by McNeir, Leo
“You’d better watch out or you’ll end up like me, chugging along on Sally.”
“That would be great,” said Anne. Marnie poured milk into a jug. “Marnie, did you ever want to be an artist, a painter doing fine art?”
“Not really. I think I’ve always been a practical person. Of course, I like paintings and sculpture, and I go to lots of exhibitions, but I wouldn’t find it satisfying to spend my days doing interesting studies in light and colour. If I hadn’t become an interior designer I might have gone into architecture. What about you?”
“I think I feel the same, really. I like doing abstract things, but I get more satisfaction from drawing something like a leaf in all its detail. I love that.”
Marnie brought the coffee pot over to the table and poured the steaming brew into their cups.
“You can keep your options open at your age. You’ve got time to decide yet.”
“That’s what they say at school. My mum’s giving me a boxed set of art materials for my birthday. This coffee’s good.”
“When’s your birthday?”
*
An hour later they were in Oxford Street, going from window to window and store to store. Marnie suggested one of the smaller clothes shops.
“I can’t let you do this,” said Anne.
“Just a small birthday present. What do you think of that shirt?”
“It’s nice, very nice, but you shouldn’t be buying me things, Marnie.”
“Hey, do you see this skirt? I have one fairly similar.” She held up a flowing creation in bright colours. “An old lady who lives opposite Sally Ann’s mooring once called me a water gypsy, so I often wear it when I go to see her.” They both laughed and Anne held the skirt up against her and looked in the mirror, turning ostentatiously from side to side, her head held high. Suddenly from behind a clothes rack an assistant appeared.
“Would your daughter like to try on the skirt, madam?” Marnie smiled. Behind the assistant’s back, Anne shook her head.
“Yes, I think so,” said Marnie. “And that white shirt, please.” She bundled Anne, who was protesting mutely, into a changing room and waited. The girl walked uncertainly out of the changing cubicle and stood with her hands in front of her as if waiting for criticism. Marnie grinned at her.
“What do you think, Anne?”
“Most becoming, madam.” The assistant had reappeared from behind her rack and joined in, to Anne’s embarrassment. She blushed.
“It’s nice. I’ve never worn anything like this before.” Her voice was hesitant and Marnie felt at that moment that she wanted to buy her all the clothes in the shop.
“We’ll take them both,” she told the assistant and took her to one side as Anne returned to change into her own clothes. By the time Anne came back, Marnie had paid the bill and concealed one further item in her shoulder bag. Out on the pavement, Anne protested.
“It’s very kind of you, but I shouldn’t have let you do that, Marnie. “
“Not right to buy my daughter something for her birthday?” said Marnie. They continued on their way laughing and took the tube back to Little Venice for soup and a sandwich on Sally Ann.
*
Anne wanted to help with supper, but Marnie insisted she make at least a gesture towards her homework and installed her in the study. When, ten minutes later, she took Anne a glass of designer water with ice and lemon, Marnie found her immersed in history notes.
“What period are you doing?”
“Modern, well it’s called modern history. It’s this century, but only goes just beyond the second war.”
“Do you like it?”
“I like knowing what has happened so far. I’m doing Lloyd George at the moment. He’s about to be pushed out of office.”
“I only remember him in the first war,” said Marnie, “making lots of speeches and negotiating the Treaty of Versailles.”
“Oh, he did much more than that: pensions, national insurance, pub licensing hours. Did you know he was desperate to solve the Irish question?”
“It’s a pity he didn’t.”
“Yes. It all sounds just like today when you read about what was happening in the 1920s. Only the names have changed. Did you know the IRA was around before the war?”
“I thought there had been troubles since Cromwell’s time,” said Marnie.
“Even longer than that.”
Marnie remembered an article she had read and had an idea that the Normans had started it all. She left Anne to her work and went back to check the salmon in the oven. She felt the bottle of wine she had slipped into the fridge. It seemed cold enough.
*
“What do you do with this?” said Anne, laughing. Marnie stirred the vinaigrette and passed her the jar.
“You tilt your plate by putting your fork under the opposite side and pour the vinaigrette into a small pool. Then you pull out the leaves, dip the fleshy part into the dressing and pull off the flesh with your teeth. Like this.” She gave a demonstration. “You try it.” Anne copied her, a curious, sceptical expression on her face. As she ate the flesh, she raised her eyebrows and nodded.
“It’s good. Very delicate taste. I’ve seen them in the shops, but never eaten artichoke before. A bit exotic for my family, I suppose.” For a moment she looked thoughtful and then resumed her eating. With a slight exclamation, Marnie quickly stood up and went to the fridge.
“I nearly forgot.” She produced a half bottle of champagne and put it on the table so that Anne could see the label. “I wouldn’t normally encourage someone of your age to drink alcohol, but I thought we might have a small amount of this to celebrate your birthday one week in advance. What do you think?”
“Real champagne?”
“Yes. For a special occasion.”
“Great. Are you sure you want to open it?” Marnie replied by pulling off the foil cover and popping the cork. As Marnie poured the first glass the foam reached the top of the flute and rolled over the side.
“You see how out of practice I am,” said Marnie. “I ought to drink champagne more often.” She filled both glasses and passed one to Anne. “Happy nearly birthday, Anne with an ‘e’, and every success in your exams this summer. I hope it will prove to be a memorable year.”
After supper they took coffee into the living room and Marnie asked to see Anne’s work on her canals project.
“I’ve got my sketchbook with me,” said Anne. “Can we compare the drawings with the ones you did last summer?” Marnie went to fetch her own collection of pads. They settled on the large sofa with the drawings, Dolly snug between them, and spent an enjoyable half hour going through the books. Marnie could see how Anne’s drawing had improved since the previous year. She had been working hard on her project. From one of her own books she took out a sketch that Anne had done on the day they met and the improvement was clear. She took Anne into the hall and pointed to the pinboard on which she pinned messages, notes and reminders. In the top corner of the board was a tiny sketch of Sally Ann that Anne had hastily done and left for Marnie without telling her.
“You kept it!”
“Of course. It’s delightful. You must have done it at lightning speed.” Anne beamed with pleasure and they returned to their places. In getting up, they had dislodged one book from the pile and it had slid to the floor. Anne gathered it up and glanced at the contents.
“What’s this?” Marnie leaned over and examined the drawing. It showed a group of ruins set among trees, roof timbers visible like a skeleton and walls partly collapsed.
“It’s just a place I saw on my travels. I did that from memory, actually.” Marnie told her about an hallucination she had had caused by a touch of the sun.
“Didn’t you go back and find it?”
“No. In fact, I’m not even sure where it is, exactly.”
“Was it after you met me?”
“Yes. A week or two later on the way to Braunston. Before I got to the Blisworth tunnel, I think.”
“It can’t be far from where I live,” said Anne. “It looks interesting. What is it, or rather, what was it?”
“An old farm, I think. It must have been a big one in its day. It’s strange to see it abandoned. After all, it’s not in a remote place out in the wilds. Practically the home counties. And it’s on the edge of a village.”
“Have you got any Ordnance Survey maps?” said Anne. “The ones we use in Geography give lots of detail, even the names of farms.” Marnie fetched two or three maps of the area and they pored over them, trying to pinpoint the location, but without success.
“Of course!” she exclaimed. “Sally Ann. The log. That’ll tell us where it was. Just a minute.” Marnie went out and returned clutching a cruising guide and a map of all the waterways in Britain. She spread the map out on the floor and Dolly jumped down to sit on it. Anne traced Marnie’s route with her finger while Marnie consulted her notes in the log-book.
“It must have been somewhere around here,” she muttered. “The log is blank for a few days. I was feeling groggy at the time and just took it easy.”
“Here are some sketches of the tunnel,” said Anne. “They’re after the ruins in your sketchbook. We must be looking for somewhere between Linslade and Stoke Bruerne.” The log narrowed the area even more precisely. Anne was running her finger along the canal, her chin almost touching the map on the floor. Kneeling beside her, Marnie spotted the village with the canal running round it in a loop like an ox-bow meander. On its southern side she could see a farm marked clearly beside the waterway. Anne ran her finger across open countryside, reached the bend and stopped.
“I’ve found it!” she cried. “At least, I think I have. Look, Marnie. Could that be it?”
“What’s the name of the village?” said Marnie.
“Knightly St John.”
“That’s the place. Is there a name for the farm?”
“Yes. Just a minute, the grid line runs through it. It’s … Glebe Farm. Yes, that’s it. Glebe Farm, Knightly St John. It has a nice ring to it.”
“Mm. I wonder what became of it. Someone in the village told me it was up for sale.”
“Perhaps it isn’t a ruin any more. Maybe it’s been restored,” said Anne. “It would be interesting to find out.”
“Where is it in relation to where you live?” They checked the map. It was no great distance. Marnie got up and went over to the hi-fi. “Shall I put some music on? What would you like?”
“Oh, Marnie, I nearly forgot!” Anne leapt up and made for the door. “Excuse me a moment. You choose. Anything.” She disappeared leaving Marnie bewildered. She selected Palestrina’s Missa Brevis by The Tallis Scholars and the first notes were wafting across the room as Anne returned, her hands behind her back.
“That’s super,” she said. “Just right. Marnie, I brought you a present, just a little something to thank you for letting me come for the weekend. It’s not much.” She held out a small packet about the size of a ruler, but slightly more bulky. Marnie took the gift with obvious pleasure.
“I think it’s my turn to tell you that you shouldn’t be giving me presents. You’re more than welcome here, any time.” She pulled the tissue wrapping gently apart to reveal a bundle of packets of joss sticks: sandalwood, amber, jasmine and musk rose. In the packet was a metal holder that looked almost like silver. “These are wonderful. Thank you very much.” She kissed Anne on the cheek.
“I didn’t know if you liked that sort of thing, but it seemed right for you somehow.”
“ I haven’t had any for years, but when I was a student I often burned them. A brilliant choice. Shall I light one now?” She put a stick into the holder and lit the tip. As the flame took hold, she blew it out and the thin plume of smoke rose in a wavy line from the end, gradually scenting the air.
“It goes well with the Palestrina, Anne. And I’ve another reason to be grateful to you.”
“What’s that?”
“You’ve given me a new purpose for my Zippo!” She held up the shining steel cigarette lighter that she always carried in her bag. “Since I gave up smoking last year, it hasn’t had much of an aim in life.”
They spent the rest of the evening listening to music, occasionally punctuated by the cat’s purring, looking through magazines they had bought that day and enjoying each of the types of joss stick in turn. Anne was in heaven, transported to a world of style and comfort that she had only guessed about in her dreams. Champagne, salmon, artichokes, Palestrina and incense, her new clothes. It was all a long way from a small house in a small provincial town. She was beginning to know what she wanted in life and she had no doubt about who could show her the way ahead.
*
Anne woke the next morning to find Dolly curled up on the duvet near the foot of the bed. She got up and put on the dressing gown Marnie had lent her, slipping silently into the hall. The living room door was ajar and she poked her head round it. Marnie was sitting on the sofa, leaning over the coffee table studying the maps and log-book. Anne tapped very faintly on the door and Marnie glanced round.
“Oh, sorry, did I wake you?”
“No. I was already awake,” said Anne.
“Well, good morning,” said Marnie. “The kettle’s boiled. Are you ready for breakfast or do you have things to do?”
“Perhaps I could use the bathroom when you’ve finished?”
“It’s all yours,” said Marnie. “I’ve showered and I’m ready to face the world. Breakfast in ten minutes or so?”
Anne stirred the milk into her bowl of muesli. She had chosen to have the same as Marnie and had only tried it once before when her mother bought it just for a change. On that occasion her brother had taken an instant dislike and described it as “rat droppings in sawdust”. She was trying to put that thought out of her mind when Marnie asked if there was anything special she wanted to do. Anne considered the possibilities. She was determined not just to leave it up to Marnie. That would be a weak answer. There were so many places in London she had never seen.
“You were looking at maps when I got up. Do you have something in mind?”
“I was working out how far it was to the ruined buildings by the canal,” said Marnie. “On the other hand, it seems silly for you to come to London for the weekend only to be taken on a tour near where you live.”
“It would be interesting, though,” said Anne, “a sort of project we could do together.” They hit on a compromise. After breakfast they would have a ride round London on a sightseeing bus, have an early lunch at the flat and set off in the afternoon to find the lost buildings of Glebe Farm.
*
“If I’m not mistaken, there should be a turning to the right somewhere along here,” said Marnie. They had made good time up through Hertfordshire and Anne had proved to be a reliable and accurate map-reader.
“About half a mile, I think.” Anne looked up for landmarks and glanced down at the map. “There’s a church with a tower, but I haven’t caught sight of it yet. It can’t be far.” Marnie kept the speed at a steady fifty and they peered ahead for the first sight of a sign-post.
“It’s awkward here,” said Anne. “There’s a join in the page.”
“There’s always a join in the page,” said Marnie. “They make them like that. I bet if you go to the Sahara Desert, you’ll find whole pages of sand and the oases stuck in the corner at the join.”
“I think we have to go past and come in from the other side,” said Anne.
“It seemed just a small place when I came here last year.”
“You were delirious.”
“I shall be again, if we don’t find it. What’s this up ahead?” They approached a cross-roads at a lonely spot where all around they could see only fields. “Let’s try this.” The road was narrow and Marnie had to keep the Rover in the middle to avoid potholes at the edge. “I have an awful suspicion this is going to lead us into a field,” she muttered.
Sitting beside her with the atlas, Anne knew she was suppose
d to be frustrated or concerned that they could not find the village, but she was ecstatic. Here she was in the leather seat of a Rover GT-i, with classical music coming softly from the CD player and Marnie driving expertly in difficult terrain. Sooner or later they would find the place they were seeking, but for the moment she was happy just to be where she was.
“Look, up ahead!” said Marnie, changing down for a bend as they caught sight of rooftops above a clump of trees. Anne checked the map, but was puzzled. Several dotted lines suggested a network of small tracks and it was far from clear which of these, if any, was the road they were following. They passed a cluster of stone cottages and found themselves surrounded by trees and small paddocks. The road turned sharply to the left to reveal houses in a terrace at the road’s edge and then swung right again, dropping into a gully from which they emerged to find more cottages set back behind long front gardens. Anne glimpsed rows of brussels sprouts.
“I expect we’ll come to the centre sooner or later,” said Marnie. “Any sign of that church tower yet?” Anne looked all around but by now they were among trees. She shook her head, trying to locate the church on the map, but it was difficult when she had no clear idea where they were.
“It has to be over to our left somewhere,” she said. The road bent to the right.
“I think they’re trying to hide something from us,” said Marnie. Throughout their meandering they had not seen a single person. Now, some way along the road they could see a solitary figure, an old man walking briskly towards them. Marnie brought the Rover to a halt beside him. She opened the window and they felt the chill air on their faces.
“Excuse me,” she said. “Can you point us towards the middle of the village?”
“The middle?” said the old man. “Depends what you mean by the middle.” His voice was light with a country accent.
“Where the shop is, or the church,” suggested Marnie.
“Church is over there.” The old man pointed back the way they had come and over to the left, which gave Anne some comfort. They looked over their shoulders but saw no trace of the church or its tower.
“I can’t quite see it,” said Marnie. “And I don’t think we’ve passed it.”
