Kiss and Tell

by Leo McNeir

  “Probably.”

  “You know him, Ralph. What do you think he’ll do now?”

  “Contact her, I expect.”

  “But what’s he going to do in general?” Anne said. “He can’t just go back in a few weeks time as if nothing’s happened, can he?”

  “There’ll be strong pressure on him to resign, won’t there?” said Marnie.

  “It’s not that easy,” said Ralph. “Major’s only propped up by the Ulster Unionists. They can’t afford a by-election they could well lose.”

  “Is his seat a marginal?” Marnie asked.

  “It’s a Conservative seat. That’s marginal by definition these days. I’m not joking. They haven’t won a by-election since William Hague got in back in ‘83.”

  “But what choice does he have? Either he denies the photos, which he can’t, or he admits it happened and tries to make an excuse.”

  Ralph agreed. “Short of a miracle, his situation looks hopeless.”

  5

  Monday morning was bright and warm when Marnie set off for her meeting in Ralph’s car, leaving Anne in charge. She tried not to care about the impact the elderly Volvo might have on her image.

  It was a normal start to the week in Knightly St John. Ralph was working on board Thyrsis, connected to the rest of the world by his new Internet link. Anne was studying Marnie’s scheme for a Willards pub near Foxton Locks before sorting out that week’s invoices. Dolly had not been seen since breakfast and was probably curled up in a sheltered spot practising her beauty sleep.

  It was a normal start, apart from the presence of the most wanted man in the country living on the edge of their community on a canal boat. At least that was the assumption. Of Anthony Leyton-Brown there had been no sighting since early on Sunday.

  By the end of the morning, Anne was beginning to worry. What if he had done something desperate under the strain of it all? But he was a politician, and Ralph had often said they were hard-bitten, tough as old boots. But even so ...

  She put aside her pen and made for the door. Down by the docking area everything was quiet. The three boats lay at rest at their moorings, only the open side doors on Thyrsis revealing that someone was on board.

  Anne shook her head and decided she was being foolish. At that moment a stubby green boat came into view in mid-channel, skirting the anonymous grey boat and Thyrsis. It was painted in the workaday livery of British Waterways, shaped like a steel punt with an open hold and a small cabin at the stern. It was piled with branches, plastic bags and the regulation supermarket trolley. Anne gave a customary wave to the steerer who hailed her and began pulling in towards the bank. She had seen him before, one of the regular men for this sector, but they had never spoken.

  “Hi. Can I ask if you’ve you seen any strange characters along here?”

  Anne’s eyes flickered involuntarily towards the grey boat. “Strange ... in what way?”

  “Hanging around,” he said, “cruising up and down, maybe looking at moored boats.”

  “Everybody does that on the cut,” said Anne. “That’s what it’s all about.”

  The man looked exasperated. “I know. That’s what I told them in the office. But they said I had to ask everyone I saw and warn them.”

  “Warn them? What about?”

  “People have been breaking into boats, stealing stuff. And there’s been the odd mugging.” He looked at the grey boat. “I haven’t seen that one before. D’you know whose it is?”

  “It belongs to someone our friend knows. He’s just passing through.”

  “Okay. Well, make sure you keep your boat locked whenever you leave it unattended, right?”

  “Sure.”

  “And be careful when you’re walking alone. Be vigilant.”

  “I can’t think anyone’d want to mug me.”

  “You’d be surprised. Someone mugged a jogger on the towpath near Yore last week, gave him a nasty knock on the head.”

  “Must be pretty fit to catch a jogger,” said Anne.

  The man pushed the boat away from the bank, pressing the accelerator to move off. “The police are treating it seriously. You be careful now.”

  Back at the office barn, Anne picked up the message pad to write a note to Marnie about the boatman’s warning. To her surprise, the top page already had writing on it.

  Missed you again! This is becoming a habit. Back later in the week.

  Love,

  S

  *

  An hour later Anne was comparing the merits of different Internet servers when Marnie breezed in, dumped her briefcase on the desk and went straight to the kitchen area at the back of the office.

  “Hi! I’m back. What a morning! How’re things?”

  “Okay. How d’you get on?”

  Marnie switched on the kettle. “Not bad. Jeffries was there. You know what he’s like ... wants to discuss every tiny detail. Still, I think he trusts me now, even though I’m not a man. Anything happen while I was out?”

  “I’ve put a few messages on your desk and a fax from the plumbing suppliers.”

  Marnie paused in the act of spooning coffee into the pot. “Don’t tell me ...”

  “No, it’s all right. The hot-water tanks are in stock. They’ll deliver Thursday. We’re back on schedule.”

  “Hurray!”

  Marnie walked over to her desk as the kettle began rattling and picked up the pile of messages. Anne saw her reach the hand-written note from S. She saw the frown cross Marnie’s face, saw her read the note again, crumple it and drop it into the waste-paper bin. There was a pause before she moved on to the next message.

  “Shall I make the coffee?” Anne called across in a casual tone.

  “No, it’s okay. I’m on my feet.”

  Marnie went back to the kitchen area, where Dolly was loitering with intent by the fridge door. She bent and stroked the cat absent-mindedly, not noticing that the kettle had switched itself off.

  “Any luck at the garages?”

  “Garages ... oh yes. I managed to call in on one. They don’t make the GTi any more. I’ll have to have a rethink.” She brought the mugs over, while Dolly purred at her milk.

  “Marnie, did you see that message? We’ve got another stranger round here.”

  “It’s okay, Anne.”

  “My message about the mugger, I mean.”

  “Mugger?”

  Anne explained about the warning from the British Waterways man. “He said the police are making enquiries.”

  “Great,” said Marnie. “I expect that means we’ll be in for a visit from an old acquaintance.”

  “DCI Bartlett?”

  Marnie nodded. “What’s the betting? It’ll be him or Marriner, at a guess.”

  “Sergeant Marriner’s not that bad. At least he doesn’t look so stern as Mr Bartlett.”

  “Wait till they’re carting you off in chains under suspicion.”

  Anne laughed. “I’ll take my chances. But seriously, Marnie, the police are warning everyone on the cut to be extra careful. I’ll make sure I lock the office every time I go out, so no-one can come in while I’m away.”

  Marnie looked down at her desk. “Good idea.”

  *

  Anne enjoyed her routine. It anchored her life and work. Each day at around four she would gather up the post and head off up the field track to the village shop to post letters and collect a few groceries. But on that afternoon she had begun her expedition earlier than usual, telling Marnie she had an idea, wanting to avoid the children coming out of school, to reach the shop before the rush. She was on a mission and wanted Molly Appleton’s attention to herself.

  “Hallo, my dear. You’re early today. Rush hour hasn’t started. Richard always says we can set the clock by you.”

  “I’m deliberately early today, Mrs Appleton. There’s something I want to ask you.”

  “How can I help?”

  “It’s about tabloid newspapers.”

  “Oh, yes.”

 
“In particular the Globe.”

  *

  There was a knock on the door of the office barn, and it swung open to reveal Ralph standing on the threshold.

  “Hallo. Did I give you a shock?”

  Marnie’s face relaxed into a smile. “No, of course not.”

  “You looked rather ... startled.”

  “The effort of concentration. Come in.”

  “Am I interrupting you?”

  “To be strictly accurate, yes, but it’s a welcome interruption.”

  Ralph kissed her warmly and Marnie responded. “Do that again,” he said. She did.

  “Well, well,“ said Marnie. “Romantic interludes in the afternoon. Do you fancy a drink of anything?”

  Ralph sighed. “I knew it could only go downhill from that point. I’ll join you if you’re having one. But don’t you want to wait for Anne to get back from her post run?”

  “She won’t be back for a while. She’s gone off on what she described as a mission. I’ll put the kettle on. Any sign of our new neighbour?”

  “He looked in on me about an hour ago.” Ralph paused while the water gushed into the kettle. “He’s obviously been badly shaken by what’s happened.”

  “He was quite rude to me yesterday. Do you think that was out of character?”

  “I’d think it was a sign of his troubled state of mind. He’s quite paranoid, convinced he’s being hounded.”

  “That figures,” said Marnie. “What about his wife? Has he been in touch with her?”

  “I asked him about that, persuaded him to ring her. I’ve lent him my mobile.”

  “He hasn’t got a phone?” Marnie was incredulous.

  “No. That’s been one of the problems. His mobile’s battery has run down and he’s got no means of recharging it on the boat.”

  “No generator?”

  “No petrol.”

  “So now you’re incommunicado until he gives it back.”

  “I’ll survive. Anyway, I’ve got a new one coming any time now. That one was fairly basic, and I saw a special offer, so I thought I’d upgrade.”

  “And you’ll manage to work it?”

  “Mock not.” He looked sheepish. “Actually, I’ve arranged for an expert to set it up for me. You know what I’m like with technology.”

  “You must still make sure you get the old one back.”

  “I will. Anthony promised to drop it in when he’d finished with it. And I don’t like to disturb him. He seems to spend much of the time sleeping, said he didn’t know what day it was. I don’t think he was pretending.”

  “Sounds like he’s close to having a breakdown. How was he when you spoke to him?”

  “On the brink of tears, I’d say, not totally coherent. He’s a sick man, Marnie.”

  A rapid movement past the window caught Marnie’s eye, and in seconds Anne pushed open the door, coming in backwards, her arms filled with a bundle of newspapers tied round with string.

  “Any more of this and we’ll have to buy a yak!” She staggered theatrically across the office and dropped the huge package on her desk with a weary sigh. “It’s a miracle there are any trees left in the world at all.”

  “Are you going into the recycling business?” Ralph asked.

  “I’m going into the research business.”

  “I’m getting nervous already.”

  Anne opened her desk drawer and took out a pair of scissors to cut the string holding the bundle together. “I never imagined there’d be so many of them in a fortnight.”

  Marnie said, “I thought you were just going to find out from Molly who took the Globe and go and get the ones with the Leyton-Brown articles in.”

  “I did, and this is the result. She told me there were three people who had the Globe delivered. The first one said he just put them in the bin each day and didn’t recommend rummaging in it.”

  “Good advice,” said Ralph.

  “Yes. The next one said he kept his for the Scouts’ waste paper collection. They were coming on Saturday, but I was welcome to have them if I wanted. They were bundled up in his shed. Here they are. I accepted the offer before I saw how much stuff there was.”

  Marnie could not believe it. “All that is just two weeks’ editions of The Globe?”

  “Plus the Mail on Sunday and the News of the World. I hope the articles are in here somewhere, after all this effort.” She settled down to the task of sorting out the Globe from the rest while Marnie and Ralph went back to the other side of the office.

  “Why the research?” Ralph asked in a quiet voice.

  “You know Anne. She has to get to the bottom of things.”

  “I expect the News of the World will help her do that.” Ralph noticed Marnie’s expression. “Sorry. But why read up on Anthony?”

  “We ought to know the background if he’s on our own doorstep.”

  “Blimey!” It was Anne. She glanced up. “Er, sorry ... News of the World.” Feeling that no other explanation was necessary, she resumed her task. Ralph smiled at Marnie.

  “Know-all,” Marnie muttered. “Anyway, how do you know what ...”

  Before she could finish the sentence, Anne called out: “Here we are.” She held up a tattered copy of the Globe. Half the front page was a photograph of a man kissing a girl in what looked like a park. Its headline was in bold black letters: ‘WHO’S A NAUGHTY BOY?’

  *

  They sat in the saloon on Sally Ann, as they had sat together over a convivial meal so many times. Marnie had made a cheese soufflé to which Anne had added a mixed salad of lettuce, chopped spring onions and diced red peppers, sprinkled all over with thyme and marjoram. Ralph had brought a bottle of red Rioja and a watermelon. The difference was that on that evening, the proximity of Anthony Leyton-Brown MP was uppermost in their minds, and it left a strange taste. Ralph had not seen him again that afternoon, respecting his need for privacy.

  Their thoughts drifted off to the lurid photographs in the newspaper. The Globe had run articles for four days that week, releasing more photos each day to keep the story alive. It seemed to have fizzled out by Saturday, probably because Leyton-Brown himself had vanished, and his wife had shut herself into the family home. She was receiving deliveries of supplies from relatives brave enough to drive through the besieging paparazzi camped outside.

  Cutting off a piece of baguette, Ralph suddenly said, “This is absurd. Here we are on a beautiful spring evening, having a super meal –”

  “With an excellent wine,” Marnie chipped in.

  “Yes, that too, and anyone would think we were at a wake.”

  “What’s a wake?” Anne asked.

  “It’s a sort of party before a funeral, where the dead person lies in their coffin and friends and family mill around, eating, drinking and talking about them.”

  Anne grimaced. “Ugh!”

  “Got it in one,” said Marnie. “The only difference is we haven’t got a body.” She quickly raised a hand to her mouth. “Oh god, I wish I hadn’t said that.”

  “Is that what you were thinking, then?” said Anne. “That he might have ... you know ...?” Her eyes were enormous in her thin face.

  “No, of course not. Well yes, actually. I suppose it wasn’t in the front of my mind, but maybe niggling away in the background.”

  “Do you want me to go over and check he’s all right?” Ralph offered.

  “I don’t know. Part of me wants to give him space, but part of me worries he might do something desperate. What do you think? You at least have seen him today.”

  “I feel torn, same as you. And to be honest, I’m rather reluctant to get you both involved in all this.”

  “Do you feel involved?” said Marnie.

  “Only in a remote sense. I told you, I don’t know him personally all that well. But on the basis of long acquaintance, I don’t like to turn my back on him.”

  “You don’t need to worry about us, Ralph. I don’t see us getting involved.”

  “Famous last
words ...” Anne muttered, looking pointedly at the newspapers on the galley workbench.

  Marnie leaned over and picked up one of them, flicking through the pages. On the first day, the Globe had published a four-page spread. There was Leyton-Brown locked in unambiguous embraces with a girl who looked very young. Some of the photos had black bands across them to cover up the position of his hands, presumably to protect the innocence of the readers. The bands were positioned in the most suggestive way possible. Marnie shook her head, muttering that she felt like a voyeur just by holding the paper in her hands. And so it surprised her when Anne began studying the pictures intensely. Marnie wondered what experience of sex Anne might have had. It was not a subject they had ever broached.

  “This is quite interesting,” Anne muttered.

  “Really?” Marnie could hardly believe it.

  “Yes. I only spotted it when you were holding the paper and I saw the pictures from this angle. I could see a kind of pattern.” She turned the paper round to face them. “Look at those top photos there. What do you see?”

  “Anthony holding hands with a girl young enough to be his daughter,” Marnie said flatly. “They’re not as clear as the others because there are bushes in the way.”

  “That’s right.”

  “What are you getting at?” said Ralph.

  Anne pointed. “Look at the angle of their arms.”

  Marnie and Ralph leaned forward. “What about it?” said Marnie.

  “Ah,” said Ralph. “Do you mean ...?”

  “Yes,” said Anne. “I think she’s pulling him by the hand, not just holding his hand.”

  Marnie looked puzzled. “Pulling him where?”

  “There.” Anne held up the next series of photos. The two people were much clearer, neatly framed by trees and bushes around them but not concealing them.

  “I think you may have a point, Anne.” Ralph pushed the paper closer to Marnie. “If you go from here to here, you could imagine that the girl is, well, luring Anthony to this place where the camera has a better view.”