by McNeir, Leo
From the kitchen she caught the occasional word and glanced in while the tea brewed. Marnie seemed relaxed enough, chatting to her parents. It seemed strange to see Marnie sitting in an armchair in their living room, in long boots and closely fitting jeans, silk shirt and loose sweater
Anne felt as if she was seeing into the future, her future. Her only worry was how to explain about the clothes Marnie had bought her, so that they were not seen as charity. Perhaps it would be best to keep quiet about them and just put them away in her wardrobe. On the other hand, she did not like having secrets that could spoil the memory of her weekend. She took the tea-pot through to the living room.
“Oh good,” said Geoff. “Apart from being good at drawing, she also makes a great cup of tea. How do you like it, Marnie?” Anne found it strange to hear Marnie’s name spoken by her father.
“Just with milk, please. This is wonderful. You can’t beat home-made.”
“I suppose career-girls don’t get much time for cooking,” said Geoff amiably. Jackie laughed and Anne tried not to wince.
“I enjoy it,” said Marnie. “When I cook, it’s usually if I have visitors, which isn’t often enough as far as I’m concerned.”
“It’s been very nice of you to have Anne,” said Jackie. “I hope it’s been no bother.”
“It’s been a pleasure. I hope she’ll come again. After her exams, of course.”
“She was getting a bit anxious about the exams,” said Geoff. “It will have done her good to get away for a breather, I think.”
“I think we both enjoyed having a change from routine,” said Marnie. This morning we did sight-seeing in London and this afternoon we had a long walk in the country. Aren’t we virtuous?”
“Sooner you than me in this cold weather,” said Geoff.
“You would have liked yesterday even less,” said Marnie. “We went down Oxford Street. I hope you don’t mind, but I bought Anne a present for her birthday. Something in the sales.” Anne watched her parents’ reaction, but neither seemed troubled.
“Oh, you shouldn’t have,” said Jackie.
“I just got a bit carried away,” said Marnie. “You know what it’s like in the sales, though it was nothing expensive.” Anne poured more tea and took the pot out to make a fresh brew, while the conversation moved round to Sally Ann. From the kitchen she heard laughter and came back in the middle of a story Marnie was telling about skinheads and a tough old lady with a sprained ankle in a thunderstorm.
When it was time for Marnie to leave, Anne invited her to see her room. They went up the stairs together.
“That’s my brother’s room. It’s a tip! Heavy Metal posters and motor-bike magazines. You can imagine what it’s like.”
“Sounds like fun,” said Marnie. “He’s obviously out. We can hear ourselves speak and the windows aren’t rattling.”
“Yes. Richard’s all right, really. This is my room.”
Marnie stood in the doorway. It was another world. The colour scheme was white walls and ceiling, pale grey carpet, black desk, a built-in wardrobe with black lacquered louvre doors and an emerald green cover over the futon bed. There was a black standard uplighter in the corner and a desk lamp with a green glass shade. The only jumble was a pinboard over the desk: postcards, photos, the school timetable and a calendar. The walls displayed a collection of framed pictures and Marnie guessed they were Anne’s own work. One alcove was fitted with bookshelves from floor to ceiling.
“Stunning,” said Marnie. “Very simple, very stylish. It’s the lighting that does it.” Anne beamed with pleasure.
3
It was a wet afternoon and the raindrops were dripping into puddles from the eaves of the smithy. The eldest of the sisters, her name Sarah Anne, hurried in clutching a pot of ale. She set it down on the bench and shook the rain from her bonnet and her shawl. Standing in the glow of the forge, her father was in conversation with three other men, their coats steaming gently in the warmth from the fire. All turned towards her as she came in.
“Now there’s a thing, Sarah,” one of the men cried out. “We thought you had come with ale for us as well!”
“I did not know anyone else was here,” said the young woman with a smile. “But I can go back and seek you some if you would like.”
“No, no, but thank you kindly. We shall not stay long. And it would be better if you went out to seek yourself a husband!” All the men laughed together.
“Time enough for that,” said Sarah Anne and turned to leave, pulling the shawl tight round her shoulders. The rain was falling more heavily and she hesitated on the threshold. The men returned to their talk.
“I say the vicar could bring trouble to the village,” said one of the men.
“He has already,” said another. “What with his High Catholic ways. There’s no room for his kind in this place.” The men grunted their agreement.
“And it is no secret he supports the King.” The tone of her father’s voice made Sarah Anne look round. A heavily built man, in the firelight he seemed larger, more ominous, forbidding. The others nodded. The blacksmith reached out and turned an iron rod in the fire where it glowed red. “He could bring more than trouble. He could be a danger to everyone. You will have to watch him while I am away.”
“So you have decided, then? You are going to the colours?”
“I am,” said Sarah Anne’s father. “And I am going with two of my boys and both my brothers. Richard will stay to work the smithy.”
“It will not be easy to restrain the vicar,” said one of the men. “He is strong-willed and accepts nobody’s view if it runs counter to his own.” Sarah was surprised at how grim her father looked as he pulled the bolt out of the fire with his tongs, set it on the anvil and struck it firmly with the hammer.
*
“So how was your weekend?” said Beth. The phone had started ringing as Marnie came through the door.
“Very pleasant. How about yours?”
“So-so. We had one of Paul’s research students round for supper on Saturday, a very earnest young man, with his girl-friend. He’s doing a doctorate in Information Technology and she’s doing a Master’s in early eighteenth century organ music.”
“Their conversation at the breakfast table must be quite exhilarating,” said Marnie.
“Which is more than can be said for their conversation at the supper table. Roderick is one of those types who thinks that if you speak in the quietest possible voice you’ll be regarded as an intellectual. They were OK, but I was quite relieved when they’d gone.”
“Still, it gave you something to talk about afterwards.”
Beth gave a snort, ignoring the innuendo. “Paul said they must have a dog’s life at home. All Bachs and bytes! Anyway, that’s not really why I phoned.”
“Oh,” said Marnie. “I thought you wanted to keep me up-to-date on your social life.”
“Listen. Mum rang this afternoon and invited us all to go to them for Easter. Would you like to?” Marnie hesitated. The idea of a fortnight of Spanish sunshine was tempting. “Are you still there?”
“Mm,” said Marnie. “Sounds marvellous, but I think I’ll have to stay here this Easter. It’s not easy to get away just now.”
“It’s been a long, bleak Winter, Marnie. You could use a break. Why don’t you think about it?”
“Actually, according to the weather forecast, it looks as if things are about to improve. Maybe it won’t be so bad here.”
“Up to you.”
Marnie knew Beth was right. She thought about her parents, their sunny garden with its view down to the sea, the meals on the terrace under the bougainvillaea, the mountains shimmering in the distance. She thought about her in-basket, the contracts in progress, the deadlines.
“I can only manage a short break,” she said. She thought about spring coming at last, the blossom, daffodils and tulips, new foliage, willows trailing fronds in the water. “Perhaps I could borrow Sally Ann while you’re in Spain? Unless you’ve
sold her, of course.” She heard Beth sigh.
“No. We haven’t sold her.” There was a coolness in the tone.
“Have I said the wrong thing?”
“Let’s just say it’s a sore point at the moment in this household. One faction thinks we could put the money from selling the boat to better use than just sitting in the water. The other faction has romantic notions without any basis in reality.” Beth stopped and waited. “Are you there, Marnie?”
“Yes. I’m just trying to work out which view is yours.” There was an indeterminate noise from the other end. It was definitely abusive. “What do you think about me borrowing Sally?”
“Why not? In fact, I can see practical advantages. At least we wouldn’t all be sitting together in the sunshine in Spain talking about the wonders of canal boats without remembering what they’re really like.”
“There’s nothing wrong with canal boats,” said Marnie. “We can’t help it if we don’t have the climate of Almeria. Anyway, Sally suits me fine.”
“You’re not getting one of your restless moods, are you?” said Beth, suspicious. “Off to wander the waterways under an open sky, telling fortunes, mending old saucepans, that sort of thing?”
“You’re talking to the one who turned your floating slum into a sound investment,” said Marnie without rancour.
“Okay, okay, you can borrow her. Try and do a complete engine refit this time!” Beth did not pay too much attention to the interjection from Marnie suggesting something else Beth might like to do with the engine. “Oh, Marnie, just one thing.” They chorused in unison. “Remember the stern gland!”
*
A satellite in orbit eighty miles over the Eastern Atlantic Ocean sent information down to the Meteorological Office in London. It transmitted data as radio signals that the computers on the ground translated. This may have been less pastoral than the song of the cuckoo, but it proved to be an accurate messenger announcing the arrival of spring.
It was just after seven in the morning that first Saturday in March when Marnie turned Sally Ann on her nose in the Regents Canal, Little Venice, and pointed her west, in the direction of Bull’s Bridge and the main line of the Grand Union Canal. It had been a mild night. The sky was overcast and there was no frost.
Marnie had brought her gear down by car the previous evening, including Dolly in her travelling basket. When everything was loaded onto Sally Ann and Dolly was let out to roam freely inside the boat, Marnie put on the central heating and drove back to the flat. She parked the Rover in the street, fitted the anti-theft device to the steering wheel, switched on the ignition immobiliser and activated the car alarm. Then, with a reasonable expectation that the car would still be there when she returned, she took the tube to Little Venice.
Marnie spent the rest of that evening sorting out the boat and putting her provisions away. Dusk was falling as she lifted the stern decking over the engine compartment.
“Is that you, Marnie?” The voice came from the raised pavement behind the railings that divided off the towpath. Marnie turned, narrowing her eyes to identify the caller.
“Mrs Jolly, hallo!”
“I saw the light and thought I would just check to see that everything was all right.”
“That’s very kind. Have you time to come down? I’m just getting Sally ready for a trip.”
“No, no. I don’t want to interrupt you. Just as long as all is well. Unless I can do something useful.”
“I’m dealing with the engine compartment and I’ve got just the job for you, if you’re sure you’ve got time.” Mrs Jolly blinked at the prospect of doing something with the engine.
“Well, you know me. I’m game. I’ll try anything once.”
“Oh, this is something you’ve done before,” said Marnie, turning to fetch the key to the gate. Within minutes Mrs Jolly had the kettle singing on the hob in the galley while Marnie continued in the engine compartment with the aid of a powerful lamp. She was test running the engine when Mrs Jolly announced that tea would be ready in two minutes. It was running as evenly as any twenty-year-old two-cylinder diesel is capable of running, and Marnie pushed down firmly on the accelerator. She looked over the stern for puffs of black smoke from the exhaust as the engine ran faster, but found none.
“Is this another Great Journey?”
“In a way, I suppose it is,” said Marnie. “Though it’s just a short trip, really. I need time to think, to make up my mind about the future. I have to do that by myself. Sally’s the best way I know.” Mrs Jolly sipped her tea and looked at her over the rim of the cup.
“Forgive me saying this, Marnie, but I often wondered last year, when you were away all summer, if you’d be able to settle back to your old routine.”
“I must admit, I do feel restless,” said Marnie.
“I saw it happen sometimes in the war,” said Mrs Jolly. “Young women, girls we used to call them in those days – of course I know it’s not fashionable now – they’d get jobs usually done by men until the war ended. When the men came home, the girls didn’t always want to go back to being housewives. They liked driving buses or tractors. They enjoyed their sense of independence.”
“Yes, I can see that. But for me it’s different, I think. I’ve always had the chance to do what I wanted, a career, more or less equal opportunities.”
“Of course,” said Mrs Jolly. “Though that can sometimes get in the way of other parts of your life.”
“And of course that’s what happened to me,” said Marnie. “Working late, going off for meetings with clients, being successful when your husband is having a tough time and you’re not there to say the right things and make it better. Not the recipe for a good relationship.”
“In the end the marriage just stops being a marriage,” said Mrs Jolly. “It was like that for my niece, only in their case there were children involved. All very messy. No chance of you and your husband getting back together, I suppose?”
“No.”
“And now you’re not sure what you want out of life,” said Mrs Jolly. “Well, if ever I’ve met anyone who could sort out their affairs, it’s probably you, Marnie.”
“Because I’m so capable in the engine compartment,” said Marnie cheerfully.
“Precisely.”
*
By Marnie’s standards it was not such an early start. As she passed the boats moored on both sides of the canal leading down to the pool of Little Venice, there were lights visible in some of their windows. A face appeared at one of them and a hand waved. Passing an open hatch she caught a whiff of bacon frying.
Sally Ann had several hours of cruising through the suburbs and industrial estates of West London before her. She passed the canalside supermarket, as yet not open, opposite Kensal Green cemetery. It had been there, the previous summer, that Marnie had moored on the first night of her journey and there that Dolly had come aboard. Like her, Dolly had decided to cut loose from her past and they had travelled together all summer and stayed together ever since.
There were few craft travelling that weekend and Marnie cruised on through a landscape that seemed deserted but was inhabited by millions of people unaware of her presence. As she crossed the aqueduct high above the North Circular Road, she knew that few of the people who used that route had the slightest idea that the canal ran over their heads.
The industrial waters of West London gave way to the country landscapes of Hertfordshire and Bedfordshire, busy commuter counties where the canal only touched the modern world from time to time and turned its back to go its own way. Marnie settled into a steady routine, operating the locks, watching the spring come to the countryside. Although there were few hours of sunshine, the mild weather persisted and she was able to go about the work of running the boat without a jacket, revelling in the freedom of fresh air and the outdoor life.
Although her only conversations were with the occasional passer-by at the locks, Marnie felt no loneliness. Her days were full and in the evenings she prepa
red simple meals of her favourite “peasant food” and drank a glass or two of wine, listening to the radio, while the brass fittings in the cabin gleamed in the lamplight.
Cruising steadily, in time she reached the stretch of canal in Northamptonshire that led to the ruins of Glebe Farm. It was around noon the following Friday, that Marnie tied up Sally Ann at the edge of the spinney and walked through to the cluster of derelict buildings. Coming alone to the farm, she was struck by the sadness that hung in the air. The smell of burnt-out buildings had gone, but the charred rafters and joists still formed a canopy over the remains of the barns and cottages.
She tried to imagine the farm as it must have been long ago, and picked her way over the rough cobbles of the yard. Through the empty window-frames of the main house, striped wallpaper was still visible in the living room. It looked incongruous now that the slates from the roof lay shattered on the floor and grey-black mould hung in patches where the rain had come in. Through the planks nailed across the front doorway she saw a hall of good proportions with a curving staircase and the remnants of a balustrade. On one wall was a patch of wallpaper less faded than the rest where a grandfather clock had stood. She looked across the yard, taking in the barns on the opposite side and the cottages forming the boundary to her right, and she knew that these buildings would stand here abandoned and unwanted until the weather rotted their honey-coloured stone and the walls crashed to the ground.
The small barn where Anne had spotted the cigarette stubs, was still almost intact. There was a wooden ladder built into the wall at the far end, leading up to a hayloft. She tried the rungs and decided they were strong enough to take her weight. The loft was taller than she expected and in the light of her torch she saw no traces of intrusion or damage.
Marnie climbed down and stood in the yard, taking in the shape and texture of the other barns. They were in a poor state, but not beyond saving. She set off up the field track. It was time for lunch.
