by McNeir, Leo
*
The following day, Marnie decided to work late. When everyone had left for the night, she made herself a cup of coffee and went back to her desk. It was no hardship for her to stay on. She loved her job and her main project had been going well. The design for the interiors of the chain of pubs along the Grand Union Canal in the Midlands was virtually completed. Soon the work would be out to tender and she was almost as pleased with the scheme as were the directors of the company. The only problem was that they had delayed the larger project to redevelop their restaurants because of the uncertainties of the economic climate. Marnie would just have to wait until the brewery was confident enough to go ahead.
It was funny how she would start a project with a feeling of excitement and anticipation, work at it until she had a scheme that pleased her and that she could offer to the client with some degree of confidence. By that stage the client was often filled with enthusiasm, while Marnie was convinced she could have done better. She told herself that this was preferable to complacency, but was worried that the restlessness she had experienced the previous year was going to return, that it was a sign of a more deep-rooted problem.
Through her window she could see the canal, the low evening light reflecting from its surface. Spring was in the air and Marnie asked herself if she would really want to set off again on a long journey. Could that really satisfy her needs? What needs? Last year she had felt stale in her work, but now she was involved in interesting projects, her team was young and talented and the company was doing well. At least they had so far survived the recession. Then why did she feel uneasy with herself?
“Midnight oil, Marnie?” Philip, the senior partner in the practice, was standing in the doorway. “I came in to turn off the lights. Didn’t know anyone was here.” He walked across the large open-plan office to her desk. “All well?”
“Just tidying up. One or two things I wanted to get finished on the Willards Brewery job.”
“Your ‘Pub Crawl’ Project,” said Philip.
“Yes. It’s about time they came back to us with the really big job to do their restaurants and head office.”
“You know what they’re like, Marnie. It’s the recession and they’re being cautious. They have to be.”
“Oh yes, I know. I suppose it’s kept them in business for two hundred years, being careful.”
Philip walked round her desk and looked out of the window. It was still quite light, with high pink and grey clouds pulling a thin veil over the evening in the western sky. Already one solitary star was visible above a block of flats in the middle distance and there was a cold brightness in the air. The water of the canal was shining and mirror-smooth.
“I wouldn’t be surprised if we were in for another frost tonight,” said Philip. “There have been times when we could almost have gone ice-skating on your canal in the last few weeks.” Marnie smiled. She liked the idea of “her” canal.
“It might not be my canal for much longer. Beth is planning to sell Sally Ann.”
“Couldn’t you buy her?”
“I don’t want to increase my mortgage with the property market falling and I’ve invested most of my capital in buying the flat.” Philip nodded. He had admired Marnie’s acumen a few years ago when she had bought her flat in a good part of London with a view over Hampstead Heath. It had been expensive, but the improvements she had made had helped keep its price at a time when many other homes had lost almost a third of their value.
“Couldn’t you persuade Beth to change her mind?”
“You know Beth. Once she gets an idea.” She shook her head.
“I know you, too, Marnie.” He laughed and made for the exit, pausing in the doorway. “If you’re still here in the morning I’ll bring bacon and eggs.”
Marnie switched off the main office lights and used only the lamp on her desk. She enjoyed this time of day in the office when she had the place to herself. She made another cup of coffee and worked on for an hour longer.
She tidied her desk. By now it was just after seven and darkness had fallen. Through the window she could see the street lights from the adjacent bridge reflected on the water. Marnie stood up and turned off the desk lamp, leaning against the window frame in the darkness. The central heating in the office worked on a timer system and the building was starting to cool down. Outside, the temperature was falling quickly and the canal would probably freeze over again that night. My canal, thought Marnie. But it was true. It had become her element. She felt part of it all and it had become part of her. It was strange how unsettled she was at the idea of losing Sally Ann They had been through a great deal together and she recognised how much she had come to value the freedom and peace of the waterways.
Just then, the phone rang and made her jump. She reached over to her desk without bothering to turn on the light.
“Marnie? It’s Anne.”
“Anne with an ‘e’?” said Marnie. They had met the previous summer when Anne was running away from home to make one less mouth to feed after her father lost his job. Introducing herself that morning, Anne had noted that like the boat she was an Ann, but with a different spelling. “How did you know I was here?”
“I guessed when I rang the flat. You’d either be on Sally or at work.”
“How are things?”
“That’s why I’m ringing, really. It’s still difficult at home. Dad can only get part-time work and he’s …” she lowered her voice “… moonlighting to bring in some more cash.”
“Perhaps we can get together,” said Marnie. “Have a talk about things?”
“We’ve got this parents’ evening tomorrow night and we’ve got to decide on next year.”
“Well, you know my views on that. I do realise how difficult it is, Anne, but I believe you must stay on at school and do A-levels so you can go to college.”
“Dad says that years ago architects and draughtsmen used to be apprenticed and learn the job that way.” Marnie knew he was right, but that system had long since disappeared.
“Why don’t we meet soon and talk it over. Could you come down on Saturday? I expect you’ve got loads of homework to do.”
“Not so much that I couldn’t visit you,” said Anne eagerly.
“Tell you what: why not come Saturday morning and stay till Sunday? You can bring your school work and do it in my study at home. I’ve got a desk and a drawing board and we’ll make time for you to do your GCE homework.”
“That would be great!” yelled Anne and laughed. “I never thought you’d be behind the times, Marnie.”
“What do you mean?” said Marnie with mock indignation, still perched on the corner of her desk in total darkness.
“It’s not GCE anymore. We do GCSE now. GCE was in the olden days, in your time.”
“Okay, well it’s time for me to shuffle off home now for my bowl of gruel by the fire in my carpet slippers with the cat on my lap. If I’m still alive on Saturday I’ll see you at the bus station at about ten o’clock.” They agreed final details and Marnie leaned over to replace the receiver. It was as she was moving round the desk to reach the lamp-switch that the office lights came on and Lily the cleaner shrieked. Shielding her eyes from the glare, Marnie jumped at the sudden noise.
“Ooh, you did give me a start!” said Lily gasping in the doorway with a hand planted on her chest. “What are you doing in the dark, love, I thought I’d seen a ghost.”
“You may be right,” said Marnie. “And it’s time for me to disappear, but I’ll use the door for a change, just this once.”
*
The worst of the rush hour was over by that time and Marnie pointed her Rover in the direction of Little Venice. In the event, it took her as long to find a parking space as to cover the rest of the journey. She found several roads cordoned off with blue and white tape bearing the word “Police”. At the corner of one street she spotted a young police constable standing beside the barrier talking into his lapel radio. Pulling up as he finished talking,
she opened the window.
“What’s happening?”
“Do you live in this street, miss?”
“At the canal end,” said Marnie, not quite truthfully.
“That’s all right,” he replied. “You can get in from Maida Vale at the other end.”
“Is there some kind of incident?” Marnie was remembering the old saying that you knew you were getting older when the police started to look young. This one looked like a schoolboy. He leaned forward and spoke in a confidential whisper.
“Bomb alert in the tube station.” Marnie thanked him in a whisper and drove on.
Arriving opposite Sally Ann’s mooring, she saw Jane standing on the towpath beside her boat Joshua, silhouetted against one of the windows. Marnie leaned over the railings and called to her.
“They’ve been there for the past two hours,” said Jane. “The police, fire brigade, army vehicles, all sorts. Otherwise there’s been no traffic at all. It’s eerie.” Marnie told her about the road blocks at the other side and the police standing guard. Deciding that there was nothing they could do either about this bomb alert or about the problems, they supposed, of Northern Ireland as a whole, they went on board Joshua for a drink.
“I’d better stick to fizzy water,” said Marnie. “With all these police around, they might decide to breathalyse everyone in sight just to relieve the boredom of waiting for something to happen.”
“If you hadn’t turned up, I was going to give you a ring,” said Jane, pouring the drinks. “Last night I met the prospective purchaser of Sally Ann.” Marnie raised an eyebrow.
“Cheers.” They both took a sip from their glasses.
“Just as we planned, I happened to be passing when he came down to look at Sally. I asked if he was expecting to meet somebody and said I was sorry, but I thought the owner had already gone home. He seemed surprised and said he didn’t think they would be here that evening.”
“I hope you kept a straight face,” said Marnie.
“Absolutely inscrutable. He asked me if I knew the owners personally and I said that a very nice woman had Sally Ann now. He said did she have short brown hair and a husband who lectured at the university. I said she had shoulder-length dark hair and no husband at all.”
“Did he go on board?”
“No. He just went off, looking bewildered. That was it.”
“I think I will have a gin and tonic,” said Marnie with a smile. “But just a very small one.”
Afterwards they both walked along to Sally Ann and Jane waited on the towpath while Marnie went aboard. She emerged carrying two pieces of cardboard.
“I’ll look after those on Joshua, if you like. They’re incriminating evidence if Beth sees them. Anyway, you might need them again.” Marnie handed her the cards. Each was the size of A4 paper. One was marked “FOR SALE” with a line boldly drawn through it; the other said “SOLD”.
*
Back at the flat, Marnie made up the bed in the spare room in preparation for Anne’s arrival at the weekend. Dolly, her sturdy black cat, watched her, determined not to let Marnie out of her sight until she had been fed. Soon the kitchen was filled with the sound of the cat’s purring as she ate. By now Marnie had no desire to cook. Instead she took a pitta out of the freezer and popped it in the toaster to thaw. She mixed salad in a bowl and tossed it in vinaigrette. By the time she had opened a bottle of dry white Orvieto, the pitta was warmed through and ready to be filled with the salad. Marnie took her supper through to the living room on a tray and switched on the television news.
The second lead story of the evening was a combined report on a murder in Belfast believed to be the work of one of the terrorist organisations and the report on the bomb alert in the underground in London. There were graphic descriptions of both incidents and an extended feature on the developments in the province. Eye-witnesses told of the suffering of the murder victim, followed by interviews with people from both communities. It was the same every time Marnie saw these reports. People talked about the British as if they were all the same in their views. She resented being lumped together in a category that supported one side and opposed the other. She just hated the violence and wanted it to come to an end. Sighing and frustrated, she sat through the reports and ate her supper.
At the end of the news she left the television on for the weather forecast in the hope of catching a first hint that spring was coming. The newscaster announced:
“After the weather forecast there will be a change to our schedule. Instead of the advertised programme on the Bauhaus, we will be having an extended interview with the Secretary of State for Northern Ireland and a review of the policy initiatives that have so far failed to bring any real progress to the troubled province.”
Marnie knew she ought to watch it, but decided instead on an early night and went to bed for a good read.
2
The three women were out gathering bluebells and celandine for the decoration of the church on Lady Day when they heard a distant sound that halted them. They were young, around their twentieth year, with the family likeness of sisters and they stood listening intently, heads cocked on one side, their long skirts reaching almost to the ground. It was a still, spring morning with warmth returning. Until that moment when one had raised a hand for silence, they had been chattering gaily, glad to be out in the fresh air, bending to their task. Now they stood upright like wild rabbits sensing danger. The eldest sister, she who had raised her hand, pointed urgently towards the trees and ushered them to shelter.
The sound of hooves pounding on firm dry ground was clear in the morning air. Within seconds the sisters had concealed themselves, crouching in the undergrowth, waiting and watching.
“Can you see anyone?” It was the youngest who whispered. The eldest put a finger to her lips, shaking her head. Moments later they saw them, a large group of perhaps fifty or more. The women ducked their heads into the ferns, though the eldest kept watch for the first sign of danger as the troop rode through the clearing at a canter. The soldiers wore leather coats and most had steel helmets with peaks. The women tasted the dust thrown up by the drumming hooves and heard the clinking of bridles and weapons. It was long after the men had passed before they dared to breathe again.
“Who were they, Sarah? For King Charles or Parliament?” said the youngest as they stood up, brushing the dirt from their dresses. The eldest stepped out and looked in the direction taken by the riders, shielding her eyes from the morning sun.
“I don’t know,” she said. “Does it matter?”
*
Anne (with an ‘e’) dropped her bag inside the door and walked into the flat, looking around her like a cat entering a building for the first time. At five foot six, she was nearly as tall as Marnie. With short fair hair, slight build and sharp features, she had the appearance of an urchin. She wore jeans, blouson jacket and trainers. Following her in that Saturday morning, clutching a bundle of letters from the doormat, Marnie noticed a degree of confidence in Anne’s bearing. It had first struck her when they had met at the bus station. There was none of the despondent shuffling of their first, in fact their only, meeting last summer by the canal in the Bedfordshire countryside. Anne held herself erect and Marnie detected a sense of purpose in the girl. Something had happened to change Anne’s view of life and Marnie had an idea what it was.
“Your room’s through there and the bathroom is just opposite. I’ve only got one bathroom, so we’ll have to share, I’m afraid.”
“We’ve only got one bathroom between the four of us at home,” said Anne.
“Okay. That’s the kitchen, round there is my room and the living room’s in here.” Anne went through the door followed by Marnie and stood, turning slowly, in the middle of the spacious room.
“The ceilings are high and the windows are really …” Anne stopped in mid-sentence.
“Everybody does that,” said Marnie. “I usually tell people they’ve left their mouth open.” Anne closed hers with a snap.
“That’s the famous one, the one they showed on television “ said Anne simply. She crossed to the fireplace and stared up at the picture. It was the original drawing of the great aqueduct at Pontcysyllte in North Wales on the Llangollen Canal and had been part of an inheritance left to Marnie the previous year by an old man who had spent his life on the canals and who had somehow acquired a collection of lost drawings from two hundred years ago.
“Did you keep any of the others?”
“Just a few small ones. You’ll see them around the flat. The collection is in the museum’s special gallery. I couldn’t resist that one.”
“You gave them all to the museum. I’m sure I couldn’t have done that.”
“Long-term loan. I felt I had to. They were given to me because I would know what to do with them, or so Old Peter thought. I believed the right thing to do was let everyone see them. You would have done the same in my place.”
“All except this one,” said Anne.
“They have a copy that looks identical. It’s the centre piece of the Peter William Gibson Collection. Shall we have coffee and make some plans or are you tired after your coach journey?”
“Oh yes, I feel a touch of the vapours coming on,” said Anne, raising a hand to her brow. “I shall have to lie down for an hour and adjust my crinoline.” They headed for the kitchen and Marnie led the way.
“What would you like to do?” she said, operating the coffee machine.
“I don’t mind. It’s just nice to be here. Are we near Sally Ann?” Anne fetched cups from the shelf and put them on the table.
“Not far. There’s a floating art gallery in the pool at Little Venice.”
“Do they have any pictures by you?” said Anne.
“No. I think they’re all the work of the gallery’s owner. They’re very good. I only sketch as a hobby or for my job.” The coffee machine began making rude noises. “Are you still drawing?”
“When it’s not too cold to go out. I’m doing a project for GCSE on the canal: locks, bridges and landscape.”
