Sally Ann's Summer (Marnie Walker)

by Leo McNeir

  “There's nothing like a complete break, that's what I always say.” She giggled again.

  “I don't think you're taking me very seriously, Mrs Jolly.”

  “Sorry, dear. I've been playing with my grandchildren in the garden and it's making me rather skittish.”

  “Good. Well, I just thought I'd ring to say hallo.”

  “I'm glad you did, because there's something I want to ask you. Sally Ann's mooring. It is yours all the time, isn't it?”

  “Yes. It’s a prime mooring. We pay the rent for it.”

  “Even when you're not there?”

  “That’s right.”

  “Well, another boat has been moored there. I thought you might have given it up while you were away.”

  “Perhaps they just pulled over to check something on their boat.”

  “But then why would they plug in to your electricity point?”

  Marnie was making indignant sounds when her phonecard ran out.

  Stalker was wishing he had gone in for drystone-walling, or anything more exciting than his chosen career. He had hung around the first supermarket until boredom drove him further on. Another hour of watching boats and their crews and he was ready to throw himself into the nearest lock.

  He knew how to blend into any background and avoid security cameras, but loitering by a canal, he was as exposed as if wearing a neon sign saying Suspicious Character.

  When a party of schoolkids arrived he had to think quickly. They installed themselves along the towpath, about twenty teenagers, spread over a hundred yards with stools and sketch pads, settled in for the duration. His chances of not being noticed dwindled to nothing. One or two of them pulled out cameras and began clicking away in all directions.

  As he folded up his paper and turned to leave, a boat pulled in at the bank in front of him. The steerer apologised to the two kids at that spot for taking their view. There was some good-natured banter. Stalker saw his chance. He nodded at the man from the boat who hopped off to tie up at a mooring ring.

  “Morning! Come far?”

  “Up from Hemel.”

  “Some mates of mine are doing that run … don’t suppose you’ve seen them? Boat’s called Sally Ann.”

  The man pondered. “Don’t think so.”

  “Thanks.”

  Stalker took off. He did not notice that one of the artists on the bank was watching him. She was a thin girl, pale with very short blonde hair and a thoughtful expression.

  Gary was on his way back to Garrow from the café when he passed two women chatting on the pavement. One of them was Jane Rutherford, the other an old lady. He nodded at Jane and walked on, worrying about his conversation with Sheena, hoping she would not do anything rash. Both women watched his retreating back.

  “That’s him, isn’t it?” said Mrs Jolly. “The man I was telling you about.”

  “That’s Gary, yes. He seems to have something on his mind. Not the usual swagger.”

  “He ought to have something on his conscience.”

  “I doubt if he has one.” Jane smiled. “So you think he’s sub-let Marnie’s mooring to these other people while she’s away?”

  “And her electricity supply.”

  “Sounds like a typical Gary kind of scam.”

  “He’d have been called a wide boy in my day, or perhaps a spiv, though his clothes aren’t flashy enough.”

  Jane chuckled. “Spiv, yes, lovely word.”

  “But it amounts to the same thing: dishonesty. And Marnie’s the victim. She’ll end up paying the bill.”

  Jane looked serious. “Mm. Are the people there now, do you know?”

  “They were there when I came out. Do you think there’s anything we can do about it? They didn’t take any notice of me when I spoke to them.”

  Jane thought for a few seconds. “We’ll see.”

  The first lock was heavy to operate and Marnie was sweating in the heat. If no other boats were around by the time she reached the next one, she would pull over, find some shade and wait until someone came along to share the locking.

  In half an hour Sally Ann reached the last bend before the flight. Turning the corner, Marnie could see a boat pulling away from the bank towards the lock. Her rejoicing was short-lived. It was unmistakably Captain, with Mate firmly tied alongside. They were breasted up ready to go through together, leaving Marnie to fend for herself. She sighed and pulled over to the bank.

  The working pair made an impressive sight, and Marnie strolled along the bank to watch them. She was in no hurry now.

  The boats were skippered by Jack Hadley himself, founding father of WREC. He guided the craft expertly into the chamber. The crew, all volunteers from the organisation, seemed to swarm over the lock, operating the paddles, holding ropes and generally looking purposeful, even if they were not actually doing anything. Marnie looked on with envy.

  “Excuse me. Sorry to disturb you.” A quiet voice.

  One of the crew needed Marnie to move to allow the gate to shut. She stepped round the beam and moved back from the edge. As the boats came to a stop, the man heaved on the beam. He was about the same height as Marnie and lightly built. She pulled with him to shut the gate, ruefully noticing how heavy it was.

  “Thanks for your help,” the crewman muttered as the gates from both sides of the lock bumped together and Marnie caught a whiff of warm oil in the air.

  “Excuse me.” The quiet voice again. “Is that your cat by any chance?”

  Dolly was walking up to investigate the action.

  “Yes. We're from Sally Ann … back there.”

  The man bent down to stroke the cat and she leaned against his jeans.

  “These are the oldest working boats still going, aren't they?” said Marnie.

  “Among the oldest steam-powered, yes … built about 1906, worked together for over fifty years.”

  “Did you work on the restoration?”

  “No.” He pointed over to Captain, now slowly descending in the lock chamber. “Jack was in charge of all that.” There was admiration in his voice.

  Jack Hadley was leaning on the tiller, talking quietly with one of the crew, emphasising a point by jabbing his pipe in the air. He was in his sixties, lean and wiry with an aquiline profile. In loose-fitting dark trousers and collarless striped shirt, he looked the epitome of the enthusiast. A black peaked cap of unquestionable vintage, perched on a thatch of silvery hair, completed the ensemble.

  “He's a remarkable man,” said the voice behind her.

  “So I hear.”

  Captain and Mate were making steady progress to the bottom of the lock chamber, filling it with their bulk, and already members of the crew were poised by the balance beams. Marnie looked back along the canal, but there was no sign of any other boat that could lock through with Sally Ann.

  “Excuse me again, miss.” The quiet voice sounded amused. “Your cat seems to be getting curious.”

  Marnie turned just as Dolly leapt from the side of the lock onto Captain. She landed on the cabin roof directly in front of Jack Hadley, who was still addressing the steerer on Mate.

  With a grin the latter called out, “Stowaway!”

  Hadley turned to find himself confronted by an inquisitive black face. He looked up to the lockside, raising his hand against the sunlight. Marnie knelt down on the stone edge.

  “I'm sorry, Mr Hadley. She’s escaped.”

  “That’s all right.” The voice was lighter than she had expected. Hadley set his pipe down on the hatch to pick Dolly up and stroke her head. He was tanned like a seaman, with light blue eyes, and handed Dolly up to Marnie, smiling with long teeth.

  Holding the cat in her arms, Marnie felt the eyes of the crew turn towards her.

  “I'd better take her back to the boat. I don't want her being a nuisance.”

  Hadley was still smiling. “You could keep her on board, let your husband lock through.”

  Marnie hesitated. It was a reasonable assumption.

  By no
w, the crew was pushing the gates open, and Hadley returned his attention to the boats. The pair moved forward, Captain’s steam engine rumbling gently.

  The crewman spoke again. “If you want to signal your boat to come up, I'll do the gates for you.”

  “That's kind of you, but I'm not in any hurry. I'm probably going to wait a while for another boat to come along.”

  “Waiting for friends?”

  “No, actually, I'm travelling solo. I'd rather wait to share. The gates are heavy on this section.”

  The man looked thoughtful. “I could work these locks for you.”

  “Oh, I couldn't ask you to do that.”

  The man shrugged. “There’s more than enough hands for our two boats.”

  It was a tempting offer.

  “Well …”

  Before she could finish the sentence, the man was already turning the first paddles to fill the lock.

  “Go on. I'll have it ready by the time you get your boat here.”

  Sheena busied herself tidying the shelves on the display cabinets and putting out new stock. It was a monotonous job but she liked doing it whenever she had something to think about. It also brought approval from her boss, the pharmacist. He looked up from the high counter of the pharmacy and his expression, though not actually a smile, was recognisable as the face of approval.

  Sheena was thinking about Gary. He was a nice guy and they had a lot of fun together, but he seemed to have limited horizons. She was beginning to worry that he was a drifter. Other boyfriends had been less entertaining but they had had careers, prospects, their own place to live and a car. Gary lived on a boat, walked everywhere he needed to go and seemed to earn a living from one day to the next.

  But what really bothered her was this business about Old Peter and the bloke with the gravelly voice. Gary didn’t seem to realise that he had to stand up to him. People respected you if you told them straight. She wasn’t daunted at the prospect. Past experience had taught her that if you just came out with what you wanted to say, everyone knew where they stood. Of course she did have certain advantages. She smoothed the white coat down over her hips, a manoeuvre not lost on the boss, who liked to keep an eye on what was happening in the shop.

  So what should she do? And how could she find Gravel? She lined up a special offer on dental floss and rearranged the toothbrushes. The more she thought about it, the easier it seemed. She would ask for him in the pub. The landlord would know when he came in, if he was a regular. She would tell Gravel about Old Peter and that would be that. Easy. No more worries.

  The pharmacist watched Sheena reaching up to the top shelves. It made the white coat ride up, so she had to smooth it down after each action. He liked that. In fact, he liked Sheena. She was a good worker and pleasant to the customers, as well as having other qualities. She could go far, if she wanted to. He could see a future for her. He could help her.

  When Sheena returned behind the counter, Diane, the other assistant, had just taken herself off to the loo. The boss saw his chance.

  “Sheena, can you come here for a moment. I want to have a quiet word with you … in private, just the two of us.”

  Sally Ann entered the lock, as Captain and Mate were almost at the lowest level in the next, with one more to go. They eased into the last lock while Marnie was still descending in the second and were through to open water as her helper set to work on the paddles. Marnie had nothing to do but hold Sally Ann on a rope while the water level rose.

  It was at the point when she left the third lock that Marnie realised there was a problem. She emerged to find that Captain and Mate were out of sight, leaving no more than a thin plume of smoke in the distance. Her helper was now stranded. He closed the gates, seeming unperturbed. Marnie pulled Sally Ann into the bank and waited for him to catch her up.

  “Don't worry. If you want to stay here a while, I can walk to the next lock. It's not far.”

  Marnie protested. “It's nearly three miles.”

  “Forty minutes. No trouble at all.”

  Marnie shook her head. “No, no. I can pull in at that lock just as well as here.”

  “It’ll be lunchtime soon. They'll be stopping there. I'll easily catch them.”

  Mention of lunch made Marnie realise how long it had been since breakfast. She looked around her. It was an attractive spot, the canal running through rolling countryside in noonday sunshine, pastures dotted with small areas of woodland.

  “Are you sure they'll stop there?”

  “Absolutely. It's Jack's favourite pub. The landlord’s an old friend.” The man half turned to set off.

  Marnie acted on impulse. “No, stop. I know it’s early but let's eat here. We'll catch them up afterwards.” The man hesitated; she held out her hand. “I’m Marnie, by the way, and my cat’s called Dolly.”

  “I'm Mick.”

  They moored Sally Ann by the towpath.

  While Marnie produced lunch, Mick wrestled with the parasol on the stern deck and set up the folding table and safari chairs. Lunch consisted of pâté, herb omelette, a mixed salad, cheese and fruit. A bottle of claret completed the scene. Mick stared at the table before they started.

  “Is everything all right?” Marnie said.

  “It, er, well, it looks like a picture from a magazine.”

  “Least I could do.”

  Stalker studied the cruising guide. The next crossing point was a village beside a lock. Its attractions included a canalside pub, a fourteenth century church, a Georgian rectory and Jacobean almshouses. Maybe Marnie would have a pub lunch and do the tourist thing.

  He checked the road map. By the time he reached the village it would be well into lunchtime. Perhaps she would be tempted to take a break. It was the only eating opportunity for miles. He had a feeling about this place.

  Mick pointed ahead. The first sign of the lock was the outline of a bridge, and as they drew nearer, the roof-line and chimneys of the pub came into view. As he had predicted, Captain and Mate were moored nearby. Several people were sitting out, finishing lunch. Marnie brought the boat into the bank while Mick hopped ashore to tie up.

  “Thanks for lunch, Marnie. It was great. Are you staying here or do we go on?”

  “I’d like to look around, make a phone call or two. I might travel on later.”

  They shook hands.

  “Leave the keys. I’ll take Sally Ann through so she’ll be ready for you.”

  Marnie went into the pub and bought a phonecard. The phone was in a narrow corridor by the front door and was being used by a young woman speaking in a hushed voice. She frowned at Marnie and turned away to resume her whispered conversation.

  Marnie went back to the bar. “Is there another phone round here?”

  “Just up the road by the post office.” The barman winked. “It's cheaper than this one.”

  There was something familiar about one of the boats tied up before the lock by the pub. Stalker was sure he had seen it before, but he was convinced he had seen practically every boat registered on the waterways of England in the past few days.

  He switched off the engine. From where he had parked, he could not quite read the name. If the boat had been the right colour he would have got out and walked round to the front to read it, even at the risk of revealing himself to the owner. He had begun to wonder whether Gravel had been right about the colours. He had seen several boats painted in dark blue, but none with maroon. This one was the right shade of blue, and it was in the right place, but the cream was all wrong.

  He lit his last cigarette, crumpled the packet and tossed it on the floor. Just then, he spotted activity on the boat. Someone was taking it forward to the lock. Stalker sat up in his seat, exhaling smoke through his nostrils. No luck. The boater was the right height and build, but definitely a man.

  Despondent and wondering if he was ever going to find the wretched boat, Stalker got out and crossed the road to buy cigarettes in the pub. In the corridor he had to squeeze past a woman on the phone,
who seemed to be having a crisis in her private life. She glared at him as if he was an intruder, and he glared back.

  When he came out, there was movement on the canal. Two bigger boats were approaching the lock, and the smaller one was all but invisible inside it. Stalker headed towards the towpath, hoping that if he just wandered along it for half an hour, his prey would come to him. His luck was due for a change.

  It was hot in the kiosk and Marnie wished she had remembered to put on a sun hat. She dialled Jane's number.

  “It's Marnie, hi.”

  “I know what you're ringing about and it's all sorted.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Your squatters. They've left, half an hour ago. Gary is not pleased.”

  “Tell me more. And how’s Gary involved?”

  “He told them it was his mooring and his boat was in dry dock. He sub-let it to them for a month, generously throwing in the electricity at no extra charge.”

  “Cheek!”

  “Quite, but not untypical where Gary’s concerned.”

  “So how did you get rid of them?”

  “I went to see them this morning, told them you were the chairman of the British Waterways Board of Governors, head of the local magistrate’s bench and were due back at any minute. They remembered an urgent appointment halfway up the Grand Union. They should be overtaking you about now.”

  Marnie laughed. In the background she heard the wailing of Captain’s steam whistle. After disconnecting from Jane, she dialled her home number and listened to the answerphone. There was one message.

  “Hi, it’s me again … Anne. Sorry to keep pestering you, Marnie, but there’s something I think you ought to know. My class went to the canal in town this morning. Mrs Robertson liked my project so much she thought we could all do some sketching. A man was asking about a boat called Sally Ann. I didn’t say anything because he said he had some mates travelling on the boat. Obviously not you. But afterwards I wondered if it might be that man who’s worried about your boat. Perhaps you’ve got a problem that needs attention. That’s all really. I promise not to bother you again. Have a good trip. Bye!”