Mr Doubler Begins Again: The best uplifting, funny and feel-good book for 2019. Seni Glaister
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Had anyone else been that reliable? Marie? Certainly not. The kids? Barely. On balance, they’d caused him as much worry as pleasure. That car, though, was as beautiful and sturdy as the day he’d bought it. It’s dusty-green colour and its cream roof had seemed undeniably splendid when he’d first driven it home, but it had quickly become part of the landscape, camouflaged among the hues of the farm and as familiar to him as his own face.
Julian was waiting for a quick answer, impatient now as his busy day clamoured to reclaim him. ‘Dad? Are you there?’
‘Julian. Yes. I’m just mulling it over. I don’t really think I need a new one, though it’s jolly nice of you to worry about me. Other than running down to the lower fields, I don’t exactly do much mileage. It sometimes needs a bit of bullying to start, but other than that, it’s fine. I doubt there’s anything much more suited to my lifestyle than that.’
‘Dad, I’m trying to help you here. Don’t put up barriers. I can find you something small and nippy that will get you in and out of town, and it will stop me having to worry about it. I won’t hear another objection from you.’
Doubler looked at his watch and realized with horror that Mrs Millwood could be calling him from her bedside at that very moment. ‘Julian? I am very, very touched, but I’m expecting another phone call, so I can’t completely focus on what you’re saying. Would you mind calling back another day?’
‘Another phone call from who, Dad? You’re acting a little strange. You’ve not done anything daft, have you?’
‘Heavens, no. Chance would be a fine thing,’ said Doubler, enjoying the sound of the echo down the phone just before he hung up with a resounding click.
The phone rang almost as soon as he had replaced the receiver.
‘You were engaged. I wondered if you had left it off the hook. I thought I might need to send Midge up to check in on you.’
Doubler exhaled happily. ‘You’re fussing over me again, Mrs Millwood, when your energy is supposed to be focused on getting you better. And it’s always a pleasure to see your daughter, but I’d like her to think well of me. I don’t want her thinking I’m a burden.’
‘Oh, I don’t think she thinks you’re a burden. I think she might see you as a mission, though.’
‘A mission? What sort of mission?’ Doubler’s mind flicked through a mental Rolodex of images, scanning these for potential meanings, something he had started to do recently when words were being elusive. The word now triggered, in quick succession, a series of pictures of white men in heavy clothing wielding Bibles in hot countries.
‘Oh, she thinks you’re lonely,’ said Mrs Millwood, dispelling the images in Doubler’s mind. ‘I believe she wants to sort you out with pigs or chickens. Or both.’
‘Ah yes. Pigs and chickens. I probably wouldn’t mind having a bit of a go with some livestock. I’ve been feeling a little more hopeful lately.’
‘Well, that can only be a good thing. You’re not exactly known for your optimism, are you?’
‘I don’t think I said optimistic – that might be pushing it a little far. But not devoid of hope, not quite so much in despair.’
‘A lack of despair? Heavens! What do you think has brought that on?’ Mrs Millwood joked, though there was probably some honesty behind the laughter.
‘It’s hard to say.’ Doubler wondered which direction to take this; there seemed so many options. He settled for the truth, the veil of the phone making this feel more achievable. ‘I think I was a bit troubled when you didn’t appear. When I heard your news. The news that you were poorly. And I realized that I depend on our chats quite heavily. And then, bless you – you telephoned me. I doubt I’ve had another phone call in the last ten years! It’s been quite a tonic.’
‘Goodness me, well, perhaps I miss our lunches, too. For the life of me I can’t imagine why. When all you do is criticize me.’
‘I criticize you? Heavens, no, I never have! Why on earth would you think that?’ Doubler was horrified, his mind racing through their hundreds of conversations and finding no recollection of anything that might have been misconstrued as criticism.
‘If it’s not my choice of cheese, it’s my bread. If it’s not my bread, it’s my apple,’ Mrs Millwood was saying.
‘I defy you to prove that I have ever criticized your choice of apple.’ Doubler was certain here, though he was pretty sure he might have passed comment on her choice of bread on a number of occasions.
‘Oh, it’s not always the words, Mr Doubler; it’s your eyes. Your eyes burn into my apple with enough force to combust the label clean off.’
‘You’re imagining it.’
‘I am doing no such thing. Tell me the truth, Mr Doubler. Tell me if you disapprove of my Granny Smiths.’
Doubler hesitated. He so wanted to support every choice Mrs Millwood made. She seemed to have nothing but goodwill for him. But he was still feeling honest. ‘You’ve got me there. I believe that you make an inferior choice in the matter of apples.’ He waited. There was a moment of stillness and then a long sigh.
‘But, Mr Doubler, I would like to think you can respect the choices I make, even when they don’t coincide exactly with your own preferences.’
‘Indeed I do respect you, Mrs Millwood. I don’t set out to criticize you. It is not your fault that you haven’t had exposure to all of the opportunities I would wish for you. I would like to think that I might be able to educate you when the choices you make are simply ill conceived.’
There was a splutter down the phone and Doubler worried that he might have caused a seizure. ‘Mrs Millwood?’
‘I’m fine. Just laughing, Mr Doubler. You are a one. You are nothing if not certain of your superiority.’
‘Actually, Mrs Millwood, I’m not certain about much, so when I am talking about a subject that doesn’t seem to slip away from my grasp, then I like to be very, very sure indeed. Those subjects include potatoes. I know a great deal about potatoes.’
‘And almost any other foodstuff.’
‘Heavens, no! There are all sorts of foods about which I know nothing. Bananas for one. Are there even different types? I could name dozens of varieties of apple and hundreds of different potatoes, but I couldn’t tell you the name of one single banana type. As far as I’m concerned, they just exist in two states: not ripe enough or overripe. And seafood. I know almost nothing about seafood. I could tell you what a lobster looks like, but I don’t know what it tastes like. And I don’t want to know.’
‘What on earth have you got against the lobster?’
‘I’m not overly comfortable with the consumption of a creature who has been boiled alive for my pleasure. I’ve never been tempted, to be honest, but if I had been once, then all thoughts were banished from my mind for ever when I read that lobsters are prone to suffering from anxiety. Who would boil an overly anxious creature alive, for goodness’ sake? Us anxious types must stick together in solidarity. I eschew the lobster.’
‘That seems entirely reasonable, Mr Doubler. That is a foodstuff that we can wholeheartedly agree upon.’
‘Shall we vow never to eat lobsters again, Mrs Millwood?’
‘Absolutely. I shall make a solemn pledge. Especially while I am in hospital. I shall speak to the cook at once and tell them to stop feeding me lobster with immediate effect.’
‘Very good. I do so like agreeing with you, Mrs Millwood.’
‘Feel free to make a habit of it, Mr Doubler. It would be a pleasant change. So, tell me, who were you on the phone to? I was surprised when I couldn’t get through.’
‘Nobody was more surprised than