by Leo McNeir
She worried that the engine problem might be serious. Perhaps Gary had been right about needing a complete overhaul. Perhaps that was why he had tried to contact her.
Marnie waited for a straight stretch of water and pulled the mobile from her pocket. Holding the tiller under one elbow, she tapped out Gary’s number and raised the phone to her ear.
Gary was running on auto-pilot as the waterbus cruised down towards Regent’s Park from the Hampstead Road locks. He was trying, and failing, not to think about Sheena, the woman found in the canal and the business card from WDC Griffiths that was burning a hole in his back pocket. All his worries were centred on women. The ringing of his mobile surprised him as he was reducing speed for the approach to the turn at Cumberland Basin.
He yanked the phone from his pocket to check the tiny screen. Sheena? He tilted the phone to get a better view of the name. Marnie! He was shifting his grip to press the answer button when a loud noise – a warning blast on a horn – startled him. The waterbus was already poking through the bridge hole, but an oncoming boat was making the turn.
Gary whipped the control lever into reverse to halt the bus, dropping the mobile in his haste. In panic, many of the passengers looked back at Gary, alarm in their faces. The mobile fell through the air, bounced on Gary’s boot and dropped over the side to vanish in the murky water.
The other driver waved Gary forward. As the boats passed, Gary made a show of giving maximum attention to the manoeuvre. He briefly glanced over to acknowledge the generosity of the other boatman, who nodded back and shook his head.
The passengers were calm again, but Gary felt jangled. He had made a fool of himself. Worst of all, he had lost his mobile. Now, even if Sheena tried to phone him, she would fail. He groaned. It felt like losing Sheena herself.
Marnie let the mobile ring, without taking her eyes from the towrope and Totteridge. Come on, Gary! If only she could talk to him, perhaps he could diagnose the problem and tell her what to do. At a stroke she could stop being the helpless female.
The call was answered. “Gary? It’s Marnie –”
A woman’s voice, calm, efficient. The number you are calling is not available. Please try again later.
Marnie disconnected. They were approaching a bend. It was worth a try, she thought. No harm done.
Another hour passed. Marnie tried Gary’s number at intervals and gave up when they reached the boatyard. Andrew signalled Marnie to bring Sally Ann alongside. He took hold of the centre rope and made it fast, leaving the two boats breasted up close to the marina’s entrance.
While Andrew went off to make enquiries, Marnie reflected that Sally Ann’s experience as a butty had come to an end. When he returned some minutes later, his expression was troubled. There was no mechanic available. Andrew had another plan.
“Our best bet is the boatyard at Banbury. Trouble is, that’s over ten miles away and – more to the point – about thirteen locks.”
“Andrew, I couldn’t possibly –”
“You already have. I phoned ahead from the office. They can look at the engine tomorrow, but want us to get closer to Banbury. They’ll meet you near the first lock at Claydon in the morning.”
“That’s brilliant. Er –”
“No problem, Marnie. Is my butty driver ready for another stint?”
“How far is it?”
“Hour or two.”
“Let’s do it, but there’s one condition.”
They moored that evening within sight of Claydon top lock. Dinner was a simple salad of chopped tomatoes, cucumber, peppers, spring onions, hard boiled eggs and tuna. The dressing included Marnie’s best balsamic vinegar and olive oil, with mustard and a touch of honey. She was putting a part-baked baguette in the oven when Andrew came on board. He had changed into fresh clothes.
“Sorry to come empty-handed. I’ve got nothing to bring you. This was all unexpected. I didn’t like to pick the wild flowers, and the wine cellar on Totteridge is empty at the moment.”
Marnie laughed. “Luckily the cellar on Sally Ann is well stocked.” She produced three bottles of wine, each of a different colour. “There. You even have a choice.”
“That shade of pink looks nice for a summer evening.”
“Rosé.”
“It looks pink to me.”
She grinned. “It is, only officially, being wine, it’s called rosé.”
“Oh, yes … I knew that.”
They laughed together.
33
Parcel
When Marnie got up the next morning she had two surprises. She had scribbled a note inviting Andrew to come on Sally Ann for breakfast, but stepping outside to deliver it, she discovered that Totteridge had left. She found the first lock empty, the lower gate hanging half open. Further on, the next one was in a similar state. Andrew was long gone, making up for lost time.
Turning back, she caught sight of movement on the towpath, a man on a bicycle. Her second surprise of the day, and it had barely begun. Seeing her by the lock, he slowed to a halt.
“Marnie Walker, by any chance?”
“That’s me.”
“Adrian Poulsby.” He offered a hand. “From Banbury.”
“You’re an early riser, Adrian.”
“I wanted your problem out of the way before the boatyard gets busy.”
“You’ve come from Banbury on your bike?”
Adrian shook his head. “Left the Land Rover by the bridge. I keep the bike in the back for jobs like this.”
“Have you had breakfast?”
He grinned. “I salivate for bacon sandwiches on occasions like this, but don’t worry. I never get them. It’s just a dream.”
“Dreams can sometimes come true.”
Thursday morning was one of those days when summer takes a break and cools off. It brought a hint of drizzle. It also brought Gary back to the tube station to wait for Diane. She gave him no more than a sideways glance as he fell into step beside her, but she was the first to speak.
“Don’t you have a job to go to, Gary?”
“Yes. It just … varies from day to day.” He did not like being put on the defensive, especially by a woman. “I’m self-employed.”
“I haven’t heard from Sheena,” Diane said.
“Is that good or bad news?”
“If she’s on holiday it’s what you’d expect.”
“If she’s on holiday, wouldn’t she send you a postcard?”
“Not necessarily.”
“So you’re not worried about not hearing from her?”
“Only when you keep going on about it, Gary.”
“The police have been asking about her. They want to see me.”
Diane stopped suddenly. “The police?”
“They want me to contact this woman detective.” He produced her card in evidence.
Diane studied it. “Metropolitan Police. This makes it seem really kind of … official. They’re treating Sheena as a missing person.”
“No.” Gary tried to sound reassuring. “All they –”
“When are you going to see them?”
“Er, dunno. I’m busy today –”
“Gary! This is serious. You ought to go round there now, right away.”
“It’s just routine,” he protested. “If it was really serious they’d …”
Diane waited, staring at Gary. She supplied the ending. “They’d come and arrest you?”
Gary shook his head. “’Course not! Don’t exaggerate.”
“I know. They just want you to help them with their enquiries, don’t they, Gary?”
“Yeah. That’s all it is.”
Diane nodded. “And we all know what that means, don’t we?”
Adrian was wiping his hands when Marnie came to check if he was ready for that bacon sandwich. He peeled off his overalls and went below.
Marnie offered him a seat. “So, what’s the verdict?”
“Good news or bad news first?” He took a bite and rolled his eyes
in bliss.
“Just tell me straight.”
“Fuel injector nozzles blocked, as I expected.”
“Repairable?”
“I’ve cleared them for now, but they’ll need looking at. I’ll run the engine after breakfast. This is brilliant, Marnie.”
“You’re welcome. And the good news?”
“That was the good news.”
Marnie’s jaw dropped. “Oh.”
He finished chewing. “It’s your wiring, probably original, vintage nineteen-seventies.”
“Could it be dangerous, catch fire or anything?”
“You’ve got some dodgy bits. We need to have a proper look. No serious danger, though.”
“Oh well. It could be worse.”
“It is. We’re chocabloc at the boatyard, our busiest time of the year.”
Adrian munched thoughtfully while Marnie imagined herself marooned outside Banbury for the rest of the summer.
No-one in Little Venice remembered the van. It parked on the yellow line under the trees overlooking the pool. Nor did they have a clear recollection of the man in plain overalls who took out the parcel and carried it down the towpath towards Garrow. In the middle of the morning he was unlikely to find Gary on board. He left the box by the stern door.
Soon after the man had returned to his van and driven off, another figure appeared on the bank beside the boat and looked down at the box. It was a cube, each side measuring about one foot square. There was no address label, no postage stamps or stickers. On the top surface was printed, THIS WAY UP. On the side was an inscription in black felt-tip pen:
GARY
N/B GARROW
LITTLE VENICE
The parcel felt curiously heavy.
The offices of Lyle and Broadbent, solicitors, were situated not far from the Edgware Road, which made it convenient for Roger Broadbent to nip along to his boat, Rumpole, whenever he needed to.
That Thursday morning, returning to the office from a meeting, he stopped the car on double yellow lines by the railings that separated the pavement from the towpath. He looked up and down the street to make sure there were no traffic wardens lurking, and took a case of wine from the boot.
After sliding the case into a locker, he turned on the fridge and put two bottles of Chablis inside. He was locking the boat’s main doors, just as Jane Rutherford was passing.
“Not at work today, Roger?”
He tapped the side of his nose. “Spot of essential maintenance … on my way to a meeting. You?”
“Pupil in ten minutes.”
“Jane, do you know someone called Marnie Walker?”
“Has Gary got you on the case now?”
“Gary? No. Someone mentioned her the other day. Apparently she’s been away for a while.”
“Everyone seems to be wanting her right now.”
“Any idea why?”
“I can guess what Gary might have in mind. He says he’s worried her engine might give trouble. Is your someone concerned about Marnie’s engine?”
“Not as far as I know.”
“Well, I’m sure you can’t discuss it, but whatever it is, you’re going to have to join the queue.”
“Do you know how to get in touch with her?”
Jane hesitated. “Yes. Do you need to?”
Roger shook his head. “It’ll keep.”
Driving back to the office, Roger could imagine why Gary might be interested in Marnie. But Old Peter? What was all that about?
Adrian pocketed his mobile. “Got a piece of paper, Marnie? I’m going to give you an address and phone number.”
Marnie produced the logbook. “You can write it in here.”
He wrote carefully in capital letters on a fresh page. “Your contact is Peter Truscott at this boatyard. He’ll be expecting you.”
Marnie looked at what Adrian had written. “Oxford Boaters?” She sounded doubtful.
“Peter runs the second-oldest boatyard in these parts.”
Marnie closed the book. She wondered if Peter would be wearing, a striped blazer, a cravat and a monocle.
“Great.”
Gary got back to his boat that evening after another day on the waterbuses. He had spent most of the time thinking over his problems, trying hard to convince himself that once Sheena returned from her holiday everything would be made clear.
He was taking the key ring from his pocket when a head popped out from the next boat.
“Got a parcel for you, Gary.”
“Who from?”
“Dunno. Came this morning. I saw it on your boat, thought I’d better take it in, in case it grew legs and walked before you got back.”
The neighbour laughed. Gary smiled to be sociable and examined the parcel for markings. There were no stamps and no postmark. He weighed it in his hands.
The neighbour studied Gary’s face. “Heavier than you’d expect, innit?”
“Depends what you were expecting.”
“True. It’s odd, but I was thinking it’s about the size and weight of a human head.”
Gary laughed at the joke. “Yeah. Funny you should say that. It’s just what I ordered.”
“Two heads are better than one, eh, Gary?”
Gary laughed again and went back to Garrow. He put the parcel on the table in the saloon and sat down. Staring at it, he lit a cigarette. Somehow the thought of it sprouting legs and walking about did not strike him as very funny. Nor did the comparison with a human head.
Marnie was bone-weary by the time she reached Aynho Wharf that evening, but it was a good feeling. After several hours travelling on one of the prettiest canals in the country, she had lost count of the number of locks she had worked. Too tired to prepare a meal, she showered and headed for the pub.
Scampi in a basket with a white wine spritzer completed a wonderful day. Back on Sally Ann Marnie undressed and slipped into a fresh white cotton nightdress. When she laid her head on the pillow she had barely time to sigh before falling asleep. She did not even notice when Dolly jumped up onto the foot of the bed, curled into a ball and began purring.
Gary stayed in all evening. He tried to ignore the parcel on the galley workbench, but it taunted him, daring him to open it. At one point he had sniffed the box and almost convinced himself that an unsavoury odour was seeping out, but he had been smoking and the inside of Garrow was a complete fug.
A breeze was blowing down the cut, and he opened windows and doors to clear the atmosphere. In the darkness he sat in the cratch well, unmoved by the lights of Little Venice reflected in the water. Sheena would have scolded him for letting the boat reek like a smokehouse. Sheena. She was never out of his thoughts.
He closed his eyes and saw her face and, as he pictured her in his mind, her head transformed itself into the cardboard box waiting for him in the galley. He shuddered and reached for the business card in his back pocket. Diane had been right. He would go to the police tomorrow … unless something spurred him on that night.
Gary clenched his teeth, stood up and ducked into the saloon, determined not to put it off a minute longer. He opened a drawer, pulled out a kitchen knife and sliced through the brown tape that sealed the package. He prized open the lid and peered inside. When he saw what it contained he slumped into a chair and put his head in his hands.
34
Banbury
Sunlight was spilling in through chinks in the curtains. Marnie lay for a few minutes basking in the comfort of the bed, aware of a lump beside her feet. It moved when she turned onto her side to look at the clock. Six-twenty. Dolly walked up the bed and pushed a whiskery face towards her. Marnie reached out and stroked fur like thick-pile carpet.
She yawned. The day like the canal – and the cat – stretched out before her. If she kept going she could reach Oxford by nightfall. If she was going to find herself stranded somewhere for a while, Oxford was a good place to be.
With a final scratch behind Dolly’s ears, Marnie rolled out of bed and tugged the curtains apart
. It was a beautiful day.
Gary had a lighter than usual breakfast that Friday; he had smoked all his cigarettes the night before. Stirring his mug of tea, he looked across the saloon at the cardboard box on the galley workbench and grimaced.
He reached for the mobile he had bought to replace the lost one, checked a phone number on the wall calendar and pressed buttons.
“Oh hi, it’s me, Gary … about your engine.”
“Good news?”
Gary glanced sideways at the cardboard box on the workbench. “Yeah. That fuel pump I ordered for you, it’s arrived. I wondered when you’d like me to come and fit it.”
“That’s wonderful. Do you work on Saturdays? We could go to the boat tomorrow morning if that suited you.”
“Sure. No worries. Say, ten o’clock?”
“We’ll be there.”
“Oh and er …”
“Yes, Gary, that’s fine. We’ll bring cash, as usual.”
“Thanks. Saves on the paperwork, you know, helps me keep the costs down.”
They agreed a price for the job and disconnected. It was business as usual. Gary was halfway round the pool on his way to the waterbus station when he remembered WDC Griffiths. He had left her business card in the galley. It would keep, he told himself.
Marnie made good progress that morning. A band of moist air had gradually spread over the country and wrapped itself round the boat like a clammy hand. Marnie welcomed the respite from summer heat, but the damp misty weather heightened her sense of isolation. She felt the need of human contact.
Passing Cropredy, she switched on the mobile phone and rang Jane.