by Leo McNeir
“Don’t change the subject.”
“I just wondered.”
“Twenty.”
“Oh, well, she’s more than ten years older, I’d say.”
“So, nearer your age than mine.”
“Now you’re changing the subject.”
“Gary, I thought you were going to tell this Gravel bloke you couldn’t find anything out.”
“It doesn’t work like that.”
“Why not? He can’t expect miracles.”
“Sheena, the situation is … Gravel thinks Old Pete has got something valuable. He thinks Marnie might know something about it. Why? Because I mentioned her to him. Do you understand?”
“Go on.”
“So this is how it is, I can’t get anything out of the old fella, Marnie’s hopped it and Jane up the cut knows where she’s gone but isn’t telling.”
“Why not?”
“She says Marnie’s gone off to get away from it all and she can’t contact her.”
“Or won’t.”
“Right.”
“So, Gary, where does that leave you?”
“Nowhere, up a well-known creek without a paddle.”
Sheena giggled. It made Gary remember why he liked being with her. She leaned towards him. He liked that too. “Well. if there’s no-one who can give you any clues about this pot of gold at the end of the rainbow, there’s nothing you can do about it, is there? I mean, you’ll just have to tell wotsisname, Gravel, won’t you?”
“I told you, it doesn’t work like that.”
Sheena spread her hands. “What more does he want?”
Gary gave the question serious thought. “Miracles.”
After dropping Anne off in Leighton Buzzard, Marnie had taken the boat several miles out into open country, all the while thinking about the girl, with her problems and her future. Strangely, it had helped Marnie gain a perspective on her own situation. Both of them were facing difficult circumstances, both looking for a new direction, both needing time and space to find it.
Play to your strengths … you’ll find your way.
She had spoken so confidently, as if she knew all the answers. It had certainly had an impact on Anne.
The following evening, standing under the spray in a cubicle so narrow that she could barely turn round, Marnie longed for the powerful jets in the shower at home. By the end of the day she was weary and wanted nothing more than a reviving blast of hot water to restore her spirits. It had been a long day travelling alone, and each lock had seemed heavier than the one before. But she had no regrets. Sally Ann was giving her the chance to look at her life and think of the next steps.
Build on what you’re good at …
Makes sense. Marnie agreed with herself.
Take one day at a time and give it your best shot …
Good thinking. Maybe Marnie should listen to her own advice.
She was sure she would never see Anne again, but knew she would often think back to their meeting. Marnie wondered if the moment when their lives had touched briefly had been a turning point for both of them.
Thirty miles away in Little Venice Old Peter poured himself a cup of tea. It was dark and strong, the way he liked it, sweetened with two sugars. He stared into the brown liquid, thinking of the woman who had not long before sat with him in the saloon drinking from his best china. He had made the tea less strong that day, more like gold than mud, and she had drunk it there with a small dash of milk and no sugar. He would remember that, if she ever called in again.
It was strange to have someone on board. He could not remember the last time he had had company like that, especially not a woman. Marnie. He muttered the name to himself. He had not spoken a woman’s name since he knew not when.
Even stranger, he seemed to be getting more than the usual amount of attention these days. It was not chance that had led Gary to call round. Gary had been asking about him, too. He was after something. That was certain. And the old man knew what it was. The question was …
It had happened before, years ago. He had dealt with it by keeping his mouth shut. Saying nothing was an option back then. But now things were different. Everything was more organised, people more determined. Even the petty crooks were part of something bigger. They were all under someone’s control, someone’s protection.
Gary was no crook, never had been. A drifter, maybe, but not a villain. Even so, Old Peter was convinced he was not ferreting about on his own account. So who was pushing Gary, and what could one old man do about it? More to the point, what could he do about what they were searching for?
He had been the custodian for decades, for most of his life, as had his father before him, and his before him. At first he had thought of it as a kind of nest egg, an insurance for the future. He had always known it was valuable, though he could not understand why. It made no kind of sense, but then so much of the world was incomprehensible to him that he had long ago given up trying to fathom it. He had not had the education.
Of one thing he was in no doubt. Many people had tried to get their hands on it, and no-one could be trusted. His father had impressed that on him. He was not to pass it on to anyone unless he was absolutely certain they would know what to do. His father had chosen to do nothing for half a century rather than risk taking the wrong course. Now he had done almost the same. But doing nothing did not seem such a safe bet any more.
He drank the hot sweet liquid. All his life he had followed the simple path handed down to him by generations of his family. He looked back on their concerns, backwards through the mists of time, repairing a damaged engine, setting a broken leg after a locking accident, treating an ailing horse, breaking through the ice and even further back, digging the next section of canal ditch, further still, deciding to come to England to work on the navigations. Now he had a clear choice to make. He needed to find someone who could be trusted with absolute certainty.
He drank again. Now that the decision was forced on him, he was surprised at how easy it was to choose that person.
After a rub down with the towel Marnie felt refreshed. She slipped on a white shirt and a skirt in a pattern that Mrs Jolly would describe as pure water gypsy, poured a glass of white Bergerac and took the cruising guide onto the deck. It was a fine evening and Dolly was already installed on one of the safari chairs.
The wine evoked past holidays: Greek islands, Venice, the Valley of Kings, weekends in Paris. Now here she was, eagerly planning a canal run from Stoke Hammond to Milton Keynes.
She had to admit she was loving her new life. Boats, she had discovered, were gregarious. Each evening she tied up in some remote place. The next day, she usually found one or two other craft moored in line with Sally Ann, like elephants gathered at the same waterhole. On that particular evening half a dozen or so boats had already formed up behind her at the bank.
Marnie went below and had just begun preparing supper, when a sudden clamour filled the air. It began with a single blast on a boat's horn. At once others took up the call, until the canal reverberated to the sound. Had the elephants been thrown into panic by the intrusion of a predator? In the midst of all the uproar came a more sonorous tone, haunting and high-pitched. Marnie heard voices now, calling out across the water. She abandoned the lettuce that she was cutting and ran up onto the deck, ready for any emergency.
It was a scene from another age, a working boat from the beginning of the century, seventy feet long, with a fine jutting prow, the cargo area covered in black tarpaulin, smoke curling from its funnel. The unmistakable smell of a steam engine filled the air.
Marnie gave a blast on Sally Ann's horn. The crew waved at her. One man blew a kiss. As the lead boat came by, Marnie saw a famous name emblazoned on the side of the cabin. This was Captain, one of the last of its generation, towing its equally famous butty, Mate.
Marnie had read about them in one of Jane’s magazines. Now, seeing them out here in their working environment, she had a glimpse into the past. Such craft had m
obilised the industrial revolution that changed the world. Now, their commercial usefulness past, most of them had been scrapped or left to rot where they lay. A few, like Captain and Mate, had been rescued from watery oblivion by enthusiasts who brought them back to life.
Marnie knew their story. One of them had been found barely afloat in Wakefield, the other half-submerged in Dudley. Members of the Waterways Restoration Club – known as WREC – had taken four years to rebuild them. Crewed by volunteers led by the redoubtable Jack Hadley, the pair had become a famous sight, touring the country, prominent in every campaign to preserve some part of the canal heritage.
In bed that night Marnie’s head was filled with images of blazing coals in the fire box, shining paintwork and polished brass. As she drifted off to sleep, she dreamt she was showering under hot jets of turbo-spray, enveloped in steam, with the wail of Captain's whistle calling out over the countryside.
24
Stalker
Marnie breakfasted early the next morning. Dunking a croissant in a bowl of coffee, she listened to the weather forecast: the fine spell would continue. A heatwave was on the way. Great!
Then she thought of the locks ahead of her and groaned. She hoped she would not be facing them alone. It would be warm work.
In T-shirt and lightweight pale blue jeans, she applied sunblock and set off while the neighbours were still asleep in their cabins. It already felt like high summer, and Marnie turned her face to the rising sun. It felt good to be alive.
The traffic crawling out of London that Friday morning was unbelievable. Stalker sat drumming his fingers on the steering wheel, staring at the rear end of a milk tanker he had been following for at least twenty minutes.
This would be the day when he finally caught up with Marnie. He had it all worked out. There were three supermarkets along the section of canal that he was searching, and he knew she could not be further north than there. He would watch the first at Leighton Buzzard for an hour. If that produced no result he would move on to the next one. Then the next. She had to stop somewhere along that stretch for supplies and on that day he would catch up with her. About that he was absolutely determined.
The traffic in his lane began to roll and Stalker felt elated at managing to reach second gear before it stopped again. Taking another cigarette out of the pack, he reflected that narrowboats travelled at three or four miles an hour. At this rate, Sally Ann would be leaving him behind.
Gary was in high spirits. He had just collected a week’s rent in advance from a boat on Sally Ann’s mooring and felt very pleased with himself. No cost, no risk, easy money and everyone was happy. Well, everyone who knew about it. What the eye doesn’t see … he told himself. He felt a great need to see Sheena again, even though she had only left his boat to go to work less than two hours earlier.
As he strode out along the towpath, he had no idea he was being observed from behind net curtains by an old lady on the other side of the road.
As soon as he entered the chemist’s, Sheena came out from the back of the shop and advanced towards him. He liked her white coat and wondered how she would look in a nurse’s outfit.
“Good morning, sir.” She smiled coyly, lowering her voice, “What can I do for you?”
“How about –” Her expression stopped him going in that direction. “I was just wanting to see you. Do I have to buy a tube of toothpaste every time I want to say hallo?”
Sheena turned and walked back to the pharmacy, reappearing seconds later minus the white coat. She took his arm and led him out of the shop.
“Come on. You can take me for a coffee. Old Grumbleguts let me have my break a bit early. But I’ve got to be back in fifteen minutes Gary. Okay? Not sixteen.”
“You bet.”
“And there’s one other condition. You don’t talk about Marnie or any other woman. And you give me your full attention.”
“That’s two conditions.” Sheena stopped abruptly. “Only joking,” he added quickly.
There was a café a short way along the pavement, and they ordered cappuccinos at a table in the window.
“So what’s new, Gary?”
“Since you left the boat after breakfast, you mean?”
“I did wonder what could be so important you came to find me at work.”
“Nothing much, really. Do I need a reason to want to see you?”
“No, and that’s very nice. It’s flattering. I like that.”
Gary beamed, pleased that he was doing the right thing. But he could sense a but coming.
“But you do have something that’s cheered you up. I can tell.”
“Yeah. I’ve done a nice little deal.” Pleased with himself.
“Oh.” Disappointment.
“That’s good. Doing deals is what it’s all about.”
“If you say so, Gary.”
She took her first sip of cappuccino, which left a thin line of froth along her top lip. She ran her tongue from one side to the other, and Gary realised that doing deals was not what it was all about.
“I thought you’d be pleased.”
“Sure. I am. It’s just I thought you might have done something a bit more important.”
“Like what?”
She leaned forward and lowered her voice. “You were going to tell this bloke with the gravelly voice that there was no way Old Peter had anything valuable and that was the end of it.”
“I’ve told you before, darlin’. It’s not as simple as that.”
Sheena sniffed and drank more cappuccino. Gary was mesmerised again by the tongue-froth routine, but he felt the atmosphere was cooling. Perhaps coming to see her was not such a great idea after all. To his surprise Sheena broke the silence.
“Oh Gary, She shook her head wearily. “You may be good at little deals that earn a few quid here and there, but you’re not so good at tackling the things that matter, the bigger things.”
“Darlin’, I can’t just tell Gravel he’s wasting his time, that he’s got it all wrong –”
“No? Well, perhaps I’d better tell him. I’ll go and find him and –”
“Don’t even joke about it. You are joking, aren’t you?”
“Someone’s got to tell him, Gary, because it’s messing up our relationship.”
“Is it?”
“Gary, I’m not some harmless little bimbo who’s too dim to think for herself. I can see what needs to be done, and perhaps I ought to just get on and do it.”
Now Gary really was sorry he’d come. “No, that would not be a good idea, darlin’. No way. End of.”
He frowned. Harmless was not the word.
Marnie’s next stop was a canalside supermarket handily located beside a watering point. Stores were running low and, above all, the time had come for the taking on of water and the dreaded emptying of the Porta Potti.
She tied up and connected the hose. While the tank filled, she detached the base of the Porta Potti and lugged it along to the sluice. The emptying process was not as ghastly as she had expected.
Those tasks completed, she collected a trolley. On her way in to the store she ducked into a telephone kiosk and interrogated her answerphone.
The first message was from Steve.
“I hear you've gone away. I hope it wasn't because of me. I hope you'll find what you're looking for.” Click.
The nerve of the man! The ego! The mournful voice made Marnie cringe. She almost missed the start of the second message from Beth.
“… it's me. If you haven't sunk or anything, give us a ring some time. There are problems in Paul's department. We may not be able to stay a whole year. Tell you about it when you call. Remember the stern gland. Bye!”
Marnie tried to figure out what the time was in Boston. The third message took her by surprise.
“Hallo, Marnie? It’s Anne, Anne with an ‘e’. I tried your mobile but got no service. You said I could leave a message for you. Well, I told Mrs Robertson about meeting you, told her about my dad and what I’d done
. She was very nice about it. Anyway, I'm ringing to say I've chosen my GCSE Art project. I'm doing studies of the canal. You gave me the idea. I've already started. Hope you'll see it one day. Thanks … for everything, Marnie. Bye! Safe journey! Love to Dolly!”
Marnie was smiling in the phone box. Two more messages followed, both from Philip, both about projects with problems that were now resolved. It had been a kind thought, but Marnie was surprised to realise that she had virtually forgotten about the projects. It was nice to know the firm had not forgotten about her.
In Boston they would still be sleeping, but she had other calls to make. First she dialled Jane's number. No reply. She rang Philip.
“He's in a meeting. Can anyone else help you?” A new voice on the switchboard.
“I'd like to leave a message. It's Marnie Walker.”
“Sorry. Would you say the name again?”
“Marnie Walker.”
“One moment, please.” The line went dead as she was put on hold. “I’m afraid we have no-one here of that name.”
A pause. “You’re new.”
“Yes. I'm temping. The other girl’s on holiday.”
“Okay. I'll try again later.”
Marnie felt as if she had died and her ashes had been scattered to the four winds. She needed to make contact with someone to prove that she still existed. She phoned Mrs Jolly and after several rings was about to hang up when it was answered.
“Oh, hallo, my dear! How are you getting on? Are you in foreign parts?” She giggled.
“I'm in Bedfordshire, or it may be Buckinghamshire by now.”
“Very exotic. Are you having a nice time?”
“Very interesting. Quite a change from my usual routine.”
“Do you have one of those mobile phones?”
“Yes, but the battery’s low and I can’t recharge it at the moment. I'm calling from a kiosk at a supermarket.”
