by Leo McNeir
It was a warning bell. When a girlfriend offered to pay for the evening out, it meant one of two things: she was starting to get serious, or she thought he didn’t have enough money to keep her in the style to which she was – or wanted to be – accustomed. Either way it meant the beginning of the end. At least it had so far in his life.
“How do I look?” She presented herself in the gangway.
“Good enough to eat.”
She flashed him a sparkling smile. “I told you it was my treat.”
“What do you do for a first course?”
She adopted a coquettish pose, began humming the tune, The Stripper, peeling off imaginary long gloves. Gary swallowed. It was time to go, before it was too late.
Walking along the towpath, Sheena returned to her theme. “So there’s no argument. I’m paying tonight, okay?”
“You know I can’t let you do that, sweetheart.”
“Why not?”
“Because. No question. You’re my girlfriend, I take you out. I don’t mind women’s lib, it’s all right in its place, as long as it doesn’t interfere with our lives, but if I take you out, I pay. End of story.”
Sheena knew an immovable object when she saw one, and even though she had no doubts about her ability to be an irresistible force, she knew when to hold back.
“All right, here’s what we’ll do.” She looked at her watch. “It’s early, so I’ll take you for a drink before we go to the restaurant.”
“Why this sudden urge to start paying for things?”
“It’s only fair. Deal?”
Gary sighed. “All right … deal.” He was surprised when she pulled on his arm to take a side street as they crossed the road by the bridge. “What’s this?”
“There’s a pub round the corner.”
Gary hesitated. It was usually around there that Gravel loomed into his life. “Pub?”
“Yes. It’s a like a big house where they sell drinks. You know the sort of place? Come on.”
In the pub Sheena led Gary straight to the table where he had previously sat with Gravel. As usual it was free. He felt uneasy, but no-one materialised threatening to cut his legs off. He was automatically reaching into his pocket when she put a hand on his shoulder and made him sit down. She turned and crossed to the bar. He had only just realised she had not asked what he wanted when she returned holding two glasses.
“How’d you get served so fast with all those guys already at the bar?”
She winked, leaned across the table and shimmied with her shoulders. One glance at the scooped front of her dress and he got the message.
“I’ve never had to wait long to get served at any bar, and at least two blokes asked what I was having. I nearly told them it was you.” That smile again.
The second shock came when Gary looked at his glass. It contained two lumps of ice and a generous measure of golden liquid. “Scotch?”
“Yeah. I got you a double, thought you might like a treat. Cheers!”
Marnie cruised on till the sun went down and the air cooled. The sky changed colour, a hundred shades from blue to grey to pink and darker blue. The houses and factories of that morning had given way to fields and farms. In open country the silhouettes of trees stood out against the fading background.
Perhaps tomorrow she would learn the names of trees from one of her books or identify the various types of waterfowl. Waterfowl! She was starting to sound like an expert already.
A procession of boats passed her from the opposite direction, all crewed by families who waved happily at Marnie as if they had been waving and smiling all day. They probably had. She wondered what impression she gave them, a woman travelling by herself with only a black cat for company. The witch of the waterways! She put aside such fanciful thoughts and waved at the passing boats, reading the names as they went by.
Diane … Lily … Samantha … Luisa … Daisy … Little Mo … Rebecca … Lizzie Bell
Marnie shook her head and wondered where they had been when she needed them.
The world settled down as the light faded, with Dolly curled into a ball on the duvet while Marnie held the tiller, watching the night come down, filled with a sense of peace and freedom. That stretch of the canal twisted its way along a contour line. The banks were too shallow and overgrown for mooring, but she was in no hurry, happy enough to cruise a while, knowing that a stopping place probably lay just around the corner.
Gary lay in the darkness of the sleeping cabin. Beside him he could hear Sheena breathing softly, feel her warmth under the duvet, smell her fragrance. He had laughed when she told him she had brought her night things and clothes for the next day. When he asked about the ‘night things’ she had giggled.
“I’m wearing them already, got them on under my dress.”
Of course, he should have realised, she only wore perfume at night.
He liked her things around him, but he was under no illusions. Everything was fine for now, and it was pleasant to find her make-up and sponge bag in the bathroom, her smells in the boat generally, a faint tang of scent hovering in the air. But he knew that sooner or later the novelty of the boat would wear off and she would be asking him pointed questions: did he want to live on a boat all his life; was he content to earn a living by doing odd jobs? Still, that could wait till later. For now, things were good, except … Something wasn’t right. He had felt that ever since she had offered to pay for their meal. He was drowsy now after the exertions of bedtime, but he had to work out what was troubling him. Begin at the beginning, he told himself.
First, there had been the offer to treat him. He put that aside. Second, there had been the choice of pub. Perhaps it was just the nearest, and anyway, he had accepted the drink as a compromise. Third, the choice of drink. It was exactly what Gravel had given him. Had Sheena asked the barman what Gary had been drinking of late? An outside possibility. Fourth, the choice of table. There were others unoccupied. Fifth, the speed with which Sheena had been served. Was it really down to a glimpse of cleavage? Were these really all just coincidences?
And then there was the name of the victim in the crate. How many people remembered names after hearing them on the news? Was that Monroe story plausible? He looked at her face on the pillow in the dim light seeping round the porthole curtain from the street beyond. Perhaps she did look like Marilyn Monroe. She was certainly a blonde bombshell. But Leroy? Was she serious?
More than that, more than all those coincidences – if that was what they were – there was something else. Sheena had come into his life at about the time he had first met Gravel. He did not want to believe it, but he had to face facts. She had flashed him a come-on look in the shop that day, one of her brilliant white smiles. He was sure it was genuine. He could not believe she had anything to do with the world of gangs and drugs. He pictured her there in the chemist’s, all fresh and neat in her white coat, standing at the pharmacy counter. He was convinced that she was … wait a minute – chemists! He almost sat up in bed. Sheena worked in a place that dispensed drugs.
She was breathing gently and rhythmically beside him, in his bed, on his boat, in his life. Was she a coincidence too far? Maybe Sheena was a bombshell in more ways than one.
20
Lazy Sunday
Marnie did not realise how tired she had been until she turned over to look at the alarm clock on the floor of the sleeping cabin. A habitual early riser, she was amazed to see that it was already eight-fifteen. Even on a Sunday, that was late for her.
Slatted sunlight was patterning the wall from the Venetian blind in the galley. Marnie sighed and rolled onto her back. How far would she travel that day? Did it matter? On Sally Ann, the journey and the destination were the same, while the world rolled past at walking pace.
A narrowboat journey was like a journey back in time, she thought, living with the technology of the past. It was a journey that was an end in itself, a state of being. Hold on, Marnie. Isn’t this all a bit mystical for first thing in the morning
? But then another idea came to mind. Perhaps she was on a journey away from somewhere, rather than a journey to somewhere.
I’m rambling, she thought, and took a decision. She would take it easier than she had done the previous day. She would spend some of her time sketching plants, trees, animals and birds. While she was wondering how many different types of sheep she might learn to identify, and for what ultimate purpose, she heard the cat scratching about on her litter tray. Marnie decided it was time for her to get up and do the same.
Gary was in a quandary. These days he seemed to spend all his waking hours asking himself questions to which he had no answers. After a cup of black coffee he escorted Sheena to the tube station. She was visiting her parents that day. Walking slowly back from the underground, smoking his first cigarette of the day, Gary wondered what he was going to do about Old Peter. It was hopeless. He knew direct questioning would get him nowhere.
At the crossroads by the bridge he turned left and walked along the pavement towards the tunnel where Sally Ann was moored. Or rather, where an empty space marked the spot where Sally Ann used to be. The empty stretch of water seemed to mock him. Everything he did came to nothing. Where was Marnie? What was her connection with Old Peter? Did it matter? Questions, questions. No answers.
He pictured Marnie working on the boat. She had arrived in Little Venice at the same time as the crate was seen floating in the pool. He pictured Sheena. She had appeared in his life at the same time as Marnie and the crate … and Gravel. Was it all just coincidence? Why now?
Marnie travelled further than she planned that day, enjoying the life of the truant, the wanderer, enjoying the locks, though the gates were sometimes heavy to push and the paddles stiff to turn.
Exiting each lock, she told herself she would tackle just one more before taking a break. And then another. Becoming well practised in managing by herself, she could lock through in about fifteen minutes. The cat, now firmly established as Dolly, took up position on the hatch, sitting, dozing or washing herself as the miles slipped by.
It was well into the afternoon by the time Marnie found a pleasant spot to pull over and tie up. After a ham salad sandwich and a glass of cider, she set up a safari chair and settled down with sketch pad and pencils. Before her the ground rose up to a tree-crowned summit. Sheep were grazing in the meadow. Somewhere back down the canal, in what felt like another life, architects and designers were sitting in the offices where she worked, dealing with issues that by now seemed strangely irrelevant.
Marnie turned and looked back down the stretch of water that was gleaming in the sunlight. Then she gazed at the sketch pad on her lap. What am I doing here? she asked herself.
Gravel was sitting opposite Gary in the dinette on Garrow. He had arrived one minute after Gary returned to the boat from checking Sally Ann’s mooring. This startled Gary, partly because the visit was so unexpected, on a Sunday morning, partly because Gary realised he was being watched. Gravel’s sidekick lurked behind Gary, a menacing presence out of his line of vision.
“So Gary, what news?” It was the usual growly voice in the usual quiet tone.
“Old Peter’s not talking. I’ve been round to see him, but he won’t answer directly, just avoids questions. He’s not easy to talk to.”
“I never said it would be easy.”
“I think he’s more likely to talk to …” Gary faded. An idea was forming in his mind.
“You’re not going to say he’s more likely to talk to me, are you Gary? That would be like keeping a dog and doing your own barking. Barking, I’m not.”
“No. I was wondering … I don’t suppose you’ve got someone else on the job, as well as me?”
Gravel’s eyes narrowed. “Someone else?”
“Marnie?”
“Marnie.” Gravel repeated the name. “Tell me about this … Marnie.”
“You don’t know her?”
Gary sensed a stirring behind him as if Sidekick had moved closer. It was an uncomfortable feeling, a reminder of who asked the questions.
“Just tell me about her, Gary.”
Gary was desperate to buy time to sort out his thoughts. “D’you want a drink?”
“Marnie.” The voice was quieter this time, and Gary was sure Gravel’s eyes flickered momentarily over his shoulder.
“She first came here when the … crate was in the pool. She’s doing up a boat, down the tunnel end.”
“What boat?”
“Sally Ann.”
“Go on.”
Gary shrugged. “That’s it.”
“Why do you think she might be involved in something?”
“I’ve seen her with the old man … a few times. They travel around together.”
“Could she be an old boating mate?”
“Nah. Marnie’s new to all this. I’d know her otherwise.”
“Then what’s the connection?”
“I dunno, but I’ll tell you something. She’s even been on his boat. They talk.”
“People do talk, Gary.”
“Old Pete never talks to anyone, hasn’t for years. Then this Marnie woman arrives on the scene. All of a sudden they’re big buddies.”
“Your point being?”
“I don’t reckon it’s because she fancies him. There must be more to it. That’s why I wondered … well, if she was …”
“An approach from a different angle?”
“Yeah.”
“You think she’s the kind of woman who might work for me?”
“No, she’s too …” Gary stopped himself just in time. He hoped. “She seems too la-di-dah. But you never know. She might be a good actress.”
Gravel seemed to consider this idea. After a few moments he nodded. “Women can surprise you sometimes, but not this time. What do you know about her, Gary?”
“Not a lot.”
“Think.”
“Well, if you don’t know her, I don’t suppose she can have anything to do with Old Peter’s valuables.”
“I’ll be the judge of that. What do you know?”
“Only what I’ve told you already. When I was in the café I saw them going along together on their boats.”
“Coincidence?”
“Don’t think so. They were in tandem, I’m sure of it. He pulled alongside when she stopped. They spoke before he went off.”
Gravel absorbed this. “What else?”
“I went round to see him and she was there, all matey, sitting with him on the side of his boat. They were talking, like real talk, not just passing the time of day. Then, when I went round again, he wasn’t there but someone told me she’d been there before me and had actually gone on board.”
“People do go on each other’s boats, Gary.”
“Not women, not with a bloke. If a woman comes on my boat, she’s not there for polite conversation … well, not just that.”
Gravel looked pained. “Old Peter’s in his eighties.”
“That’s my point. Why does a woman go on a boat with a bloke old enough to be her grand-dad?”
“So what’s your answer?”
“They want to talk in private. Got to be. End of.”
Gravel was silent for so long, Gary began to feel even more nervous. He almost jumped when Gravel stood up.
“Seems like it’s time you and this Marnie had a little chat, Gary.”
Gary scrambled to his feet. “I can’t.” He was sure Sidekick was closer behind him now.
“Can’t?” There was an edge to the gravelly voice.
Gary knew his next answer had to be good. “I mean, she’s not at her mooring at the moment. She’s gone on a trip.”
“You mean, you let her get away?”
“I figured if she’d gone, she wasn’t likely to be following a trail with Old Pete. I mean, why would she just leave if she was trying to get something from the old boy?”
“There’s an obvious answer to that, Gary. I’m a bit disappointed you didn’t think of it. Try this. She might leave i
f she’d found what she was looking for.”
“Right. So, er, where does that leave me?”
“Good question, Gary.” A pause. “This Marnie, what’s she look like?”
“Not bad. Medium build, dark hair, wavy, down to her shoulders, taller than average.”
“How old?”
“Thirtyish?”
“Has she got a bloke?”
“I haven’t seen one about.”
“But she’d need someone with her to run the boat, presumably, Gary.”
“She said she was going solo.”
“Really? You sure about that?”
“That’s what she told me.”
“Sally Ann you said? What sort of boat is it?”
“Forty-five footer, oldish, cruiser stern, nothing special.”
“Colour?”
“Dark, er, maroon and navy.”
Gravel made a slight gesture with his head. Sidekick pushed the side doors open. Turning at the bottom step, Gravel looked Gary in the eye.
“I suggest you get back to Old Pete and find out where this Marnie woman has gone. End of.”
Gravel dialled a familiar number and spoke without preamble.
“I’ve got a job for you.”
“Talk to me.”
“I want you to find me a boat. Listen carefully, write this down. Narrowboat, Sally Ann, maroon and dark blue, forty-five foot, oldish. Only one person on board, a woman, age about thirty, dark hair, medium build, tallish, name is Marnie. Got that?”
“Marnie, got it.”
“She’s heading west out of Little Venice. Don’t know how far she’s got. At Bull’s Bridge she’s either gone south towards the Thames or north up the Grand Union.”
“How will I know?”
“My guess is she’s gone north. She’s a novice. The Thames is tricky. Anyway, that’s where you try first.”
“When I find her?”
“Just let me know. Don’t approach her. Don’t let her see you.”
