by Leo McNeir
At a few of the tables there were men sitting, some reading newspapers, a small group playing a board game. Most were middle-aged to elderly, though a few were young, and Anne whispered to Marnie that one of them seemed about her age.
“Why is he here?” she said quietly. “I suppose he has no home to go to?”
“Evidently not,” said Randall. “But we never ask. If we asked questions, they’d leave and not come back.”
“Do you know their names?” said Ralph.
“Usually. That’s the one question we ask when they come. Just so we can address them in a civilised way. Whoever speaks to them gives them their first name and asks what they want to be called. The youngest one, for example, said he was Jake. The oldest is called Billy. Whether those are their real names or not, we don’t know, and it doesn’t really matter.”
After coffee Randall showed them round. There was a TV room and another sitting room, with new furniture everywhere, no second-hand cast-offs. The bedrooms were divided into individual cubicles by partition walls almost up to ceiling height.
We have nine staying overnight at the moment.”
“All men?” said Marnie.
“So far, yes. There are few women on the road around here, or so I’m told.”
“What about rules?” said Ralph. “It all looks free and easy. No notices up telling them what they can’t do.”
“We have some basic rules. No alcohol on the premises, no smoking upstairs. There are sprinklers in the bedrooms and they know they’ll get wet if they disobey that rule. They can have fresh clothes and shoes if they want them. Shoes of course are very important to them. Their own things are taken and washed, and they all have a bath when they arrive.”
“How do they feel about that?” said Marnie.
“Fine. No problem. They usually like to soak for about an hour. We give them good meals and pleasant surroundings. No questions. Free to come and go when they want.”
“I’m surprised they don’t insist on staying,” said Marnie.
“So was I at first, but they don’t want to be surrounded by walls. They’ve left that behind them. A couple of days and they move on.”
“How soon before they come back?”
“That we don’t know. We’ve only been running for a couple of months, so we haven’t had anyone return yet. We’re keeping records, of course, though they don’t know that. It’s just for our own use.”
“I bet you’re very proud of this,” said Anne.
“I’m not sure if pride is quite the feeling,” said Randall. “But I’m glad we can help them. Specially at Christmas.”
“Do you get to know them, you know, as people?”
“That’s a very good question, Anne. It depends on them. I think that nobody really looks at tramps. People tend to distance themselves. If someone comes up and asks for anything, you avoid eye contact. So you don’t look at them. So you don’t see them. But here, we see them as individuals, as human beings. Each one is different, and they can react in a surprising way to an act of kindness.”
*
In the car on their way back to Murton, Anne was very quiet. She seemed to have withdrawn into herself. At the cottage, Marnie spoke to her while Ralph was putting the car away. “You’re very pensive.” To her surprise, Anne looked for a moment as if she was going to cry. She turned her head and went into the living room.
“Anne, are you thinking about the boy of your age?” Marnie had had the same thought when she saw him at the hostel. Anne had tried to run away from home. She wondered if Anne had imagined herself ending up on the streets like that, wandering from hostel to night shelter, sleeping rough. But Anne shook her head slowly.
“I was thinking about the tramp who witnessed the death of Tim Edmonds. What a life; he lives rough, sees something horrible like that and then drowns in the canal. It’s awful. I think Randall’s hostel is great.”
Marnie put an arm round Anne’s thin shoulders and stroked her cropped hair.
10
Thursday 29 December
“Do you remember the first time we came to Knightly together, Anne?” Marnie turned off the main highway and pointed the Rover down the country road that led to the village, careful not to accelerate too hard through the slush. More snow had fallen in the night, not enough to prevent them from driving back to sort out the office.
“We couldn’t find it, could we? Kept looking for the church tower and it kept disappearing!”
“Your folks didn’t mind you coming back with me instead of going home for a few more days?”
“No probs. They know we have work to do. Anyway, I think of here as home now, as much as I think of Leighton Buzzard.”
They called in at the shop to stock up on basics and gossip. Molly Appleton told them the new vicar would be starting in January, the new woman vicar. There was no other village news, and it had been a quiet Christmas. They needed only a few provisions as Ralph was coming on later to sort out his papers on Thyrsis, and would join them for supper at the pub.
They found Glebe Farm none the worse for the heavy snowfall, leaving the office barn to warm up while they went through the spinney to check Sally Ann and Thyrsis. Twigs snapped under their feet and Dolly appeared at their side to be scooped up by Anne.
Back in the office barn, perched on desks and still wearing their jackets, Anne checked the answerphone and fax while Marnie opened the post. The background sounds were the rattle of the kettle heating up and Dolly’s purring as she sat on Marnie’s desk, washing her fur.
“Uh-oh.” Anne, phone pressed against her ear, was frowning.
“What is it?” said Marnie.
“Inspector Bartlett wants you to ring him. Urgent.”
Marnie sighed and pressed the buttons on the phone. She was put through without delay.
“Thank you for responding so quickly, Mrs Walker.”
“What can I do for you?”
“I’ll come straight to the point. Is there any chance that you might have seen the tramp by the canal after all?”
“I’ve already told you. I had no idea anyone else was there. It was dark. I was squatting by the water. How could I have seen him? I would’ve mentioned it.”
“Yes.” He sounded disappointed. “That’s what I thought you’d say.”
“What else could I say?”
“It’s just that, if past experience is anything to go by, you might not have managed to tell us the whole story first time round.”
Marnie gritted her teeth. Anne was watching her. “I suppose I deserved that, inspector. But it makes no difference. That is how it was.”
“Pity. We need someone to identify him.”
“I thought he had been identified. If not, how do you know it was the same man? On the news it seemed definite.”
“Yes, well … it’d be nice to have more than the say-so of another tramp to go by. Never mind. Oh, one other thing, Mrs Walker. Do I understand you were planning to go abroad in the near future?”
“Were planning? I’m going to Spain next week.”
“Business or pleasure?”
“To see my parents. Why?”
“Unless your visit’s urgent, we’d prefer you to stay for the moment.”
“Are you telling me I can’t leave the country?”
“No, no. I’m not saying that, Mrs Walker. I'd have to regard you as a suspect to order you to stay.”
“But you want me to stay.”
“Yes. It would help our enquiries if you were around to deal with any questions, at least for the immediate future. You are the closest we have to an actual witness.”
When Marnie put the phone down, Anne asked. “Trouble?”
“Can you look up the number of the travel agent? My insurance had better cover this sort of cancellation or there'll be trouble.”
*
“Stab him in the back?” said Anne, raising her voice. The waitress, who was at that moment setting down a plate of scampi and dips in front of her, look
ed shocked. Anne glanced up. “It’s okay. I was just speaking metaphorically.”
“Oh, right,” said the waitress dubiously. She placed grilled salmon in front of Marnie, and reached kebabs with rice across to Ralph.
“That’s the point,” said Ralph. “In politics it often happens that your opponents are in the party on the other side of the chamber; but your enemies are in your own party. That’s why I say – and it’s not just my view – that you’re more likely to get stabbed in the back from someone sitting on the bench behind you than from someone on the benches opposite.”
“I see. So they’re all rivals.” Anne pronged a piece of scampi and looked at it thoughtfully for a few moments. “What about Grant and Edmonds?” she said. “They were friends, weren’t they?”
“It’s not impossible, of course. But politics is about power, and people don’t usually go into politics, especially not at Westminster, unless they want it pretty badly.” He poured the wine, including half a glass for Anne who made a spritzer. For a short while they concentrated on food and drink, each lost in their own thoughts.
“There doesn’t seem to be much idealism about,” said Anne. “I mean, when they’re standing for election, it’s all about wanting a better country and all that sort of thing. Big smiles for the camera. But really, it’s just them wanting to be in power to tell everybody else what to do. Is that right?”
“I’ve probably made it seem worse than it is,” said Ralph. “There can be idealism. Politicians often start from a position of wanting to make things better. They latch onto a philosophy and then it takes over their life, their whole way of thinking.”
“That’s why they’re always convinced they're right,” suggested Marnie.
“Do they all think they can be Prime Minister?” said Anne.
“I’ve often asked myself that question,” said Ralph. “On balance, I think the answer is probably ‘yes’, or at least they think they can become cabinet ministers. That’s what drives them on.”
“Do you think Randall expects to become a bishop one day?” said Anne.
Ralph shrugged. “That’s rather outside my field, I’m afraid. Though I wouldn’t be surprised.”
“And you wanted to become a professor?”
“Well, yes, to be honest, I suppose I did. But tell me, Anne. What’s your ambition?”
There was no hesitation. “To be an interior designer like Marnie.” She smiled at her friend across the table.
“And to have your own company one day?”
Anne shrugged. “I can’t think that far ahead, but perhaps one day. Who knows?”
“We don’t have to stab anyone in the back to have that sort of ambition,” said Marnie. “After all, there are lots of firms around, but only one Prime Minister.”
“Yes,” said Ralph. “The stakes are much higher. There’s much more to gain and much more to lose.”
“But you think we all in our different ways would like to get to the top of the tree,” said Anne, glancing over to the decorations reflecting the flames from the pub’s fire.
Ralph looked at the Christmas tree, the tinsel glittering from branch to branch, the stars and baubles looping their way up to the fairy perched above everything else, holding out her magic wand. He smiled at Anne over the rim of his wine glass. “You’re speaking metaphorically, of course.”
*
Friday 30 December
It was the penultimate day of the year, Friday 30 December. In the office barn Anne was snug and warm in her room in the loft. She went down to the shower they had installed at the back of the office and a few minutes later was pulling on her clothes. Instinctively she checked the answerphone and fax machine before setting off through the spinney on the short walk to breakfast with Marnie and Ralph on Thyrsis.
“No messages,” she said to Marnie, taking off her blouson jacket and looking approvingly at the breakfast table. “Thyrsis really is a civilised boat.” She sniffed the air. “Hyacinths? Can I smell hyacinths?”
“There are pots of them in the main cabin,” said Marnie. “Ralph always has them at this time of year, apparently. They remind him that spring is on the way.”
“That coffee smells marvellous, too, Ralph.”
“We know how to find the way to your heart,” Ralph called out from the galley.
“I’ve had a message,” said Marnie. “Bartlett rang. Inspector Bruere wants me to sign my statement.”
“There’s nothing on the fax.”
“No, I have to go in person and sign it at the station – their station.”
“In London? Then they should pay your travel expenses,” said Anne indignantly.
“They offered to do just that.”
“When are you going?”
“I told them I could come down early next week, when I go to the airport with Ralph.”
On cue, Ralph came into the cabin with the coffee pot and set it on the table. Anne went out to fetch the basket of warmed croissants, covered with a yellow gingham napkin.
“Well,” said Ralph pouring orange juice into glasses, “I suppose that’s Christmas more or less over for another year.”
“Next stop, hot cross buns,” said Marnie.
“Even money says they’ll be in the shops within a week,” said Ralph. Anne laughed. “It’s true,” he said. “I’ll bet you. It’s the great rolling programme of the feast of capitalism.”
“But they’re not all like that,” said Anne. “The church people, I mean. It’s not their fault if business makes money out of their festivals. Randall isn’t like that. Without people like him, who’d help the tramps?”
“True.”
“Talking of which,” said Marnie, “I’ve been wondering. Why did Bartlett ask me if I could identify the tramp who’d drowned? They knew I hadn’t seen anybody that night.”
“What are you saying?” said Ralph.
“Were they trying to trick me or something?”
“Or don’t they know if it is the right tramp who drowned?” said Anne.
“Perhaps. On the news it said they’d identified the tramp as the likely witness.”
“Supposedly,” said Ralph, “some other tramp has identified the body as the man who lived in the park.” They lapsed into silence.
Eventually, Anne said: “I’m not sure I follow all this. Did he drown or didn’t he?”
Marnie shook her head. “It doesn’t add up, does it? I’m not sure if there even was a tramp. I certainly didn’t see anyone that evening. And the police must know that.”
“What are you getting at, then?” said Anne.
“A hidden agenda,” Ralph muttered.
“And this, going back to London to sign my statement. I could just as easily sign it up here. You know, I’m not sure they’ve ever really believed the explanation about the business card. I feel as if they’re sort of reeling me in.”
“They can’t believe you killed that MP,” said Anne horrified.
“Perhaps not. But they might think I’m somehow involved. In which case they might still have me down as a suspect.”
*
It was one of those days when progress is made. While the rest of the world was still on holiday and thinking about their plans for New Year’s Eve in the afterglow of Christmas, Marnie, Anne and Ralph were sorting out their lives in readiness for the next stage. Marnie was at her desk deep in concentration over her designs for the coming phase of work for Willards. Anne was humming quietly to herself while she backed up files on the computer and waded through a mound of paperwork and correspondence. Over on Thyrsis, Ralph was putting his papers in order, compiling the documents he would need in Japan and the briefing notes he would take to America.
Anne took down the planner for the old year and pinned up the new one to take its place on the wall by her desk. She was already putting in appointments for halfway through the new year. The new year …
“Are you in a trance or can we get some coffee round here?” Marnie’s voice brought Anne out of
a dream. She jumped and turned to look across at her friend.
“Coffee? Oh, sure. I’ll do it now.”
“You okay?”
“Fine. I was just thinking about next year, college and all that.” She filled the kettle in the kitchen area at the back of the office. All the fittings had been chosen by Marnie when she moved in. The units were blond wood with steel handles. Modern and chic like the life Anne aspired to attain, like Marnie herself. She stared at the kettle. It was almost like a chrome Volkswagen beetle with a black curved handle.
“You sure you’re okay? Not going down with flu again?”
“Honest, Marnie, I was just having a quiet think.”
“No problems?”
“No probs. I was just thinking to myself that at some point during this next year, I’ll be starting a new phase in my life. I’ll be somewhere else.”
“Are you leaving, then? You mean, I’ll have to make my own coffee? This could be serious.”
“I am being serious. It stands to reason. I’ll have to study full-time, which means I’ll be living somewhere else.”
Marnie fell silent and Anne made coffee. When Anne put the mug down (designer mug) on the desk, Marnie looked up. “Where will you be studying, then? Have you got it all worked out?”
Anne perched on the corner of the desk, holding her mug in both hands as she always did. She shrugged. “A levels. Some sort of college, I suppose. I don’t want to go back to school. School was okay, but I’ve left all that behind now.”
“I suppose there are colleges round here?” said Marnie. Anne shook her head and went back to her desk. Marnie persisted. “There must be. I’m sure I’ve seen one in Milton Keynes, and Northampton isn’t far away.”
“I think I’ll have to live with mum and dad. I can’t expect you to keep me when I can’t work for you. It’s not on. You need someone here.” The implications seemed to weigh down on Anne and she sipped her coffee absent-mindedly. Beside her the phone rang.
“Walker and Co, good afternoon.” She listened for a few seconds. “Yes, she is. Who’s calling?” She looked at Marnie who was already reaching towards the phone. Anne pressed the buttons. “It’s Malcolm Grant.”