by Leo McNeir
“I know who it is.”
“So, where are you?”
“What about the nice-to-talk-to-you-did-you-have-a-good-holiday-thanks-for-the-card bit?”
“Oh yeah, did you? I got your card. Thanks.”
“I tried phoning but –”
“My mobile – the old one – fell in the canal.”
“That explains it, then.”
“You went off so suddenly. I was worried.”
“Were you? That’s nice.”
“Sheena, where are you now?”
“Liverpool.”
“Liverpool? Blimey! And, er, are you going to stay there?”
“No fear! They all talk funny up here. It’s just for an induction course. I’ve got a chance to better myself.”
“So you are coming back to London?”
“At the weekend.”
“Going back to your shop?”
“Yes, temporarily. But you can’t see me there. Diane says you had a row with Pillockbrow – sorry, I mean, Mr Pillbrow.”
“Then, where can I see you?”
“Up to you. What d’you have in mind?”
“Would you like to go out, for a meal or something?”
“That’d be great.”
Gary felt relief wash over him. They agreed to meet on Saturday evening and he would take her to the Café Laville in Little Venice for dinner. It would be like old times. A smile spread slowly across his face. The world was getting back to normal.
Then he remembered Old Peter in hospital. The smile vanished as Gary pressed buttons on the phone again.
Sally Ann had become a river boat. Marnie bought her visitors’ licence in the keeper’s office at the first lock and was now officially registered for the Thames.
The journey took on a different tempo. Marnie no longer had to work the locks by hand. Here, they were long and wide, operated electrically by lock-keepers in uniform who marshalled the traffic, took her rope and secured her to a bollard. Cruising the Thames valley was a leisure activity. Marnie felt more like a tourist than a traveller.
Sally Ann took her place among craft more varied than those she met on the canals. There was a preponderance of white cabin cruisers, including a few really smart Gin Palaces with smoked glass windows and twin 75 horsepower diesels gleaming in polished engine rooms. The clanking of Sally’s twin cylinders, beating out thirteen horsepower, was comfortingly reassuring now, but clanking nonetheless.
Marnie found the upper reaches of the Thames beautiful, with charming scenery, desirable residences and picturesque towns. They had a Sunday-best flavour. But as she travelled on, she found herself impatient to be back tugging at balance beams and heaving on the windlass. She was looking forward to taking Sally Ann home.
Gary checked that a visit was allowed and bought a bunch of grapes on the way to the hospital on Friday afternoon. He was concerned for Old Peter’s health, but felt happier than he had been for weeks. There was plenty of cash in the box under his bed, and the keys to Old Peter’s boat were hanging safely on a hook in the galley. The warm weather matched his mood.
More than anything, Sheena was back. He had phoned her again quickly after speaking to the hospital and told her about the old man.
Sheena had read his mind. “So you’ve got the keys to his boat now.”
“Yeah.”
“And?”
“And what?”
“You know and what, Gary. You have to do the right thing.” Gary stayed silent. He did not want to blow it before he’d even had a chance to see Sheena again. “You have to look after the boat and make sure no-one gets on it and searches the place, no-one at all. That’s right, isn’t it, Gary?”
“Yeah.”
“Sorry, the line’s not very good. I didn’t quite catch what you said.”
“Yeah, that’s right.”
“Good. I knew you were a reliable sort of fella.”
“That’s me, sunshine.”
41
Gold
Marnie knew it was Saturday without looking at the calendar by the increase in traffic on the river. The fine weather could not continue much longer, and the boating fraternity was out in force.
The day had begun strangely with an unexpected visitor at breakfast time. Marnie had been drinking orange juice in the saloon, reading the log when she heard the sound. Dolly heard it too and stopped eating from her bowl, pricking one ear and looking up. Something was on the roof of the boat.
The sun was breaking through low cloud cover and at the window Marnie saw a shadow extending across the path like a radio mast. The sunlight gained in strength, the shadow deepened and Marnie smiled. A heron was using Sally Ann as a perch. By the time she had swabbed its calling card from the roof, it was time to set off.
At the first lock Marnie was amazed at the number of boats queuing to go through. She was counting them when she became aware of a man in uniform waving and calling to her from the lockside. His words were indistinct, but his gesture was clear. He signalled Marnie to go forward.
Under the stares of the other boaters, she drove Sally Ann past the fleet of shining cruisers and took her place at the head of the lock. She had read about this in the cruising guide; steel boats were brought in first to avoid accidental damage to GRPs. Marnie was in pole position as the lock-keeper looped her rope round a bollard and began bringing the other boats into the chamber. She felt as if she had strayed into a formal reception wearing an old pair of jeans.
Gary had felt strange all day, like a teenager on a first date. When he met Sheena at the tube station he knew why. She assured him that after a week on the course the suntan was fading, but she looked stunning. Her hair seemed blonder, reaching down to shoulders that shone like gold.
In Little Venice’s most stylish restaurant, Sheena told her story.
“I’m not sure where to begin really. Shall I tell you about my holiday?”
“You left so suddenly. One minute you were here, the next you’d gone. You didn’t even tell me you were going.”
Sheena looked thoughtful. “Yeah. It was all a bit … unexpected.”
“What was?”
“Promise you won’t get angry or do anything silly.”
“I couldn’t get angry with you, darlin’.”
“Not with me, with Mr Pillbrow.”
Gary looked blank. “What’s he got to do with it?”
“Everything, really.”
Gary glowered. “Just say the word and I’ll –”
“Gary! You promised. You keep calm or I go home … now.”
“Calm’s my middle name.”
“Good. So, Mr Pillbrow, though really it goes back before then.”
“Before when?”
“Remember you telling me about that bloke, the one you called Gravel? Well, I thought you were pussyfooting around too much. He’s only human. I thought you should just tell him straight.”
Gary looked alarmed. “Tell him what?”
“Old Peter didn’t have any treasure, and you didn’t know where Marnie was.”
“I remember thinking it wouldn’t be a good idea.”
“You were right.”
Gary frowned. “Go on.”
“I … I thought I’d try to explain to him.”
“You what?” Incredulous.
“Yeah. Anyway, he wasn’t in the pub that night so I didn’t tell you about it.”
“When was that?”
“When it all started. First I heard that Gravel – his real name’s Dave Naylor, by the way –”
“I know. Keep your voice down.”
“Anyway, he wanted to see me. Someone must’ve told him I was looking for him.”
Gary groaned. “I don’t believe this.”
“But you told me he wanted Marnie …” She looked round the restaurant. “… taken out. Remember?”
Gary nodded. “People like him think they can get away with murder.”
Sheena looked startled. “Too right. Seeing him was a big m
istake. I was really worried, heard about this dead woman pulled out of the canal at Mile End. I phoned in sick, but I went in to see Mr Pillbrow after closing time. I told him I wanted a transfer. He asked if I was unhappy there. I said I really liked the job but needed a change. He said he could make things better for me with the company, much better if I wanted, if I had a manager’s recommendation. He said I was a bright girl. Play my cards right and I could go far.”
“I know how far this is going.”
“That’s right.” Sheena placed a hand on Gary’s. “This is where you remember your promise not to get angry or start shouting, right?”
“Er … right.”
“Mr Pillbrow wanted to go far as well. We were alone together at the back in the pharmacy. I told him to keep his hands to himself. I yelled at him, gave him a real shock, said I’d tell the area manager if he ever tried anything on again.”
“The rotten little –”
Sheena raised a finger. Gary subsided.
“Then I asked what he meant by making things better for me with the company, how I could go far. He said there were training opportunities. They wanted people to train up as pharmacists. I could do part of the training … on the job.”
Gary spluttered. Sheena shook her head.
“No, Gary, not … Anyway, it was a new scheme. Mr Pillbrow said it was too short notice, but I could apply for next year. I told him I wanted to go now. End of. Long story short, he phoned up, got me a place for that week’s course, agreed I could take my holiday a bit earlier than planned. Next day I got on to the travel agent and they said they could change my booking. It was like fate, Gary, a chance to better myself.”
Gary looked doubtful. “You reckon?”
“I do. The firm will sponsor me to do the A levels and then college. And straightaway I’ve got a new job title: assistant pharmacist (trainee).” She shook her head in wonder. “That’s trainee in brackets.”
“But you never told me any of this. You just left.”
“I just had to get out. I’m not kidding, Gary, I was really worried. I did phone you when I got to Cyprus, but I couldn’t get through.”
“Yeah. I was worried too, thought you might be …” He stopped. If he said he thought she might be the dead woman at Mile End, she’d be back in Liverpool before you could say stiff.
“Thought I might be what, Gary?” She looked serious.
“Going to give me the elbow.” He hoped he sounded convincing.
A golden smile. “Oh Gary. As if I would …”
For Marnie and Dolly Saturday evening was Girls’-Night-In. Marnie sat in the saloon writing up the logbook, feeling pleasantly tired.
She had spent the day cleaning up the boat. The sight of the smart Thames cruisers had made her cast a more than usually critical eye over Sally Ann. She had found a quiet bank and given the bodywork a good wash. Then, armed with paint pots and brushes, she had worked her way steadily round the boat, touching in every scrape and scratch. By late afternoon she was satisfied that Sally Ann was as presentable as her venerable steelwork would allow.
They celebrated by splitting a tin of red salmon, though Dolly abstained from the mixed salad and chilled Orvieto.
For Gary, everything was wonderful again. He had made a special effort to tidy up Garrow and had kept the windows open for much of the day to clear away the odour of cigarette smoke. Now that Sheena was back he would be cutting down on smoking. It had occurred to him that Sheena could carry a Government Notice: Knowing this Woman could be Good for your Health.
In the cabin he lay back with his head on the pillow, feeling languid and relaxed. A cigarette would have been just right, but he refrained for Sheena’s sake. She lay beside him, her perfume making a welcome return. He wondered what she was thinking.
“It’s nice, being on a boat, Gary.” Her voice was little more than a whisper.
“Yeah. I think so.”
“Sort of …romantic.”
“Yeah.”
“Special, different from real life.”
Gary knew what she meant. “It certainly suits me.”
Sheena agreed. “Yes. It’s lovely … for the moment.”
42
September
In her days on the Thames, Marnie found it hard to believe she was cruising just a short commuter journey from the capital. It was idyllic, pastoral, rural, all those and more. There were parks, gardens and woodlands everywhere, a huge variety of boats, from steam pinnaces with broad funnels to slipper launches gleaming with acres of varnished teak. Could this really become that wide mud-coloured river flowing through London?
Summer seemed to get its second wind, and only the early mists hovering over the water and fields reminded Marnie that it was already September. Each day she expected the weather to turn, but each day it remained determinedly sunny. Though the days were warm, the nights were cool, and every morning the temperature was slow in rising. The angle of the sun, the condensation on Sally Ann’s steelwork, the earlier dusk, the later dawn, the tinge of colour in the foliage, all were foretastes of an autumn that seemed hesitant to arrive.
On waking, Marnie would wash quickly and stand out on deck in the semi-darkness while the kettle boiled. With the air cold round her ankles, she would watch the day coming to life, colour-washed in pale grey. Every evening she performed the same ritual while the light faded. She had never felt so in touch with the seasons.
Gary was the first to wake up in the sleeping cabin on Garrow on Sunday morning. He knew Sheena had said something significant the previous night, but could not remember what it was. She stirred beside him. All thoughts of what she might or might not have said disappeared. Her face was half concealed by hair; he brushed it aside with his fingertips. She murmured and breathed out slowly. He waited, knowing what would come next. Gradually a smile spread over her features.
“I know you’re looking at me, Gary.” Her voice was husky and low.
“Why wouldn’t I?”
Sheena yawned, a slim golden hand emerging from under the duvet to cover it. Pink varnish on tapered fingernails.
“Little Venice …”
“Glad to be back?”
“Mm …Funny place, though.”
“Funny?”
“Strange people.”
Gary had never thought of Little Venice as funny or its people as strange, at least no stranger than anywhere else.
Sheena spoke again, her eyes still closed. “What is it about Little Venice, Gary?”
“How d’you mean?”
“Is it a Black Hole or what?”
“Black hole? I don’t get it.”
“People seem to come and, well, disappear.”
“Like you, you mean?”
Sheena opened her eyes wide. “I hadn’t thought of it like that. I was thinking more of, you know, Gravel, Dave –”
“I know who you mean.”
“Do you know what I mean?”
“I think so. The point is, it’s better not to go round asking questions.”
“I suppose so. Talking of questions, have you seen him lately?”
“No.”
“Do you know where he is?”
“No.”
“Is he likely to come back?”
“How should I know?”
“What will you tell him if he does?”
“Don’t ask.”
That Sunday, Sally Ann was underway long before anyone else on the river. Marnie steered down the centre channel as the sky turned from pink to grey to blue and the other boaters were not yet up or even on the way to their moorings.
She wondered if the smart boaters regarded her on the old tub Sally Ann as a water gypsy, or even a river rat. There certainly seemed to be a different relationship between river and canal people. On the canals, passing crews exchanged a friendly word. On the Thames, boats went by without even a glance from the other steerer.
At first Marnie had wondered if the boaters in the white cruisers regarded a narrowboat
as inferior. But gradually, she thought there might be a simpler reason; the river was much wider. Perhaps the natural British reserve was the default setting. Perhaps narrowboaters acknowledged each other simply because they passed in closer proximity.
Marnie tried an experiment. She began giving a cheery wave to oncoming boats, even the most opulent gin palaces. It worked. The steerers waved or nodded back. Then she noticed another difference. When she encountered a narrowboat, the greeting was almost a conspiratorial smile … between water gypsies.
Gary walked Sheena to the tube. He was sorry she could not spend Sunday with him, but she owed her parents a visit and, she reminded Gary, she had work to prepare for her training course. He felt proud of her.
From the station Gary went to the pub. It was just on noon but already all the tables on the pavement were occupied with people out for a pre-lunch drink in the sunshine. In the saloon bar nearly every table was taken. Gravel’s table remained unoccupied as usual.
Gary took a stool at the bar and ordered a pint and a pasty. While Benny poured the beer, Gary expected him to ask about Sheena but he said nothing.
“You all right then, Benny?”
“Not bad. Overworked, underpaid. Get you anything else?”
Gary passed him a tenner. “Packet of Bensons.”
When Benny counted out the change, Gary inclined his head towards the empty table.
“Seen Gravel lately?”
“Who?”
“You know … Dave Naylor.”
Benny made a face and shook his head. “Can’t say I recall the name.”
Gary began forming a question, but thought better of it.
43
Henley
Marnie felt relaxed and liberated. She enjoyed those mild, calm end-of-season days and realised she had adapted to cruising the river, with less work than on the canals – being cosseted in the locks – and much to explore. Under no pressure to reach journey’s end, she passed the time watching Victorian and Edwardian architecture glide by or wandering round the towns and villages along the banks.
