Sally Ann's Summer (Marnie Walker)

by Leo McNeir

Benny reached for a glass and turned the beer-tap. “Ever heard of the telephone, Gary?”

  “I don’t have his number.”

  “I bet he’s got yours.”

  “I’ve got to get in touch with him.”

  “That’s not how it works.”

  “That’s the story of my life. I can’t contact anybody, but they’ll talk to me when it suits them.”

  “So? That’s how it is. He’ll talk to you when he’s ready.”

  “Then why isn’t he? Why’s he disappeared all of a sudden? Where’s he gone?”

  Benny finished pouring the beer, his expression puzzled. “Doesn’t your bird know?”

  “My bird? What d’you mean? Why should she?”

  “She was in here the other night.”

  “You said you hadn’t seen her recently.”

  “Officially I’ve not seen anyone and I don’t know anything. And I’ve certainly not told anyone anything.”

  “But unofficially …?”

  “She came in.”

  “Who with?”

  “By herself.”

  “By herself? No bird like Sheena goes into a pub by herself.”

  “Gary, I’m telling you she was alone when she came in.”

  “What day was that?”

  “Dunno, few days ago. We were busy.”

  “What was she doing?”

  Benny moved Gary to the end of the bar, opposite the table that Gravel used. As usual it was vacant, even though Gravel was absent, as if surrounded by its own private minefield.

  “Why are you asking these questions, Gary?”

  “Did she meet him?” Gary was hearing alarm bells.

  “You didn’t hear anything from me, Gary. Not a word.”

  Gary’s mind was racing. “Why was Sheena seeing Gravel?”

  “Gary, she’s your girlfriend. Why don’t you ask her yourself? I’m trying to run a pub here, believe it or not.”

  “I can’t ask her because I don’t know where she is. She’s fallen off the radar.”

  Benny looked alarmed. “Since when?”

  “She phoned in sick for work. I haven’t seen her for days.”

  “What’s this got to do with your mate – wotsisname – Gravel?”

  “I’ve no idea. They’ve both disappeared.”

  Benny tried to look cheerful. “So maybe they’ve eloped together. Come on, Gary, it’s just a coincidence.” He looked over his shoulder. “Gotta go. I’ve got customers dying of thirst.”

  Gary sipped his pint, deeply troubled. Why had Sheena met Gravel? She was asking questions. Big mistake.

  Even after clearing the flight of six locks, the day was still young when Marnie reached Braunston. After weeks of measuring progress on mileposts giving the distance to that centre of the network, she had finally arrived. It was a busy place of moorings and workshops, boatyards and chandleries, comings and goings.

  Dolly reminded her of the important matter of breakfast. To the accompaniment of purring emanating from the saloon and the singing of the kettle, Marnie showered and put on jeans and a T-shirt. Sitting out on deck in bright sunshine, she realised she was under no pressure to do anything but relax. It was the kind of pressure she could handle.

  After eating, she dropped a load of washing in at the laundry room and found a phone box. No messages on her answerphone, no reply from Jane, but Mrs Jolly answered at the third ring.

  “Apologies in advance, Marnie. We may get interrupted. I’m waiting for the man from the gas board at any minute to service my boiler.”

  “How are things then, Mrs Jolly, apart from the excitement of the gasman?”

  “Well, there are still lots of police around, making their enquiries. Otherwise things are fairly quiet. What about you? Are you having a –”

  “Police? What enquiries? What’s happened?”

  “Oh, hadn’t you heard? There’s been quite a to-do. Apparently they found a – sorry, that’s the doorbell. The gasman cometh!”

  Marnie was left dangling. She reminded herself she was supposed to be away from it all. There was nothing for it but to get on with her jobs and put London out of her mind. Waiting for the washing machine to finish, she brought the boat up to the water point to empty the Porta Potti and fill Sally Ann’s tank. Back on the mooring, she hung the washing on the whirligig and set off to explore downtown Braunston.

  In the main street she noticed her reflection in a shop window and went looking for a hairdresser’s. When she found a salon, its name brought a smile to her face: The Cut. Of course.

  They offered her an immediate appointment for a shampoo and trim. Draping a towel round Marnie’s shoulders, the hairdresser admired her tan and asked if she had been somewhere nice on holiday. Marnie’s reply – Rickmansworth, Leighton Buzzard, Stoke Bruerne, Blisworth – brought a blank look.

  “I thought maybe you’d been to Ibiza or the West Indies, somewhere exotic like that.”

  “No, just the good old Grand Union Canal.”

  The young woman settled Marnie back to the wash basin and ran the water, testing for the correct temperature with her fingers.

  “Come to think of it, wasn’t there something about canals on the news this morning?”

  “Oh? What was that?”

  “Can’t remember. I think it was something unpleasant.”

  Marnie relaxed and closed her eyes as the warm water flowed over her hair. Something unpleasant … She hoped it was the sudden sinking with the loss of all hands of a pair of working boats south of the Braunston tunnel.

  Gary had a frustrating afternoon fitting a new gearbox on a boat down by Paddington Basin. It belonged to a middle-aged couple, the fulfilment of a lifelong dream. Instead of leaving him in peace to get on with the work, they hovered over him, bombarding him with questions, plying him with cups of tea. They assumed he shared their enthusiasm. It was hard work for Gary trying to pretend it was more than just another job. Shortly before five he was glad to pack up, pocket his cash for the day and go home.

  On the way, he pressed a speed-dial button on his mobile. The person you are phoning –

  Shit! At this rate he would use up his entire month’s allocation of calls listening to an answerphone. He was having a more steady relationship with the plummy woman on the answerphone than with his own girlfriend. He stuffed the mobile back into his pocket, turned the corner on to the bridge opposite the news-stand and stopped dead in his tracks.

  He stared across the road at the billboard. His brain went numb. His heart stopped.

  WOMAN’S BODY FOUND IN CANAL

  Gary felt his stomach turn over. He looked round into the pool of Little Venice, as if expecting to see Sheena floating in the still water.

  He told himself to calm down. There were eight million people in London, plus all the commuters and tourists. These were long odds. Of course it wasn’t Sheena. Why should it be? She worked in a chemist’s shop and was no trouble to anyone, except him. But she did ask questions.

  Gary checked his watch and turned back towards the pool. He ran under the bridge to the Little Venice management office. One of the secretaries was just leaving.

  “Is Mike in?”

  “No. He’s gone off to a meeting. I’m the last one out. What’s up?”

  “I saw the headline, this body in the canal, wondered what it was about.”

  “Ooh, I know … dreadful business –”

  Gary wanted to shake her. “Not another death in Little Venice was it? I hadn’t heard anything.”

  “No, it’s not round here. You weren’t needed with the JCB this time, Gary.”

  “What? Oh, yeah. No, I was just wondering what had happened. Do you know?”

  “Not really. It was down the other end, somewhere like Mile End, I think.”

  “Who was it?”

  The secretary looked blank. “How should I know?”

  Gary went to the news-stand and bought the Evening Standard. There were few details. The woman was unidentified. She was in h
er twenties and had been found that morning between Mile End and Johnson’s lock. The police were treating her death as suspicious.

  If anyone had any information about a missing woman they should come forward.

  Marnie checked her hair in a shop window and liked what she saw but was anxious to get back to a phone box. This time there were two messages on the answerphone: Beth confirmed their return date in September; Steve was going to Crete on holiday and staying on for two extra weeks to start a joint project with its university. He added in an encouraging tone that he would be in touch. To Marnie it sounded like a threat.

  She quickly made another call. Jane Rutherford answered, and Marnie explained about her change of plan.

  “So, Jane, what excitement down in the Big Smoke?”

  “You’ve heard about the body?”

  “My God! In Little Venice?”

  “No, Mile End.”

  “Another gangster?”

  “Who knows? It was a woman, not identified yet.”

  “Could it have been an accident?”

  “The police don’t seem to think so.”

  “Has anybody gone missing?”

  “Funny you should say that. I bumped into Gary. He seems worried about his girlfriend.”

  “You’re kidding!”

  “She’s apparently gone away, an unexpected holiday, but Gary has doubts.”

  “Has he been to the police about her?”

  “Gary? The police? Now you’re kidding.”

  “Well, someone has to identify the body.”

  “I think that may be what he’s afraid of.”

  On the way back to the boat Marnie re-ran the conversation in her mind. Funny you should say that, Jane had said. Thinking of the body lying on a slab somewhere, Marnie did not think funny was the word.

  Someone must have loved her.

  31

  Braunston

  Marnie liked the bustle of Braunston and decided to stay there a few days. Splicing new mooring ropes, laying in stores, touching up paintwork, she felt like a seasoned boatman.

  Caring for Sally Ann had become the core of her daily routine, no longer a holiday interlude but a fixed part of her life. Tying a new pipe fender in place, she suddenly realised she would not be giving up the boat at the end of the trip.

  What would Beth and Paul think? Marnie shrugged. Like Dolly, Sally Ann had adopted her. There was no going back.

  On Friday Gary listened to every news bulletin, desperate to find out more about the woman in the canal. He learnt nothing new. He rang Sheena’s mobile several times and gave up.

  Returning from the pub that evening, he was sitting in the saloon on Garrow, smoking a last cigarette of the day with a whisky chaser, when he heard a knock on the side door. He froze. It had to be Gravel. A louder knock. Gravel must have followed him. He stubbed out the cigarette and went to the door. Surprise.

  “Jesus, Benny! What are you doing here this time of night? I might’ve been in bed.”

  “I just knocked off work. Anyway, I saw you ten minutes ago in the pub.”

  “I thought you people stayed up till the early hours clearing up.”

  “Yeah well, the guv’nor said I could hop off for a change. Look, are we going to stand here talking about pub working hours or what?”

  “You’d better come in.”

  Gary put a glass on the table in front of Benny and reached for the whisky bottle.

  Benny shook his head. “I never touch the stuff, rots yer brains.”

  “Why’ve you come? You got news of Sheena?” Gary was dreading the reply.

  “You were asking about that bloke, the one you call Gravel?”

  “Yeah?”

  “Someone else has been asking about him. Turns out his real name is Dave Naylor.”

  “Dave Naylor? Who told you that?”

  “We had two coppers in the pub tonight. They asked if we knew him or where they could find him.”

  “Go on.”

  “They said they’d interview all our customers if we couldn’t tell them anything. On a Friday night, I ask you! We told them Gravel – Naylor – hadn’t been in the pub for over a week.”

  “Did they tell you what they were after?”

  “Nah. They never do.”

  “You didn’t tell’ em about me?”

  “Gary, what d’you take me for?”

  “Sorry.”

  “Mind you, with them asking around like that, it’s only a matter of time before they find out you’ve been seen with him.”

  “Thanks for the warning. I owe you.”

  “No, you don’t.” Benny looked around. “This is cosy.”

  “It’s all right.”

  “So, any sign of your bird, then? What’s her name?”

  “Sheena. No. She’s supposed to be on holiday.” Gary sounded doubtful.

  “You don’t really think she’s gone off with this Dave Naylor, do you?”

  “Not really.”

  Benny noticed the papers on the table. The items about the dead woman were on top. Gary could almost hear his brain working.

  “What is it, Benny?”

  “Not sure. Everyone’s asking questions these days … you, your bird, now the law. It makes you wonder what’s going on.”

  Good question, Gary thought.

  Saturday morning, the weekend, for Marnie a day like any other. There was increased activity in the marina and on the canal, pottering day for boat owners, changeover day for hire boats. Trying not to feel superior to the weekend fraternity, she set herself the task of attaching new fenders.

  It was a busy day and a lazy day, plenty to do but without pressure of deadlines. There was time to nod at passing boat crews, time to sit out for a break with a mug of something hot or a glass of something cold.

  The sun climbed to its highest point and Marnie, in broad-brimmed hat and anointed with sunblock, set off with camera and sketchpad to record the life of the waterway. It would extend that summer into the autumn and winter that followed when she eventually returned to the real world.

  On Saturday morning Gary patrolled the pavement by the tube station for almost half an hour, glad of the gentle exercise to clear his headache. After Benny had left the previous evening he had stayed up for an hour with the whisky bottle for company. He was no clearer in his mind about Sheena, but he had reached one conclusion: Diane knew more than she was saying.

  When Diane appeared at the top of the steps and saw Gary she barely altered her stride.

  He fell into step beside her. “Will you come for a drink with me after work?”

  “When?”

  “Tonight.”

  “It’s Saturday, Gary.”

  “I know that.”

  “People make plans for Saturday nights. It’s called a social life, remember?”

  “So?”

  She spelled it out for him. “I have a boyfriend.”

  “Ah.

  “Also – in case you’ve forgotten – you have a girlfriend. Her name is Sheena.”

  “It’s Sheena I want to talk to you about. You know that.”

  “I’ve told you all I can, everything I know.”

  They reached a corner. Turning it, Diane increased her pace, leaving Gary trailing. He watched her draw away from him, saw the neat auburn hair, the shapely legs.

  He called after her. “The police are asking questions about the body of this woman they found in the canal.”

  Diane stopped abruptly and turned. She looked shocked. “You don’t think …?”

  “How can I know what to think when nobody will give me a straight answer to any of my bleedin’ questions?”

  “But it’s not possible –”

  “How do you know what’s possible? What aren’t you telling me?”

  Diane stared into the distance. Gary waited.

  “I’ll see you after work on Monday. You know we shut the shop at five-thirty?”

  “I’ll be outside.”

  “No. I don’t wa
nt anyone to see me meeting you.”

  “Do you want to come to the boat?”

  She pondered. “I’ll come to the pub, the one over the bridge,… not your usual.”

  She turned and quickly walked away, her brain in turmoil. She knew it was time she told Gary of her suspicions.

  “What you drawing?”

  The question took Marnie by surprise. So did the questioner. It was a quiet Sunday morning and she had heard no footfall on the towpath. She turned on her stool to find a small child staring at her.

  She gave it a friendly smile and held up the sketchpad. The twin wrought-iron bridges at the junction of the Grand Union and Oxford canals. The infant gaped at the picture for several seconds and ran off.

  Minutes later Marnie heard a babble of hushed voices behind her. A whole tribe of children of assorted shapes and sizes was standing at a respectful distance, watching every stroke of the pencil as the picture took shape.

  Gary had a lie-in on Sunday morning, conscious of the cool empty space in the bed beside him. He thought of other Sunday mornings and turned his head to sniff Sheena’s pillow. Every trace of her scent had gone, as if she had never been there.

  His eyes fell on the mobile phone on the cabin floor. Even as he switched it on he knew he was wasting his time. He did not even bother to curse when he noticed that he had forgotten to put it on charge.

  Marnie had never been so busy or so well organised. At least, that was how it seemed on Monday morning.

  She returned from the local food shops, dropped her bags on the galley floor and headed off to the marina’s laundry room. The washing that she had put in the machine on her way out had just finished its cycle. She loaded it into the basket and trudged it back to Sally Ann. While the kettle heated, she hung the clothes on the whirligig.

  By the time she had stowed away her provisions, the water was ready for a pot of Earl Grey. Marnie spread maps and cruising guide out on the saloon table and began detailed planning. The silver highway was beckoning.