recreate Mary’s system, based on my tiny sideways knowledge of it? I looked at the heap of boxes and suitcases in the hall, and quailed at the sheer scale of the difficulty. In order to make life bearable at the cottage, I had taken with me (in the old Volvo) simply everything I could think of: cooking pots and radios and the laptop and towels , and a box of books, and a big blanket, and two phone chargers, a box of stationery, and all the dog bowls and all his balls and toys and his special towel . And on top of all the cargo returning to the house, I now had additional freight – acquired on voyage, as it were: the obligatory bag of left-over groceries such as porridge and butter, tea bags and eggs – plus, of course, those time-honoured souvenirs of the outraged self-caterer: some minimally-used washing-up liquid, a minimally-used bottle of olive oil, and a 99 per cent full extra-large container of very ordinary table salt.
Did I have the patience to cope with the organisational demands of all this? Of course not. In that case (I heard Mary ask), would I prefer to unpack piecemeal over the next few weeks? No, Mary. I would not. I would hate that more than anything, as you very well know. Once clothes started spilling out of suitcases in the hall, I would have to move out and live in the car. But for heaven’s sake, why was I even thinking about this? As a fresh wave of sadness broke over me, I had to sit down and swallow the emotion, while Watson – who might have been a real comfort to me at this point, had he made the requisite effort – continued to observe, still accusingly, from under his chair.
It was Mary who’d had the idea of naming him Watson. At first, she’d liked the idea of saying to an enthusiastic puppy, “Come, Watson, come! The game’s afoot!” But it turned out to be a rather clever inspiration, and the namestuck. We both enjoyed finding “Watson” quotations that fitted perfectly with the dog. My own favourite was: “You have a grand gift for silence, Watson. It makes you quite invaluable as a companion.” Meanwhile, Mary preferred to quote the famous telegram summons: “Watson. Come at once if convenient. If inconvenient, come all the same.” She even used to call it out in parks and woods, when Watson was off the lead. Mary never cared much what people thought of her. While others were trying to attract their own dogs by shouting, “Monty! Monty, teatime!” Mary would be calling, “Come at once if convenient, Watson! If inconvenient, come all the same!”
With the dog still watching me, I got up. In the hall, I found the box with his food and bowl. I opened it, extracted just the things I wanted, and (feeling guilty) closed it again. Guessing what was occurring, Watson came out from under the chair – but after wolfing down his dinner, he retreated once more. His grand gift for silence was not quite such an asset right now. I sat down again; I got up again. I took off my coat. Finally, with an effort, I put some tinned soup in a saucepan, and began to heat it up; while this was happening, I went to the gloomy study, switched on my computer and started to download (slowly) 216 e-mails. Back in the kitchen, I realised all the wooden spoons were still packed – so I managed without. Sitting down again, I sipped the soup and tried to start a list of things to do. Without thinking, I looked up at the wall, half-expecting to see a board with GET THIS, DO THAT and TAKE CARE OF as the headings. I looked for the peg where next-door’s keys ought to hang. But of course neither of these items was in my own house. Although I could picture them quite clearly in my mind’s eye, I had to accept that I had never, personally, seen them in my life.
I had, as yet, made no decision about Wiggy and Roger,but my instinct was strong: forget it. Try to forget Dr Winterton’s file and all of its contents. What good could it do to dwell on this story? Was it even true? Why on earth was it sent to
Did I have the patience to cope with the organisational demands of all this? Of course not. In that case (I heard Mary ask), would I prefer to unpack piecemeal over the next few weeks? No, Mary. I would not. I would hate that more than anything, as you very well know. Once clothes started spilling out of suitcases in the hall, I would have to move out and live in the car. But for heaven’s sake, why was I even thinking about this? As a fresh wave of sadness broke over me, I had to sit down and swallow the emotion, while Watson – who might have been a real comfort to me at this point, had he made the requisite effort – continued to observe, still accusingly, from under his chair.
It was Mary who’d had the idea of naming him Watson. At first, she’d liked the idea of saying to an enthusiastic puppy, “Come, Watson, come! The game’s afoot!” But it turned out to be a rather clever inspiration, and the namestuck. We both enjoyed finding “Watson” quotations that fitted perfectly with the dog. My own favourite was: “You have a grand gift for silence, Watson. It makes you quite invaluable as a companion.” Meanwhile, Mary preferred to quote the famous telegram summons: “Watson. Come at once if convenient. If inconvenient, come all the same.” She even used to call it out in parks and woods, when Watson was off the lead. Mary never cared much what people thought of her. While others were trying to attract their own dogs by shouting, “Monty! Monty, teatime!” Mary would be calling, “Come at once if convenient, Watson! If inconvenient, come all the same!”
With the dog still watching me, I got up. In the hall, I found the box with his food and bowl. I opened it, extracted just the things I wanted, and (feeling guilty) closed it again. Guessing what was occurring, Watson came out from under the chair – but after wolfing down his dinner, he retreated once more. His grand gift for silence was not quite such an asset right now. I sat down again; I got up again. I took off my coat. Finally, with an effort, I put some tinned soup in a saucepan, and began to heat it up; while this was happening, I went to the gloomy study, switched on my computer and started to download (slowly) 216 e-mails. Back in the kitchen, I realised all the wooden spoons were still packed – so I managed without. Sitting down again, I sipped the soup and tried to start a list of things to do. Without thinking, I looked up at the wall, half-expecting to see a board with GET THIS, DO THAT and TAKE CARE OF as the headings. I looked for the peg where next-door’s keys ought to hang. But of course neither of these items was in my own house. Although I could picture them quite clearly in my mind’s eye, I had to accept that I had never, personally, seen them in my life.
I had, as yet, made no decision about Wiggy and Roger,but my instinct was strong: forget it. Try to forget Dr Winterton’s file and all of its contents. What good could it do to dwell on this story? Was it even true? Why on earth was it sent to
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