that he had made precious little contribution to a team that had yet to welcome him into its fold. ‘The animals can certainly use you, and I’ve got a rather special friend who I think would very much benefit from spending some time in your company. Would you allow me to make an introduction?’
‘To your special friend? Why, yes, I’d be delighted. I could do with a friend or two, special or otherwise. Introduce away, Doubler.’ Olive eyed up the scones before her, and with a brief glance for permission in the general direction of her host, she helped herself to a third.
Chapter 26
The phone rang shrilly in the sitting room and Doubler answered it anxiously, wondering immediately if the unduly early call signalled a turn for the worse for Mrs Millwood or other such bad news.
Instead, the Colonel’s brash bark pierced the air. ‘Morning, old man. You’ve managed to befriend Mad Maddie Mitchell, if my sources are correct?’
Doubler’s initial relief was quickly replaced by irritation and he bristled as he answered. ‘I’ve been to see her, yes, and after a bit of a tricky start, we seemed to get on OK. I’m not sure the epithet “mad” is either accurate or appropriate.’
‘Well, this latest episode may well change your mind. But good to hear you’ve made some sort of breakthrough – that’s more than the rest of us have managed. It does mean you’re the only man for the job, though. I’ve probably played the bad-cop role one too many times to be of any help with last night’s debacle.’
Doubler’s mind raced, recognizing from Olive’s description the Colonel’s extraordinary ability to bamboozle through an assumption of his own superiority. ‘What episode? What happened last night? Not the donkey again?’
‘No, not this time. Seems Mrs Mitchell tried to burn her house down.’
‘What?’ Doubler exclaimed. ‘Is she OK?’
‘Oh Christ, yes,’ said the Colonel with an air of impatience. ‘Spectacularly unsuccessful attempt, by all accounts, but the police have been involved and they’ve contacted social services, so God knows what they’ll do with her now. Might be a good idea
to pay her a visit?’
‘I’m on my way.’ Doubler replaced the phone with no other formal goodbye or thanks. He was far too preoccupied with concern for Maddie. With no hesitation and with none of his previous anxiety, he hurried to the garage, desperate to get to his friend before the authorities tied her up in knots.
Doubler expected to find scenes of devastation, a charred roof perhaps or the telltale yellow-and-black tape delineating a restricted area, but Maddie’s house was quite intact and she answered the door calmly and with a disarming smile of welcome on her face.
‘Maddie, I was out of my mind with worry. Are you OK?’
‘Oh, you heard about my spot of bother, did you? Come on in.’
Doubler followed her in and trailed behind her towards the living room. He was aware, immediately, of an offensive, acrid stench that hurt his nostrils. Not sure what to expect, he entered the sitting room, where he found the velour settee stained almost entirely by ugly brown marks and a good deal of sooty mess on the surrounding carpet.
‘I must say this is almost a let-down. I heard you’d burnt the house down!’
‘Oh, but that was never my intention. Why on earth would I do that? I was trying to burn the sofa, but it is quite new and covered with this infuriating flame-retardant material. Couldn’t get it to go.’
‘So I see. What happened? Did you call the fire brigade?’
‘No, no need – there was barely a flame, but it seems I triggered the smoke detectors, and when the nice people called, I couldn’t persuade them not to come. I had an almighty scratchy voice – this blasted material just sort of shrivelled a bit, but it really stank and the fumes caught me right in the back of my throat, so I think they thought I might be dying of smoke inhalation and sent the firemen anyway.’
Maddie shrugged her shoulders as the two of them examined the sofa. ‘They were pretty cross with me. Nice but cross. Then the police were called because, apparently, it is a crime to set fire to your own sofa, and then social services were called, which was a greater problem because they already thought I was daft and apparently no sane person sets fire to their sofa.’
‘Well, they might have a point, Maddie. What on earth were you thinking?’ Doubler, while talking, was tugging open the sliding doors that led to the small patio outside and eyeing up the space beyond.
‘Well, I wasn’t exactly thinking, was I? I was fed up with the sofa and I wanted rid.’
Doubler, wrinkling his nose, now began to nudge the sofa towards the open doors. It was lighter than he expected, so he was easily able to shove it a foot at a time as he spoke. ‘What on earth had it done to offend you?’
‘It was mocking me.’
‘Well, you’ve put a stop to that. Good job. It’s not going to be mocking anyone anymore, is it? Look at it. It’s a laughing stock. Here, give me a hand getting it over this ledge.’
Maddie laughed and made a face of disgust as she grabbed the other end of the sofa and helped Doubler pivot it over the metal frame that housed the sliding doors.
‘Oh dear, you must think I’m bonkers. Perhaps I am. I’m just so tired of this blasted piece of furniture being the biggest thing in my life. It’s always here, just filling up my vision. I was having a conversation with it, I think, and it’s possible that I got angry at it for refusing to answer me. It’s just always here, so biddable, so compliant. It’s got no get up and go.’
Doubler shoved the sofa out onto the decking and came back inside, sliding the door closed behind him before saying, softly, ‘It’s a sofa, Maddie.’
‘I know. I know now. I was confused.’
Doubler looked at the empty space left by the sofa. ‘Did you get muddled up with your husband again, Maddie?’
Maddie looked indignant. ‘Of course not. Why would I want to set fire to my husband? I’m not mad.’ She stared intently at the sofa, as if for an answer. ‘I can’t remember what I was thinking. Perhaps I decided it was pointless. Yes, that must be it. A sofa for two has no purpose here, does it?’ She softened as she turned her attention from the sofa to Doubler. ‘Trying to burn it was silly, though, wasn’t it? Oh, what a fool I am.’
Doubler took Maddie by the shoulder and steered her to the one remaining armchair in the room. He used a trace of pressure to encourage her to sit, and then he bent down to look her in the eye. His gaze was searching as he asked, a little hesitantly, ‘I can understand you becoming confused, but you didn’t want to hurt anybody, did you? I mean, setting fire to your sofa seems a bit of a dramatic response to a failure to respond to you.’
Maddie thought carefully. ‘Dramatic for a husband, obviously, but not for a sofa.’
‘I think you have unrealistic expectations of your sofa, Maddie dear.’
Maddie looked around the room sadly. ‘You know what kills me in this place, Doubler? It’s the winters.’ She paused. ‘Ironic, isn’t it? My boys told me they couldn’t stand the thought of me suffering another winter at the farm, but they can’t have realized how important those dark months were to me.’
Doubler nodded emphatically, empathizing immediately. ‘Well, winter is a blessing, isn’t it? I mean, it’s hard if you’ve got livestock – you’ve got to keep everyone fed and watered, despite the elements – but winter is the farmer’s respite, isn’t it!’
‘Yes, exactly. Those early evenings were such a blessing – you’d just have to return to the house as soon as it got too dark to get anything done outside. And, of course, if you’d prepared sufficiently, you could comfortably live off the riches your own effort provided.’
Doubler agreed. ‘When you’ve worked hard all year, those late mornings really are a bit of a treat, aren’t they? The lie-ins! Nothing much to do until it gets light! But I think that’s the old way, Maddie. I don’t think farmers need to wait for sunrise now. Their tractors are fitted with powerful lights and operated by computers! They can work twenty-four hours a day nowadays.’
‘More fool them! Winter’s for putting on a bit of fat! Both on yourself and on your animals. It’s when we used to rest. I did all my reading, all my learning in the winter, and a good deal of that was in front of the fire. In the summer, when it’s light for eighteen hours, you work for eighteen hours, don’t you?’
‘Agreed. I have never taken any heed of clocks going back or forward. And I’m still the same today. I’m outside with first light, and I come inside when I can no longer see my hand in front of my face. Though now I’m getting on a bit, I seem to need so little sleep that I lie in bed waiting for the dawn.’
‘Well, there will be plenty of time for sleep when your time’s up, I suppose.’ Maddie looked outside at the dull morning sky. ‘But now? It’s a joke. My house seems to be in charge of providing a constant, neutral season throughout the year. Everything is thermostatically controlled. It’s comfortable, but perhaps it’s too comfortable. My feelings are numbed; it’s hard to take pleasure without some contrast to bring it into focus. The clocks move back and forward automatically; the boiler is set to produce the right amount of heat regardless of the weather; it’s all very efficient. I’m on mains gas, too – I don’t have to watch out for a low tank of oil. I don’t even get to decide whether I should call the fire brigade. The smoke detector does that for me apparently. Shouldn’t complain really. I feel such a horrible person for moaning to my sons. There are people who would give their eye teeth for such a comfortable retirement . . . Nice house, nice neighbourhood, money in the bank, pension coming in.’
‘And yet?’
‘And yet I’m no longer a person. I have no point. When I lived off the land, I always felt so busy and useful. Nothing much happened without some physical effort on my part. I lived and breathed that farm. I inhaled and exhaled with the seasons. And I was always content. Sometimes I burst with happiness, not often but sometimes. And sometimes I despaired, too, at something I couldn’t solve on my own. But my general state was one of contentment and I think that’s all anyone should wish for.’
Doubler
stood up and stretched his back. ‘Contentment is underrated.’
‘By the young ’uns, definitely. My boys would look at contentment with disdain. They pour scorn at people who reach what they call their “comfort level”. I kid you not. As if reaching a level of comfort is equivalent to failure.’
‘And yet they’ve tried to provide a comfortable environment for you, haven’t they? Isn’t that exactly what they set out to do by moving you from the farm to here?’
‘I torment myself with this argument. But was it for me, or was it for them? I fear it was for them. A slightly dotty mother in a decaying farm probably felt like a lot of hard work ahead. And they got to show off their skills by negotiating with developers and selling the farm. They divided it up into plots. It felt unnecessarily violent, but they were certain it was the best solution for me financially.’
Doubler thought of Julian, which prompted him to ask, ‘Did they pocket the cash?’
Maddie looked shocked. ‘Heavens, no! They bought annuities apparently.’
Doubler looked dubious. ‘They sound useful.’
‘I believe they are. They provide the income I live on. But I spend almost nothing. And money seems to come in and out of my account without me lifting a finger.’
‘Lucky you! I’m beginning to think your tragic life sounds quite enviable.’
‘What about you? What do you live on, Doubler? You’re my age and still working your socks off. Do you have a retirement plan?’
Doubler smiled. Maddie sounded so astonishingly sane. ‘Of sorts, yes. It’s perhaps all a bit far-fetched, but for the moment I make a tidy sum from my vodka production and, like you, I require very little income. The truth is, on the side I produce a very desirable gin and I trade that for all my groceries. Even my log pile is kept full in exchange for a good supply of the finest.’
‘Goodness me. You trade. You barter?’ Maddie sounded horrified.
Mr Doubler Begins Again Page 23
