Sally Ann's Summer (Marnie Walker)

by Leo McNeir

  25

  Sun

  On Saturday morning Marnie was feeling jaded. For the past few days she had been unsettled. The weather had been fine and warm with endless sunshine from cloudless blue skies. Sally Ann was running well, and they had passed through beautiful countryside. But something was wrong.

  Even Dolly seemed affected by the atmosphere. All day long she stayed out of sight, except at meal-times.

  Milton Keynes had surprised Marnie. The new town, so often the butt of jokes, revealed a care for the canal, its bridges and towpaths that so far was unsurpassed anywhere she had seen outside Little Venice.

  Leaving the ultra-modern town behind, she found herself cruising through a timeless landscape. It seemed to drift in and out of focus. A feeling of lethargy came over her and she brought Sally Ann into the bank in the shade of a line of willows. A glass of mineral water would revive her.

  In the saloon, Dolly was curled into a ball, asleep on a chair. Marnie poured a glass of Perrier water. She tipped some milk in a saucer for Dolly and sat opposite her, taking deep breaths, glancing at the cruising guide on the table.

  Suddenly, she found herself laughing quietly. It was partly at the thought that she might curl up like Dolly, partly the idea that she might plan a different route with Sally Ann than the one shown in the guide. She had a vision of Sally taking off across a field as an alternative to following the canal. In her mind she saw the boat sliding between the sheep, over the cattle grid and off up the high street of the next village. It could save her a lot of bother with locks, she thought.

  Feeling revived, Marnie started the engine and pulled away, not noticing that she had forgotten to tie up and the boat had drifted into mid-channel. She was in high spirits and took in every detail of the canal, its bridges and planting as she cruised along.

  What kind of men built the canals? She tried to picture the engineers: velvet waistcoats and white frills, powdered wigs and buckled shoes. Long-lost voices came into her mind, men arguing technical details, pointing at plans. There were disagreements, rivalries, reputations.

  Today, everything seemed sharper than on other days. Marnie felt the texture of the surfaces beyond the water, stone, wood, iron, brick and steel, every one hard and shining. She could feel the shapes of the bridges as she ran through their reflections in the water. In her head there was the sound of an old man's voice.

  You like … structures?

  She wanted to answer, but no words came. She cruised on. Sally Ann glided between willows and elders. Marnie felt she was linked with every waterway in the world. If she stayed on course she would run into the ocean and eventually the Amazon, the Zambezi and the Yangtze rivers, all one great highway. She heard herself laugh out loud.

  The deck moved under Marnie’s feet as if she was at sea. She steadied herself against the stern rail, throttled back and put a hand up to her throat. She blinked and stared. The water was utterly calm and only Sally's bow wave was breaking its mirror surface. Marnie took deep breaths and gripped the tiller firmly. The air was stifling. There was no breeze, no shade. Her hat was in the cabin, but she could not trust herself to leave the deck even for a few seconds to fetch it.

  Stalker had seen a church tower on high ground from miles away and had set out to find it, hoping for an observation post where he could survey that whole sector of the canal. Arriving in the village he drove through looking for a suitable spot, casting covetous eyes at the tower itself.

  The best he could find was a field affording views over the waterway to north and south, glimpsed between trees and bushes. He pulled out his binoculars and swept the scene. It was the usual problem. For much of its length, the canal and road never met. The strip of water disappeared to become no more than a tantalising vision in the distance.

  He fiddled with the focus ring as he scanned. One boat … two boats … three … moored along the bank, partly concealed by overhanging trees. A fourth … a fifth. Not as easy as he had expected. The distance and the reflected light from the water made them all seem the same colour, a uniform indistinct dark shade that could have been green, blue or maroon.

  Then there was movement, a boat in the distance in mid-channel. Stalker strained, adjusting the focus. The name on the bow sharpened just as it slid under a tree. Yes! That could have been Sally Ann, but something seemed wrong. He had to wait minutes before seeing it again. Damn! Even allowing for the distortion of distance and back lighting, the boat he was watching was the wrong colour. The roof may have been white or cream, but it was not maroon.

  Quickly, he swept back to the tiller. There she was, a woman. Solo. He had only a few seconds before she was swallowed again by the trees on the bank. Stalker chewed his lip. He had been in the business long enough to know that whatever anyone told you, it could be wrong. He walked back to the car, where he could use the mobile without being noticed.

  Gravel answered almost at once. Stalker explained the dilemma.

  “My informant told me it was navy and maroon.”

  “How reliable is he?”

  “Good question. Navy and cream, you say?”

  “White or cream.”

  “Make up your mind. Which is it?”

  “A mile away through binoculars it could be either … light, anyway.”

  Gravel paused. “Keep it under observation. I’ll check and let you know. Don’t let her out of your sight.”

  “I’ve got her.”

  Marnie had no recollection of bringing Sally Ann to shore. Mooring with one line at the stern, she switched off the engine and leaned against the tiller to catch her breath. Her eyelids were heavy. She went below, desperate to find shelter from the heat, but it was no good. The cabin was airless and stuffy. She grabbed her hat and went out.

  The world was deserted. A short way from the bank there were trees, and she thought she glimpsed chimneys among the branches not far away. There would be shade where she could rest awhile. She half stumbled over the lip of the deck onto the bank.

  Once there had been a fence, but it had long since rotted away. Marnie stepped over it and walked in among the trees. In the shade she steadied herself against one and rested her back against its rough bark. She remembered that she had been learning the names of trees from a book and turned to look up to identify it. In turning, she lost her balance and gently slid down onto the ground, her hat rolling off to settle beside her. She had no energy or desire to sit up, but lay there, her head spinning, breathing fitfully, until the world went away.

  Gary hated having to do it, but he cancelled his date with Sheena for Saturday night.

  They had not made a firm arrangement, but things between them had reached the point where it was understood they would see each other at every opportunity. That weekend he had been offered a good job, moving new boats down from Cowroast to Docklands for customers of his Limehouse friend. It was well paid, and there was no point coming back to London on Saturday evening. They would have to finish late and start early to get there in a weekend.

  He went round to the chemist’s to explain. To his surprise and relief, Sheena was understanding. She gave him a discreet kiss behind the shampoo and conditioner stand and wished him a pleasant journey. As he went out, she stayed in the shop, tidying shelves that needed no tidying. She had things to think about.

  Leaving the shop, Gary’s mobile rang. He frowned as he heard the gravelly voice.

  “Tell me about Marnie’s boat, Gary.”

  “What’s there to tell? It’s a forty-five footer … Sally –”

  “Colour.”

  “Colour? Dark blue with maroon.”

  “You’re sure of that.”

  Gary stopped walking. Why was Gravel asking this? There must be a reason. He pictured the boat, dark paintwork, faded in places, some of it peeling, in need of … He saw Marnie, that rear view as she bent to her task. What was she doing? Scrubbing, or could it be sanding?

  “I’m waiting, Gary.”

  “She may have … touched it up, h
ere and there.”

  “Changed the colour?”

  Gary was cautious now. “Not when I saw it last, but …”

  “Could she have changed it?” The voice was flat.

  “I don’t think she had the time. I’m sure she couldn’t have given it a complete repaint in the short time she was in Little Venice.”

  “Really sure? Or is it a possibility?”

  “You think she altered the colour … to what?”

  “White, maybe cream.”

  Gary thought about it. “She could’ve changed part of the colour, but nobody paints narrowboats white or cream. They’re not practical colours.”

  “Is that definite, Gary?”

  A pause. “Not definite.”

  The line went dead. Gary realised he had made a mistake.

  Gravel disconnected and immediately dialled another mobile.

  “It could be cream.”

  “That’s definite?”

  “It’s the best we’ve got. Go for it.”

  “She’s mine.”

  Stalker was back on the hillside. The cruising guide showed that the canal skirted round the village where he was waiting. No need to chase her any more. She was coming to him. The map indicated a wooded area down by the water. There was a farm nearby, but he needed a secluded spot.

  Voices. He stiffened. Someone was coming down the track. He pressed himself against a tree, only risking a glance when he was sure they had passed. He could not believe his eyes.

  It was the music that brought Marnie back. For how long she had been unconscious she could not tell. The sun was obscured from view by the canopy of trees around her, but was still high in the sky. The music came from nearby, a light baroque air played on strings. Even in her befuddled state, Marnie knew this was no recording.

  She struggled to sit up and leaned against the tree, taking deep breaths, her eyes closed, listening to the sound that drifted her way between the bushes. She blinked and focused, not without difficulty, and pulled herself up from the ground, locating the source of the music ahead of her. Curiosity gave her the strength to go on. Pushing herself away from the tree, she stepped cautiously forward, concentrating hard to keep her balance.

  The ground was bumpy and more than once she stumbled until, inevitably, she tripped over a root in the grass and fell flat onto a bed of dead leaves. She spat soil from her lips and rubbed her mouth with the back of her hand. Beyond where she lay was a courtyard bounded on two sides by ruins. Marnie eased herself up onto her elbows.

  She made out a dilapidated house, in honey-coloured stone with tall chimneys and gaps among the slates on the roof. Close by stood a cluster of barns. The music was emanating from between the buildings. They were probably eighteenth century, perhaps earlier, and the music from the same period. Marnie closed her eyes and listened. The scene was unreal. Everything was unreal. She was unreal.

  When she looked again, she blinked and froze. Along the track, not thirty yards away walked a man and a woman, arm in arm, followed by two children, skipping and laughing. The man was in bottle green frock coat and pale grey breeches over white stockings. The woman wore a full length dress of cream and dark red, gathered in at the waist, with hooped skirt. Both wore powdered wigs, and the children were dressed in miniature versions of the same style. All were absorbed in animated conversation and took no notice of Marnie lying among the bushes. Fragments of speech drifted towards her.

  “…I don't know what she was thinking of, especially at her age …”

  “… not much else they could do in the circumstances …”

  “… it was bound to come out in the end …”

  The group passed the barns and turned behind the buildings. Marnie lowered her head, deeply confused. The music still hung in the air. What on earth was happening?

  She resolved to go round to the other side of the barns and dragged herself to her feet. But vertigo struck. The ground swayed, the trees swirled around her on all sides, the buildings tottered and blurred. She felt she was struck from behind and staggered, but there was no pain when she hit the ground.

  The barman shook his head, polishing a glass. “Don’t know who you mean, love.”

  Sheena repeated herself more slowly. “Middle-aged, bald, black leather jacket, ear-ring, gravelly voice. He’s a regular here, sometimes drinks with a friend of mine … Gary from the boats? … double whiskies? Always got a mate with him. Now which bit of that don’t you understand?”

  “Are you ordering?”

  “I’m asking for information.”

  “Yeah, well this is a pub, not an information centre.”

  Her eyes bore into his. “I think you know who I mean.”

  The barman put down the glass and stared back. “Even if I knew who you meant, I wouldn’t know who you mean. Get it? And if you tell me you’re asking for information about him, I’d say it’d be better if you didn’t ask. Now, which bit of that don’t you understand?”

  To Marnie it seemed as if only a few seconds passed before the world came back to her. It was a sound, not music this time but voices. She wanted to ask the people what they were doing. So many questions …

  She desperately needed to know their attitudes to the canals, to life, to everything, but she had no strength and knew they would go away before she had a chance to talk to them. But the voices did not go away. They grew louder, coming nearer. She wished someone would help her up. Then she felt hands on her shoulders.

  “Take it easy.” A low voice.

  She tried to turn and focus, but blinding sunlight flashed through the trees. Her mouth was dry and dusty.

  The voice again. “We're just getting you some water. Are you hurting anywhere?”

  Marnie’s leg was twisted under her. She tried to straighten it and groaned with pain. The man raised her slightly and eased her position.

  “Try this.” She felt the mouth of a bottle at her lips and sipped. “Just take it slowly.”

  Marnie took a couple of sips. Something soft brushed against her arm. She blinked and looked into yellow eyes. A sturdy black cat.

  “Dolly.”

  “Yes.” A familiar voice.

  “Mick?” Marnie was still not focusing.

  “Jack, Jack Hadley from Captain. Do you think you can walk by yourself?”

  Marnie thought about it and shook her head. “Not for the moment.”

  “Come on, then.”

  Marnie felt the arms tighten round her back and under her legs. With a grunt, the man lifted her and carried her through the trees back to Sally Ann. With eyes still closed, she felt him step up onto the deck.

  “I'm going to have to set you down here. It's too narrow to get you in through the entrance.”

  “Okay.”

  Marnie took the weight on her feet and let herself be led unsteadily down into the cabin. She sat on the bed, aware of men’s voices in the background. Breathing steadily, she heard the clink of glass in the galley.

  Jack returned to the cabin. “Try this. It’ll help. Just a sip or two, now.”

  He held a glass to her lips and the smell of brandy made her eyes water. She managed a sip and opened her eyes. Faces were peering in from the hatchway.

  Jack was speaking again. “Can you tell me your name?”

  “Marnie.”

  “Okay. Now listen, Marnie. You need to rest awhile. We've opened the windows to let in some fresh air. I'll come back soon to see how you are. I don't think you need a doctor, but if you do, we'll find one. Try and sleep.”

  Marnie swung her legs up onto the bed and lay back on the pillow. She heard the growl of the water pump in the galley. With eyes closed, she tried to smile. Her last memory was a cool damp flannel on her forehead.

  On Saturday evening Gravel paid Gary a visit, but found his boat empty. While Sidekick made enquiries, Gravel took up station in the pub. His backside had hardly warmed the seat when the barman appeared with a double scotch.

  “Thanks, Benny.”

  The barma
n bent down and spoke quietly. “A bird’s been in asking after you.”

  “After me? You sure it was me? Did she use my name?”

  A shake of the head. “She asked for someone who fitted your description.”

  “What description would that be?”

  A pause. “Good-looking bloke, ear-ring, black leather jacket, uses this table.”

  “What did you tell her?”

  The barman raised an eyebrow.

  “Good lad. Now tell me about the girl.”

  “Blonde.”

  “And?”

  “Blonde.”

  “Try harder.”

  Another pause. “Good boobs, legs up to her armpits.”

  “Name?”

  “Dunno. Doesn’t come in here much. Seen her once with a bloke.”

  “What bloke?”

  The barman hesitated. Gravel’s turn to raise an eyebrow. “Gary, off the boats.”

  Gravel nodded. The audience was over.

  Gravel sat staring into his whisky. He knew the girl, easily recognised from Benny’s detailed description. Why was she looking for him? Why now? What was Gary up to? These days it was all questions. It was about time someone started giving him answers.

  Sidekick came in and took the opposite chair.

  Gravel looked up. “I hope you’ve got an answer for me.”

  “Yeah. The boat was repainted by the new woman. She kept the blue … changed the maroon to cream.”

  At last Gravel had an answer that told him something. It told him he had had Stalker wasting his time for the best part of a week.

  “Find out where Gary is. I want to talk to him. And see what you can find out about his girlfriend.”

  “You want to talk to her?”

  “No. She wants to talk to me. Maybe my luck’s changed.”