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Rick Gekoski is a writer, rare-book dealer and former academic. He has written several widely praised non-fiction books including Staying Up, Tolkien's Gown, Outside of a Dog and Lost, Stolen or Shredded. This is his first novel.
In 2005, he was one of the judges for the Man Booker Prize, and was then Chair of the judges for the Man Booker International Prize 2011. He teaches creative non-fiction for the Arvon Foundation, and sits on their Development Board. In 2014 he was elected an Honorary Vice President of English PEN.
Published in Great Britain in 2017 by Canongate Books Ltd,
14 High Street, Edinburgh EH1 1TE
This digital edition first published in 2017 by Canongate Books
Copyright © Rick Gekoski, 2017
Every effort has been made to trace copyright holders and obtain their permission for the use of copyright material. The publisher apologises for any errors or omissions and would be grateful if notified of any corrections that should be incorporated in future reprints or editions of this book.
Extract taken from ‘East Coker’, Four Quartets © Estate of T.S. Eliot and reprinted by permission of Faber and Faber. Extract taken from ‘The Waste Land’, The Poems of T.S. Eliot Volume I, Collected and Uncollected Poems © Estate of T.S. Eliot and reprinted by permission of Faber and Faber. Extract taken from ‘Do not go gentle into that good night’, The Collected Poems of Dylan Thomas: The Centenary Edition © Dylan Thomas and reprinted by permission of Weidenfeld and Nicolson and David Higham Associates.
The moral right of the author has been asserted
British Library Cataloguing-in-Publication Data
A catalogue record for this book is available on request from the British Library
ISBN 978 1 78211 939 5
Export ISBN 978 1 78211 937 1
eISBN 978 1 78211 938 8
Typeset in Bembo by Palimpsest Book Production Ltd, Falkirk, Stirlingshire
For Sam Varnedoe
CONTENTS
Part I
I wasn’t sure of the right word. Builder? Odd-job man? Repairman? Or perhaps I needed to see a specialist? Carpenter? Joiner? Woodworker?
I looked at the keyboard intently, as if the letters could Ouija themselves up, and reveal the answer.
Handyman? I typed it into Google and added my postcode, hope congealing in my heart. Most builders, handy or otherwise, are incompetent, indolent and venal.
I will not pay unless the job is done perfectly, on time and within estimate. I do not provide endless cups of PG Tips with three sugars, ta, nor do I engage in talk, small or large. Preferably no visits to my WC, though a builder who does not pee is rare. Tea makes pee. But if that is necessary, only in the downstairs cloakroom. Afterwards there will be piss under the loo.
I also wanted one who is taciturn. I loathe the inane chatter of workmen hoping to ingratiate themselves while simultaneously padding their bills. A handyman who cannot talk? Bliss. Somebody should set up a company that supplies them. Tear out their tongues or sew up their lips, that’d do it.
I added taciturn to my search options, but unsurprisingly nothing turned up, though one chap described himself as ‘tactile’ which gave me the creeps. I tried various alternatives: Quiet? Nothing. Unobtrusive? Chance would be a fine thing. I eventually opted for Thoughtful, which provided two alternatives: one pictured in a string vest, who I suspect offers a variety of distinctly odd jobs, the other with a few recommendations affixed to his entry, which lauded his reliable service.
Mr Cooper, he is called, but I did not ring him, as that would provide evidence that I can hear, whereas I intended to feign almost total deafness. I emailed him, enquiring if he might be available next week. He responded immediately, which is a bad sign: shouldn’t he be out handy-manning his way around town?
Yes, he replied, he was free next Wednesday and Thursday. What can he do for me?
My requirements of Mr Cooper concern the entry to my house, which has a handsome Georgian door, which will need to be removed and ‘amended’ – I believe this might be the right term – in five ways:
(1) Remove the brass letter box, and then fill in the resultant hole, prep and paint in Farrow and Ball Pitch Black gloss. (There are a variety of blacks, some of them greatly preferable to others, and black is one of the few colours (or absence of colours) in which doors should properly be painted. One of our neighbours, a recently arrived Indian family, decorated theirs in a Hindu orange so offensive, so out of keeping with the tone of the rest of the street that a petition was discreetly and anonymously raised by ‘Your Neighbours’ (guilty as charged) asking him and his wife to reconsider. They did, and repainted it bright turquoise.)
(2) Install a doorbell that rings once only, no matter how many times you press it, and which issues a melodious, inoffensive tone which can be heard clearly inside the house, but not outside the door.
(3) Install a Dia16mm-x-200-Degree-Brass-Door-Viewer-Peephole-with-Cover-and-Glass-Lens, which I will provide.
(4) Install a new keyhole and change lock.
(5) Remove the brass door-knocker, and make good.
The jobs I have outlined will take a day and a half, according to Mr Cooper, ‘unless something goes wrong’, plus an extra visit to put on a second coat of gloss. Mr Cooper’s hourly charge is £35, plus materials, which, when I compare it to others offering similar services (though without extra thoughtfulness), is pretty much standard.
We agreed that he would arrive at 10 a.m., and that I would have a parking permit ready for his van. He seemed untroubled by my announcement of my deafness.
‘No worries, I can get on with my work. Not very talkative myself.’
I considered asking him to bring his own tea, but if he finds himself in desperate need (which he will, he will), he can always pop out to the neighbourhood café, a few hundred metres down the street.
James Fenimore, as I have inwardly
