Chapter 4

In the back of Jeanette’s top cupboard I found an old kerosene lantern and replacement mantles. Also in the cupboard were the objects of my search, a set of mason jars and their lids in an old box, torn at the sides. Jeanette had been unable to reach then without her step-ladder so she had asked me to get them down.

“How long since you last used them?”

“I would have used them last about twenty years ago, when we had a peach tree.”

It was the day after my tumble on the rocks. I had had dinner with Jeanette that evening and then hobbled back to the caravan. In the morning my ankle was still tender but I could walk on it. Jeanette had invited me to come over for a game of Scrabble. She made up another ice-pack for me and I sat with my foot up on the chair. After we had finished she offered me some lunch. I complimented her on the peach cobbler she insisted on serving me for dessert and she told me she used to bottle her own peaches. I was curious if she still had the jars. They were a childhood memory, something my parents had stored in the garage, much in the same way Jeanette had relegated hers to the top cupboard. They seemed to ineffably speak of both a more self-sufficient and idealistic past.

As I examined the lantern and Jeanette sorted the box of jars the news came on the radio.

“Sources in Southern Iraq have reported that US soldiers are engaged in a massive push to relocate to Kuwait. US State department officials have confirmed that Kuwait has agreed to act as a staging point for the upcoming military operations in the troubled Kingdom of Saudi Arabia. A spokesman for the White House stated that they were aware of the threats posted on militant Islamic websites regarding the operation and that appropriate steps were being taken to ensure the safety of American soldiers.

“In related news Iran today announced that due to American interference in the region it would no longer sell its oil and natural gas products through the London and New York Exchanges. An oil bourse to be denominated in Dinars would open in Tehran in a month’s time according to the Iranian Foreign Minister. Oil industry analysts condemned the move as “divisive and a ploy to increase their share of windfall profits.”

“The White House would not be drawn to comment on the timing of the bourse’s opening but instead reiterated the US commitment to democratic markets.

“At home, the government has announced that driving restrictions will go into force starting Monday. The Energy Minister stated that while physical shortages had not yet manifested themselves the loss of nearly a third of the world’s supply of oil meant it was only a matter of time before storage tanks would empty. The Prime Minister held a news conference with the Transport and Police Ministers to announce the intended restrictions. Starting Monday, Cars with licence plates ending in even numbers will be restricted to use on even numbered days of the month, and odd numbered plates to odd numbered days. The Police minister said that Police would be enforcing the rules starting Monday. The Prime Minister urged drivers to start making changes to their routines immediately or they risked making a bad situation worse.”

We both listened to the report solemnly. Neither of us owned a car, but it was a sobering thought nonetheless. Jeanette’s nephew, Jimmy, had come out and picked her up on a couple of occasions to take her into Masterton. I think that it was mostly the trip she went for. She only ever went to the supermarket, and I’m sure she could have got most of what she needed through Susan.

I had now been in Castlepoint more than four months and hadn’t been in a vehicle that whole time. It was, for a second, a liberating thought. I was not wedded to a daily commute, I was not at the mercy of unreliable public transport. But in thinking this I felt a sudden shock at the thought that I may in fact not be able to leave Castlepoint, even if I wanted to. I had planned on staying the winter, but maybe I would stay a while longer. If I made out that it was in fact a choice not a necessity I knew I would be able rationalise it. And I did like it here, in any case.

Jeanette brought these reveries to a halt by asking me if I wanted a cup of tea. She usually drank six cups a day, and it was time for her early afternoon dose.

“Sure would, but you’re out of milk. I’ll go and get some.”

“Oh, yes, thank you.”

I went to the caravan and got my wallet. They hadn’t said anything on the news about freight vehicles, I thought. I suppose that they get priority. Got to keep the milk flowing, after all.

When I arrived at the shop I found Neville talking to Susan. There were a couple of other locals watching the TV distractedly. I caught a glimpse of footage that looked like somewhere in America, a long line of cars at a petrol station. The CNN ticker rolled along the bottom of the screen. But my attention was drawn to Neville and Susan.

Neville had a piece of paper in his hand and was waving it, gesticulating at Susan.

“I’m one of your best customers, I’ve always fucking paid on time, and now you want to do me in!”

I had obviously arrived at a bad time.

“I don’t want to do you in, I just can’t afford to run accounts anymore. I have to pay up front like everyone else and a tank isn’t cheap anymore. I just can’t have too many people owing or I’ll be badly out of pocket.”

Neville half groaned, half growled “This is just bullshit. This whole thing is a crock of shit. Those bastard oil companies have got together and planned this whole thing, to do people out of their businesses so they can mop them up when they go bankrupt. How am I supposed to make a living when I can’t even fill my fucking boat!”

His rage was becoming apoplectic and he was going a shade redder. Susan was starting to take small steps back from the counter.

“I’m sorry Neville, no more accounts.” Susan said.

I approached the counter. I had caught a worried look in the eyes of one of the others in the shop. I felt someone had to give Susan a hand.

“Susan doesn’t want you to go out of business Neville. If you did she would have one less customer. The same goes for the oil companies.”

Neville turned to face me.

“Yeah but it doesn’t make sense does it. The companies keep pumping the oil everywhere but in Saudi Arabia - their costs haven’t changed – but suddenly they are getting three times as much for doing the same job. If all of a sudden there were a whole lot less crayfish being caught, I bet I wouldn’t get paid tree times as much. People would just stop eating crayfish. What’s the difference?”

He may in fact have been a little unhinged, but he wasn’t stupid.

“I suppose the difference is that people can eat something other than crayfish, but you can’t run your boat on anything but petrol.”

“That’s bloody right! So, because everyone wants petrol shouldn’t there be something that stops bastards in suits in big cities making shit-loads of cash from the people who have no choice!?”

When I had talked to Neville yesterday I had assumed that he was a raving right winger, but now he sounded like he might have jumped up on the podium with Lenin. It was an odd thing that people often had both an attraction and a revulsion to the use of power, discriminated by the effect it had on them personally. Neville went on:

“The government are just going to do nothing, they’re going to sit on their hands and wait for the Yanks to sort out the bloody Arabs, all the while watching the oil companies screw us to the wall!”

One of the locals was beside Neville now. He was on older man, maybe sixty.

“Neville, you’re not going to do yourself any good raving to us about it. We sympathise.” He said.

“What a crock. I know what you lot are like, you’re silently smirking behind our backs. That’s always the way round here. All of you smug old bastards look down on the working people of this community. You couldn’t care less if we all went out of business.”

“I really think you need to take some time out. You’re not making any sense.” He took a step closer to Neville. Suddenly Neville grabbed him by the jumper and held him at arms length. The man grasped Neville’s wrist and they stood staring at each other. Susan emitted a sharp gasp.

“Right, let’s just stay calm. There’s no need for this,” I said, getting between the counter and the two duellists. I put my arms out and tried to herd them towards the door, as if they were sheep and I had nearly penned them. But Neville wasn’t about to be moved. As I got closer he lashed out with his left hand and hit me in the mouth, not with a fist but more a slap with the back of his hand. I took a couple of shocked steps back. Neville pushed the old man away and turned towards me. I checked my mouth for blood: nothing appeared.

“Bloody cowards!” Neville said and stalked out.

I touched at my lips gingerly. The older man came over.

“Are you all right?” He asked, smoothing his jumper.

“I’ll live.” My lip had already started to swell. I went to the dairy fridge and got the milk. The others watched me, perhaps expecting I would collapse or burst into tears.

“Sorry about that Paul. I didn’t think he would get that upset. Everyone’s tempers are a bit frayed.” Susan said as I paid.

“It’s not your fault Susan. It was just wrong place at the wrong time. I’ll see you later.”

When I got back to Jeanette’s place she noticed my fat lip immediately. I told her what had happened and she got me yet another ice-pack. It was too cold to keep on my mouth for long though.

“You’re having a bit of a sorry time of it really.”

“Maybe there’s a message in it.”

“What do you mean?”

“Well I had intended to stay until spring, and things are obviously not going to get better with the oil situation, so maybe I should think about moving on.”

Jeanette stopped stirring her tea. Without turning around, she asked “Paul, why did you come to Castlepoint?”

I had told her when I moved in that I wanted to take some time out, and I had told her on several occasions that I had got back from travelling. But politeness, and maybe old-fashioned notions of propriety had prevented Jeanette from inquiring too deeply into my past. But this was that sincere request, that heartfelt plea to be let into another’s inner life that I didn’t feel I could deny.

“I know you came here to get away from it all, but what is it you are getting away from exactly?” Jeanette asked before I could speak.

“It feels like a long and boring story when I sit here and think about it, but it didn’t seem so boring while it was happening. Jeanette, I want you to know that I have felt like telling you more about myself, but the time never seemed right.”

“I understand.” She sipped her tea, sitting opposite me at the table.