by Leo McNeir
“You’re sure she’s alone?”
“She’s the independent type.”
“How far could she ’ave got?”
“Could be up around Watford? After that maybe Hemel Hempstead … Leighton Buzzard. People pull in there for supplies. But check it all out. She could be anywhere along the line.”
“I’ll find her.”
“Do that.”
21
Routine
Over the next few days Marnie settled into a steady routine. She rose with the lark each morning to cruise quietly through the countryside until early afternoon. Around mid-day she would stop in a quiet spot to make a sandwich for lunch and eat it while underway again. Afternoons were spent sketching or walking footpaths. She retired early each night, contentedly weary. She had never slept so well.
Despite the open-air life, Marnie felt little inclination to make substantial meals. Supper – prepared and eaten to the accompaniment of the radio, usually Classic FM – would be pasta with a quick sauce made of tomatoes, onions, garlic and peppers, or tuna steak with a salad, or rice with herbs and chicken seasoned with paprika. Simple meals with a glass or two of wine.
In the mirror, she noticed a subtle but perceptible change. Her face and arms were becoming lightly tanned. She applied moisturiser morning and evening, used sun cream during the day and thought no more about it.
On Wednesday evening she sat out on deck with the remains of her second glass of wine, flicking through one of Jane’s boating magazines. The world it described no longer seemed foreign. Her life had become pared down to a simple regime that was surprisingly satisfying. The demands of managing the boat, with its engine and systems, had taken over and transformed her existence.
She could imagine nothing more relaxing than a summer spent cruising sedately and only hoped it would not just become a dull routine.
That same evening a man sat in the living room of a flat high in a tower block in Hackney, north-east London. The room was sparsely furnished: sofa, armchair, low table, wall unit containing a television with video and hi-fi equipment. He had poured himself a scotch on the rocks and was sitting with a canal cruising guide on his lap. A road atlas lay on the sofa beside him.
Sections of the cruising guide were marked in yellow highlighter, recording the lengths of canal he had covered so far in pursuit of Marnie. He took a slug of whisky and felt its warmth in the back of his throat as he consulted the road atlas. In three days of searching he had only moved a few centimetres from London on the map.
He checked a new page in the guide, scanning the text, watching for symbols that could be useful to him. How could there be whole areas of country described in the book as remote, rural and isolated so close to London? And why would anyone want to travel through these God-forsaken places on a boat at walking pace? It defied belief. And people actually paid to hire boats for holidays. Incredible.
He was annoyed, impatient. At the start he had expected to find the boat by the afternoon of the first day. Trouble was, the canal wandered through countryside and only crossed the road network at rare intervals.
Another slug of whisky, another page in the cruising guide. Then he saw it: a supermarket beside a junction, his first target for the next day. Two pages later, another chance: Leighton Buzzard, a town with a boatyard, stores, pubs, take-away. It was a watering hole, a supply depot. She’d be stopping there for sure.
He made quick pencil calculations on the page. He would check the whole stretch from his finishing point that day and if he had not tracked her down by noon, he would arrive in good time to catch up with her at Leighton Buzzard. Whenever she reached the town the next afternoon, he would be waiting for her.
22
Anne (with an ‘e’)
Marnie had been surprised by Bedfordshire. Previously just a place she had rushed through on the motorway without a thought, by canal it had been a revelation. On impulse, even though she had hardly begun that day’s journey, she pulled Sally Ann over to the bank beside a bridge. It seemed to serve only a cart track, perhaps leading to a farm or hamlet. She dug out the sketch pads. Silence. A feeling of remoteness, woodland all around, countryside probably unchanged since the canal was built in 1794.
She sat on the prow, feet dangling over the side, to sketch the bridge. It had rained in the night, leaving the air cool and damp. The brickwork curving up over the canal was still moist, and vegetation sprouted from gaps in the pointing.
Marnie’s concentration was broken by a sound, little more than a rustling of leaves. But there was no breeze and the air was still. She remembered the shuffling under the bridge in Regent’s Park the evening she had first met Old Peter. A minute passed before she carried on sketching. After another minute she set the pencil aside.
“Why don't you come out?” She spoke a fraction louder than normal.
There was no response but a muted scuffling behind the parapet, as if something had jumped in surprise. Marnie waited. Round the end of the bridge, a face peeped out. Marnie smiled in an effort to look friendly.
“There's no need to hide.” She hoped she sounded encouraging.
The thought fleetingly crossed her mind that she might be about to encounter a psychopath armed with a meat-axe in this remote place. The stranger stood up. It appeared to be a girl in her teens, thin with short blonde hair, wearing jeans and a T-shirt.
Marnie was unsure what to say, confronted with this juvenile. She decided to combine the wisdom of her thirty-something years with a dash of applied psychology and play it straight down the middle.
“Hallo,” she said. That went well, she thought.
The girl stood by the bridge, looking at her. Marnie removed her sunglasses as a friendly gesture, but it brought no reaction. Intrigued as she was by the sudden arrival of the girl, Marnie was finding the conversation too one-sided.
“Good-bye,” she said casually and began sketching again.
Perversely, the girl began to move slowly towards Sally Ann. She stopped on the path a short way from the bows, both hands stuffed into her pockets. It made her look even thinner. Marnie was uncertain how best to proceed. There was something odd about this encounter.
Why had the girl hidden on the bridge? Where was she going at that time of the morning? Marnie checked her watch; it was barely eight o’clock.
“Is this your cat?” The voice was thin like the girl.
Dolly was standing in front of the new arrival, who bent down to stroke her.
“Yes.”
“What's her name?”
“Dolly.”
The girl squatted down. Dolly rubbed her sides against her knee, tail standing upright.
“Hallo, Dolly.” She gave all her attention to the cat.
Marnie looked on. Squatting like a child, the girl seemed vulnerable. She had sharp features and pale skin. Her hair had been expertly styled in an urchin cut, sculpted to the shape of her head.
“Is that your boat?”
“Yes. Well, not actually … it belongs to my sister. I'm borrowing it for a holiday.”
The girl looked at the prow. “Is that your sister’s name?”
“No. It's just the name the boat had when she bought it.”
The girl looked up at Marnie. “I’m an Anne, too, but it’s Anne with an ‘e’.”
Gary had spent the days following Gravel’s visit trying to plan a strategy, but it was hopeless. He knew how to get things done, not always within the strict letter of the law, but all this poking and prying was way outside his range. It irked him that Marnie had disappeared when the old lady had told him she was not yet ready to leave. But perhaps she wasn’t mistaken, perhaps Marnie hadn’t left after all. Perhaps she had had a problem with the boat and left it somewhere. It could be anything. For want of a better idea he went back to Sally Ann’s mooring, just in case.
Once again, the abandoned space taunted him. He stared at the empty water at a complete loss and swore under his breath. He couldn’t get anything out of Old Peter
, couldn’t talk to Marnie, had no idea where she’d gone.
As a last resort he went to see Jane Rutherford. He knew before he knocked on the door of her boat that she would not be there. More muttered cursing. He was just turning to leave when a voice called out behind him.
“Gary!” Jane was coming along the towpath. “Were you looking for me?”
He quickly struggled to look casual. “Oh, hi. Yeah. I was just checking … wondered if you needed any diesel, or coal or logs, or anything.”
Jane, who was wearing a summer dress, looked pointedly at her bare arms. “Coal, logs? You’ve obviously been listening to the wrong weather forecast, Gary.”
“What? Oh, right. No, I mean I can get you a good price at this time of year.”
“Thanks for the offer, but I don’t fancy going round all summer with sacks of coal on the roof. They’re hard to lie on when I’m sunbathing.” She rummaged in her bag for the boat keys. “Was that all?”
“Yeah. Fair enough. If you see any of the other boaters, you could let them know I’ve got some special offers on at the moment.”
“Okay.” Jane put the key in the lock.
Gary hesitated. “Although, don’t worry about it. I’ve seen most people already, only missed one or two, like the new girl down by the tunnel … what’s her name, you know, Sally Ann. If you see her, you might just mention it. Oh and er, tell her I’d like a word about the boat.”
“You mean Marnie?”
“Yeah.” Dead casual. “That’s the name. I don’t suppose you know what’s happened to her?”
“Happened to her? She’s gone off on a trip. I thought you’d know that.”
“Are you sure? Only, the old lady opposite her mooring said she wasn’t ready to go.”
Jane shrugged. “I saw her on Friday evening at the supermarket in Kensal Green.”
Gary’s face registered concern. “You did?”
“Come to think of it …” Jane looked furtively up and down the towpath and lowered her voice. “I think I spotted an Arab dhow moored there. Perhaps she’s been taken by white slave traders. She could be in Neasden by now.”
“Ha … ha.” Gary was not amused.
“Gary, Marnie’s a big girl. She’ll be fine. What are you worried about?”
“It’s just, well, I’m sure that boat needs attention before she can go on a long journey, especially by herself. Do you have any idea how to contact her?”
“Look, she’s going on a trip to get away from it all. That usually means you can’t be contacted, or don’t want to be. It amounts to the same thing.”
Gary smiled. “Sure. I’m fussing over nothing.” He turned to go.
“Nothing to worry about,” Jane agreed, pulling open her door.
Gary hesitated. “D’you know if she has any relatives who might know where she’s gone?”
Jane took a deep breath before replying, slowly. “She has a sister who owns the boat.”
“Great. D’you know where she lives?”
“Boston, I think.”
“Blimey! That’s up in Lincolnshire, isn’t it?”
“Massachusetts.”
“Shit!”
“Pardon?”
“Oh, sorry. Doesn’t anybody stay in one place any more?”
Jane’s expression manifested infinite patience. “That would rather defeat the purpose of building two or three thousand miles of waterways, Gary.”
On the way back to his boat Gary wished he had never got involved with Gravel, wished he was returning to the arms of Sheena and could forget the whole Marnie and Old Peter business. He was tired of frowning all the time. He had tried everything to get in touch with Marnie and failed. It was only the last part of that equation that would interest Gravel. He was also haunted by the image of that empty space where Sally Ann normally lay. He hated to see a prime mooring going to waste like that.
Back on Garrow he slumped down at the table. Marnie had definitely gone and had deliberately laid a false trail. What else could it be? If she was after something, why disappear like that? The answer was simple. She had found out the location of what she was looking for and had gone to get it.
Jane phoned home on her mobile. She had been pondering what to do while the kettle boiled and now she was sitting in the saloon on Joshua watching the steam rise from her mug. The phone was picked up after the third ring.
“Hi, it’s me.”
“Everything all right?”
“Yes. Listen, Derek, I want you to do something for me.”
She outlined to her husband the conversation she had had with Gary.
Derek was quick on the uptake. “You think he fancies her?”
“Possibly, but … I’m not sure.”
“You think there’s more to it?”
“He gave the impression of being worried about Marnie. If it was anybody else I’d believe he was sincerely concerned about her. With Gary you can never tell.”
Derek agreed. “Whatever it is, there’s not much we can do about it, is there?”
“I suppose not, except … there may be. Have a look on my desk. I’m sure there was a mobile phone number on Marnie’s business card. See if you can find it and ring me back.”
Marnie smiled at the girl on the bank. “Hallo, Anne … Anne with an ‘e’. My name's Marnie.”
“Marnie.” Anne repeated the name quietly to herself. “That's nice.”
She remained squatting beside Dolly, who had rolled onto her side and was licking a foreleg. Anne looked up at Sally Ann.
“We went on holiday on a canal boat once.” She stood up and put her hands back in her pockets. “It was bigger than this one.”
“On this canal?”
“No. We went to Wales. It was great.”
“When was that?”
“When I was about … nine.”
“Do you think you'll do it again, have a canal holiday?”
Anne shook her head. “Can't have holidays. Dad's out of work.”
Marnie felt awkward at this turn in the conversation. “I was thinking of making some coffee … unless you have to be somewhere?”
The girl arranged two safari chairs and a folding table on the stern deck, while Marnie was occupied in the galley. Dolly jumped onto the roof and curled up on the hatch. By now, the sun was climbing and the air was warm. There was a haze in the woods and over the water. Marnie poured coffee and offered biscuits. She pointed at the bridge.
“Where does that track lead to?”
“Nowhere, really, just to a barn. It's derelict.”
“Perhaps I could sketch it,” Marnie suggested.
“There's not much left of it now. Some kids burnt it down … for a laugh.” Anne said this in an even tone without trace of praise or blame. “Where are you going on your holiday?” The girl asked her question without making eye contact.
“I'm not sure. I’m just travelling, thought I'd see what I found on the way.”
“How long are you going for?”
“I’ve got the summer off. It’s like sabbatical leave.”
“They let you go, just like that?”
“They thought I could do with a break. So did I.”
Anne stared into her cup in silence. Marnie sat quite still, looking at the fingers of sunlight through the trees, noticing the flies and insects picked out in the rays of light. She poured herself another cup of coffee. Anne remained immobile. When she spoke again, her voice was quiet and seemed deeper than before.
“That's what I want to do.”
Marnie waited. Anne stood up as if to leave and stepped forward to stroke Dolly. She leaned against the roof caressing the cat's head, while Dolly purred.
“Does this canal go all the way up to Wales?” Anne asked.
“Eventually.”
“How long would it take to get there?”
“I'm not sure. A few weeks maybe. It depends how many hours a day you travel.”
“Might you go that far? You've got all the time you want, hav
en't you?”
“I might. I have thought about it. What about you, Anne? Do you have plans?”
The girl made no reply. Marnie got up and stood beside her. Anne was looking towards the bridge but her eyes were unfocused. If she had plans, she seemed to be staring into a bleak future.
Jane was putting her mug away in the galley on Joshua when the phone rang. It was Derek, triumphant.
“I’ve found it! Marnie’s business card. Here’s the mobile number. Got a pencil?”
Jane hesitated before phoning. She wanted to respect Marnie’s desire for privacy, but if there was a problem with the boat, as Gary said there could be, it would not be doing her a favour to keep that from her. Gary may have had a reputation as a Lothario, but he would not want to see Marnie run into trouble on a long journey.
Jane picked up the phone.
After they had finished doing the dishes and Marnie was putting them in the cupboard, Anne stepped out into the cratch. She looked at Marnie's sketchpad.
“Were you taught to do trees like that?” Anne pointed at the drawing.
Marnie came over to look. “I suppose so. They’re just meant to give an impression of trees, really. I'm more interested in the shape of the bridge. Do you draw?”
“Sometimes.”
“Would you like to do some drawing here? I've got another pad and more pencils.”
Anne stared at the drawing. “If you like bridges, there's a nice one a bit further on.”
Marnie checked the cruising guide. “Mm, there’s a lock and a footbridge about half a mile north of here. Would you have time for a trip? Or, perhaps you have things to do?” It was the closest she came to asking why Anne was not at school that morning.
“Just a mo’.” Anne jumped off the boat. She ran to the bridge, returned with a rucksack and dropped it on the deck without explanation. “Shall I undo the ropes at the front?”
Marnie let Anne take the tiller for the ten-minute journey. The girl steered straight and true, and they moored clear of the lock.