That’s a story Arthur. Not the worst I’ve heard, not the best either, but it’s up there.’

There was a moment’s silence. Arthur was unsure whether he was expected to say anything but before he could decide, Martin continued.

‘Everyone has a story Arthur. We all have, you’ve got one, I’ve got one. Don’t worry I’m not going to burden you with mine. I want to make some observations and I want you to understand some rules.’

Arthur remained silent, waiting.

‘As you no doubt realise, you are not the first assistant sitting here and you won’t be the last. I am a realist. I know that this job is not anyone’s dream job but is not a bad job.’

Martin paused for a moment and then continued.

‘Do you know the average duration of employment of an assistant milkman in the town of Eden, Arthur?’ Martin asked. Arthur was about to reply when Martin continued.

‘Don’t bother trying to answer. I will tell you. The average is one month. The shortest was one day. The longest was six months which probably brought the average up. I said this is not the worst job you can have and it’s not. The work is not difficult. Sure, we start early. But we finish early. You have most of the day to yourself. Just in case you are wondering what I mean by early, we head off at 5.30 am, you therefore must be awake no later than 5am. You look a bit pale Arthur, they’re not accountant’s hours but that’s what it is. We finish early, by 9.30 am, 10 at the latest.’>

Martin paused briefly again.

‘I am a good boss Arthur. Do right by me and I will reciprocate. Someone of your intelligence could do this job in their sleep. In fact I suspect you will be doing it at least half asleep. They’ve told you the pay. Not the pay of a partner in an accounting firm but more than the dole and there are few expenses Board is free. Food here is relatively cheap, you don’t need a car and there is not much to spend money on in Eden.’

Arthur was nodding, seemingly in agreement although he was not sure what he was agreeing to.

‘I’ll be fine Martin,’ he said.’ I can’t promise you that I will stay a lifetime but I can promise you that you can rely on me to do the job. I suppose you will eventually tell me what the job is.’

‘It’s not rocket science Arthur’, was Martin’s reply.’ We deliver milk. I drive the van. You ride in the van next to me. I stop the van. You get out. You take the milk out of the van and leave it at the doorstep. I will show you the system I set up. I’m quite proud of it. It is automated and almost fool-proof. I drive onto the next address. You then do the same thing. And so on and so on and so on. Then we come back here. You change into your own clothes and the time is yours until 5am the next morning. Did I mention that’s seven days a week? It’s just you and me Arthur, no one else.’

Arthur was about to say something about labour laws, the five-day week, but he thought the better of it. As if reading his mind, Martin said, ‘yes, I know seven days a week is not strictly by the rulebook. But if you add up all the hours, you barely work thirty hours per week. That more than makes up for it.’

Arthur did not reply to that. He waited. Martin had mentioned something about rules.

‘Now to the rules. They are not complicated, not particularly onerous, but Arthur, pay attention, they are not negotiable. You will have free accommodation here as I said. Between 5.30am and 10am at the latest you will be working. After 10am and until 5.30am the next morning your time is your own. You can do absolutely anything you want to do, none of my business. But what is my business is what you do here, on my premises. I mentioned rules, but there is really only one rule. While you are here, either during working hours or in your own time, there will be no newspapers, no radio, no TV, no Internet. I have no use for any of those things and while you are here on my premises, neither will you. Outside of here you can do what you like, read what you like listen and watch what you like. Just don’t do it here.’

Arthur stared but did not respond. The obvious question was ‘why’, but he was not sure whether it was a wise question to ask.

‘I am sure you want to know why I have this rule. You are probably dying to ask. Don’t. If I want to tell you some day, if there is ever going to be some day, then I will.’

Arthur felt he had to say something.

‘OK Martin, I can’t see any problem with that. You have my word.’

‘So Arthur, the formalities are over. I think that’s enough for one day. You start tomorrow morning. Remember 5.30 sharp. Move your things in if you want to. Your uniform is in your quarters, several actually, varying sizes. I am sure one will fit.’

‘Uniform? ’Arthur asked.

‘Did I forget to mention it? We both wear white Arthur, not just me. I meant all white. Shirt, trousers, socks, shoes, hat and jacket. It’s a bit old-fashioned but that’s how it was when I took the dairy over and that is how it will stay. Looks quite smart really. And appropriate don’t you think, white, milkman, you know’.

‘White’, Arthur muttered. ‘OK, white.’

What do I care he thought to himself. White from head to toe, that’s the least of my worries. And before Arthur could say anything else, Martin stood up and left. Arthur stayed seated a few minutes, unsure what to do next. Move your things in, Martin had said. Yes, that’s what I’ll do.

Arthur went to his car, went to the boot and took out a suitcase. It was Samsonite, lightweight, silver in colour and once a very expensive. It now looked a little shabby, with a few small dents and more than a few scuff marks. He wheeled the case in, put it on his bed and proceeded to move in. The case contained his clothing, shaving kit and a few books. Apart from his car, a second hand blue Mazda 323, with one hundred thousand kilometres on the clock, these were is only belongings. Oh and the watch, the gold Longines that his ex-father-in-law had given him as a wedding gift and which somehow he managed to hold on to throughout his ordeal. The room was sparse but adequate. He had stayed in worse. There was a queen sized bed with bedside table, a small desk and a wooden wardrobe. The floor was wooden boards which by the look of them had not long ago been polished. A small circular Persian style rug was on the floor and on the window, through which he had a view of the courtyard behind the dairy were crooked venetian blinds which hung rather awkwardly at an angle. It will do, he said to himself. He took out his belongings, lay them on the bed, opened the wardrobe and contemplated where to put his things.

There was a knock on the door. The door opened and as he turned to see who was knocking he stopped in his tracks.