by Leo McNeir
“His dead body, I hope,” said Marnie bitterly.
“He’s at an old people’s home visiting war veterans.”
Marnie was exasperated. “What about pictures of the other candidates? Where are they?”
“Out putting leaflets through letterboxes, I expect,” said Ralph. “Not very sexy, nothing to make a good picture.”
“So why an interest in old people all of a sudden?”
“Old people vote in elections. Children don’t.”
Serena was almost stamping her feet with frustration. “We really need photos of all this to show the world what a success we have in bringing all the communities together to make one.”
Without a word, Donovan reached into his bag, took out a camera and moved towards the crowds, squatting and bending as he fired off a film, recording every aspect of the proceedings.
Serena stared after him. “Who’s he? What’s he doing?”
“Donovan Smith,” said Anne. “A friend. I think he’s taking the photos you wanted for the paper.”
“With that old thing? It’d have to be something special to be good enough for the newspaper. That camera looks like a museum piece.”
“It’s very special. It’s a Leica, a classic. That camera once shot Hermann Goering and the top Nazis.”
“Pity it couldn’t shoot Brandon and do us all a favour.”
Marnie grabbed Serena by the arm. “Ring that journalist. Tell her we’ve got photos. Ask her if they’ll develop them or should we get them processed. There’s a good camera shop in town where they’ll do them in an hour.”
“Is this called taking one step forward?” said Greg.
Marnie grimaced. “I hope it’s called keeping ahead of the game.”
*
Marnie and the Knightly St John contingent did not wait until all the coaches had departed before leaving for home. Announcing that she had work to do and would return later, she shepherded Ralph and Anne into the car and took off.
It had been a tremendous start to the summer scheme, with hundreds of pre-booked children arriving to take part and dozens more turning up unannounced. All the spare seats had been taken, and one of the reserve coaches had been half-filled with extras. Donovan had used a complete roll of film and gone off on his bike to have it processed at the newspaper’s own lab.
They felt a weight in the stomach as they drove down the high street and approached Glebe Farm, knowing that Brandon’s posters would be reminding them who was really ahead of the game. Pulling up outside the garage barn, they detected a whiff of smoke in the air. Filled with apprehension they rushed to the courtyard. The scene that awaited them was of total normality. Bob the foreman waved from the top of a ladder. His two workmates were busy humping bags of cement through the farmhouse door.
It was a muffled cry from Anne that made them realise something had changed. “The posters – they’ve gone!”
Marnie advanced to centre-stage and called up to the builder. “Bob? Did you take the posters down?”
“Yes, me dook. Figured you wouldn’t want them spoiling the look of the place.”
Marnie laughed. “You’re brilliant!”
“Very true.”
“Must’ve taken you ages.”
“Aye, half an hour. Don’t worry, we’ll make it up at the end of the day, a bit of unpaid overtime.”
Smiling and shaking her head, Marnie walked back towards the office barn. She had an afterthought. “What’s that burning?”
“Can’t you guess? They were great, them posters. Made a smashing start to the bonfire. We’ve started burning stuff we cut back in the garden to make room for the terrace. One lot of rubbish deserves another.” He laughed at his own joke and began whistling to himself.
26
The Discovery sped up the dual carriageway next morning, its occupants in high spirits. Luther had returned from London the previous night by train and taxi and was in Ralph’s seat as Ralph had set off for a meeting in Oxford. The atmosphere in the car was elated. Donovan’s pictures had been good, so good that Brandon had to share the front page, and the paper had run a double spread of them in the later editions. Anne had a copy with her on the back seat and was perusing them for the umpteenth time.
“You were right about Donovan’s camera, Anne.” Marnie looked at her in the mirror. “Those pictures are mega-sharp.”
“I know. Donovan says the Leica’s a classic, nothing else quite like it.”
“But it’s not just the camera,” Luther butted in. “That guy knows how to use it. It’s not just point-and-shoot with those things. You need to know about exposures, focus, depth of field, all that stuff.”
“Yes. He’s very … meticulous.”
Luther grinned at her. “And very … admired, by the sound of it.”
Anne held up the paper. On the front page a close-up of excited children of three races laughing together occupied half the page and took the sting out of Brandon’s grim countenance. He had shrunk to make space for them under the headline, A Day of Contrasts. A grumpy middle-aged man alongside an image of hope for the future.
Inside was even better. The centre pages were a double spread of action, with scouts gesturing, kids waving, elegant mothers in colourful saris surrounding a general shot of the whole playground. It was like a scene from an epic movie with a cast of hundreds. The heading was Kidscene Heading 4 Success – a special report on Day One by Susie Leigh with photographs by Donovan Smith. The editor had included one shot of Serena – the brains behind the venture – but his mind had not been on her brains alone when he made the selection. Donovan had taken the photo from behind and had called to her to look back. It may have been nothing more than a chance exposure, but the rear view with the head and torso turning back to the camera, smiling, was the classic glamour pose, emphasising every curve. The ‘council youth officer’ looked more like a brown young Marilyn Monroe.
Luther pointed at the picture of Serena. “The boy knows how to get a good shot.”
“He must’ve taken it very quickly,” said Anne. “It’s not quite in focus in the top corner.”
Luther laughed. “I hadn’t noticed the top corner. I was rather looking at the bottom.”
“Oh God,” Marnie chuckled. “He’s off again. I’m supposed to be keeping you on the straight and narrow while Estelle’s away.”
“No problem. Everyone knows I only have eyes for Estelle.”
Marnie was grinning. “Then you’d better push them back into their sockets and keep them averted from temptation.”
Anne suddenly sat upright. “That’s odd, very odd.”
“What is?” Marnie called over her shoulder.
“I was just looking at how sharp the photos were, when I spotted this.” She passed the paper forward to Luther, pointing at the edge of the playground scene.
“What am I looking for?”
“There, that car.”
Luther strained to see, his face close to the page. “It’s not quite clear enough. I can’t tell what make it is.”
“Can you see the wheel arches?”
“Not really. They just look shiny, probably the angle of the sunlight reflecting off the edges.”
“You don’t think they’re trimmed in chrome?”
Marnie was turning into a roundabout at that moment and almost veered into the wrong lane. “Chrome?” She corrected her steering. “You think it’s that BMW again?”
Luther squinted at the photo. “You could be right, Anne. You’re brilliant. I’d never have spotted it.”
“That’s all right,” said Anne. “Your mind was probably on higher things.”
“Yes,” Marnie joined in. “You were no doubt thinking about Estelle and how she’s getting on in Italy.”
*
“Thank God for the scouts!” Serena was looking troubled, pecking out numbers on her mobile.
“What’s happened?” Marnie looked anxiously at the crowds of children. A large group was standing with a sprinkling of pare
nts in the centre of the playground. The rest were being marshalled into coach parties by the scouts in their distinctive uniforms and hats.
“That’s what’s happened.” Serena pointed at the central group, raising the phone to her ear. “They just turned up out of nowhere wanting to take part in the … Hallo? Is that Graham White Travel? Good morning. This is Serena McDowell.”
Greg Roberts walked over as Serena became engrossed in negotiations.
“Has Serena told you? We’ve got another thirty-odd kids arrived. They saw the report in the paper and want to enrol, just like that! Their parents must think we can spirit coaches out of thin air.”
“Victims of our own success,” Marnie murmured. “Hey look.” She turned to Anne. “There’s Donovan in the middle of the group, talking to the parents.”
“He’s been a godsend, your photographer pal. He rounded up all the strays – the newcomers – and got them to stay in a bunch so we could see how many there were. I didn’t think we could cope with all those extras, but he said we shouldn’t turn anyone away. Now Serena’s trying to get another coach.”
“She’s got to be kidding if she thinks Graham White can supply an extra one,” Anne said, revisiting in her mind the blaze at their depot.
Sure enough, Serena was now pressing the buttons for a new number on her phone. Looking up, she shrugged at her friends and began another conversation. This time at least there was something to discuss. Serena was walking in a circle, her free arm out sideways, palm up. She stopped, nodded emphatically, clenched her fist and returned to the others. She reached them at the same time as Donovan Smith converged on the group.
“Success?” said Marnie.
Serena pulled a face. “So-so. The best we’re going to get. Enterprise Transport have got an old corporation bus that they roll out for parades and special occasions. We can use it for shorter runs to nearby venues. It’ll mean some rescheduling, but I think it’ll work out.”
“Oh well, better than nothing,” said Marnie.
“Better than anything else possible,” Donovan protested.
“What do you mean?”
“I mean …” Donovan patted the shoulder bag, where he kept his camera. “It’s a classic. The kids’ll love it and –”
“That’s irrelevant,” Serena interrupted. “We just need something that will get the kids from A to B. And that’s what we’ve got.” She looked fraught.
“Sure, but you’ve got more than that, much more. In terms of PR you’ve got a great photo opportunity.”
“Donovan’s right,” said Marnie. “This could keep the summer scheme story going. We’ve got to seize opportunities like this if we’re to keep Brandon off the front page and the ‘hope for the future’ idea in people’s minds.”
Serena put a hand on Donovan’s shoulder. “That’s a great idea. Sorry, I didn’t mean to snap at you. I’m a bit edgy and –”
Before she could finish the sentence, Anne grabbed her arm. “Uh-oh. Are these friends or what?”
All eyes turned towards the street. There were six or seven of them, walking slowly like a pride of lions stalking prey on the veldt, seeking out the weakest in the herd to attack. Young black men. Most were in black T-shirts and jeans. Most had dreadlocks. Some had knitted berets in green, yellow, orange and black. They were not smiling, just ambling along with a loose swagger.
“Chums of yours, Serena?” Greg spoke softly without moving his lips.
“Don’t know them.” Just as softly.
They were about ten metres away when they were intercepted. It was a flanking movement that they had not anticipated and they wheeled in surprise as Mrs Vane-Henderson barked at them.
“Good morning!”
The heartiness of the greeting made them blink and stop in their tracks.
“And you are?” Her voice practically echoed across the playground.
The group seemed uncertain how to answer this tricky question. They hesitated and their cool began to fade away. There was a collective muttering.
“Er … like er … er …”
“Are you wanting to come on the outings?” She articulated the question as if addressing a tribe of bushmen. Perhaps to her, she was.
The young men looked at each other and began grinning. Serena and the others strode forward. The two groups stood facing each other, a metre apart.
“I’ll leave you to it,” said Mrs V-H. She smiled benignly at the assembly. “I have to get back to the other children.”
Oops, thought Marnie. The word other reverberated in the space between them. For some time no-one spoke. Then the dreadlock gang fixed their gaze on Greg. Like them, he wore headgear. End of comparison.
“Hey bro,” said one of the young blacks. “You’re a cool dude. You’re lookin’ just fine, man.”
The accent was Jamaica full strength. His friends began grinning and shuffling about. There was muted laughter. The atmosphere was building again and there was no telling which way things would go.
Suddenly Anne took a step forward. “Hi. I’m Anne, Anne with an ‘e’. Nice to meet you. Have you come to join in?”
After a short hesitation. “Hi, Anne … with an ‘e’. Yeah, we’ve come to join in. We’ve got some ‘E’s, too.” Muffled murmurings that could be more laughter.
“You’ve come to help?” said Serena.
“We’ve come, yeah.”
“How long can you stay?”
“How long does it go on?”
“All day and maybe well into the evening.”
“Cool.”
“You want to help?”
“We’ve come.” They all nodded.
“You can’t stay together. We need extra stewards on some of the buses. You’d be travelling around with the kids, and adults, of course.”
“Fine.”
“Er, we have a strict no-smoking policy.”
More shuffling. “’S okay,” their spokesman said eventually. “We all gotta make sacrifices.”
The atmosphere was becoming less tense, though Marnie noticed that Greg was eyeing the new arrivals with lightly-disguised scepticism.
Serena continued. “The main organisation of the kids is being carried out by the scouts. Greg here is their leader.”
Dark eyes appraised him. The spokesman said, “Love the gear … cool geezer. W’ain’t got no problem wi’ him.” The words were slurred together in a rhythmic cadence.
Greg muttered, “Too late to book an interpreter, I suppose.”
“How many these scouts you got, man?”
“Pardon?” said Greg.
“How many scouts are there?” said Serena.
“About twenty, plus my assistant and me.”
“Cool, bro. We got enough ganja to go round.”
The young blacks laughed. Greg’s composure was shattered for several seconds. He stood speechless, mouth hanging open.
“Joke, bro. You’ll be just fine, man.” Chalk-white teeth flashed in an ebony smile.
“Okay.” Serena was back in business-like mode again. “We’ve all got things to do. Greg will take you … no, perhaps not. Greg has to organise the scouts. This is Luther Curtiss. Luther, will you take them over to the main reception desk and get them allocated to buses? Jackie Brice will know which gaps need to be filled.”
“Will do, Serena.”
One of the other West Indians spoke up. “Luther Curtiss? Like … Greville Curtiss?”
“His father,” said Anne.
The young man examined Luther from head to foot. “The Greville Curtiss who got that test record, the bowler?”
Luther nodded.
“My ole man said he was the greatest –”
“Later,” Serena interjected. “You can talk cricket when we’ve got more time.”
No-one took offence. The group waited patiently while Serena gave Luther a final briefing on how she wanted the new volunteers to be deployed. While she was speaking, one of the other young men sidled up to Anne.
“You
like reggae?”
“Love it.”
He reached into his back pocket. For two seconds Anne was sure he was going to slip her a joint. He extended his hand towards her. “Here.”
She accepted his offering and found herself looking down at stickers, the kind that fans put in their car windows. The stickers bore the colours of Jamaica, yellow, green, orange and black stripes, and looking up at her she saw the unmistakable face of Bob Marley, with the exhortation to stick together and we’ll be all right.
Anne looked at the young man, who was watching her expression. “For me?”
“Yeah. If you like them.”
“They’re great. Thank you.”
She leaned forward and kissed him on the cheek, blonde head meeting black dreadlocks. More shuffling from his friends. It seemed to be the collective reaction to most situations. There was much grinning.
Luther beckoned to the group and they set off across the playground, walking more quickly than before. A few were chatting to Luther as they went. It was not difficult to guess the subject of the conversation. Anne showed Marnie and the others her stickers before tucking them into her back pocket.
Serena breathed out audibly, watching the young men go on their way.
*
They were starting to get into a routine. After a quick briefing session and the organised chaos as the children arrived in droves, the members of the management team were free for the rest of the day. Marnie was grateful she could return to the office where business was growing steadily. It meant she was free to arrange appointments with prospective clients. It also meant she was free when the phone rang to take a call from Italy.
“Marnie this is the most beautiful place in the whole world. I’m only sorry you’re not here to see it.”
“Some time, maybe. I’m glad things are going well.”
“Ah …” Estelle’s tone changed. “Not quite. There is some not-so-good news.”
“You’ve sabotaged the place so you can stay longer. Can’t fool me.”
“Got it in one, sort of.”
“Which bit did I get right?”
“Well, I think I’ve detected rot of some kind in the cellar. There are some old cupboards down there. I noticed a funny smell and got them moved away from the wall. There are spores, could be dry rot, also some evidence of insect activity.”
