Kiss and Tell

by Leo McNeir

  “Hallo? Marnie Walker’s phone.” There was a strange sound on the line. It could have been static, but it might have been a sob. “Hallo?” she repeated gently. “This is Anne. Who’s that, please?”

  “I knew her, Anne.” Definitely a sob. “That girl they found. It said in the paper the police thought it was me.”

  “I know. Where are you, Marlene?”

  “She didn’t have anything ...”

  “Marlene, tell me where you are.”

  “I’m really scared, Anne. Perhaps next time it will be me.”

  “You can come to us. We’ll look after you.” Nothing. “You’ll be safe here. No-one’ll find you, honest.”

  “You told me they’d followed you home. They knew where you lived.”

  Damn! Anne thought. But Marlene was right. There was no point promising her safety at Glebe Farm. For all she knew there might be a photographer behind every tree in the spinney.

  “You’re right, Marlene. Let me talk to Marnie and Ralph. Have you got a phone where we can reach you?”

  “No.”

  “Will you phone me back in half an hour?”

  “I can’t.”

  “Where are you?”

  “King’s Cross.”

  “When can you phone?” Silence. “Please, Marlene.”

  “Later.”

  The line went dead.

  *

  When Anne ran back to the boats she found Marnie and Ralph in high spirits, carrying boxes of provisions from Thyrsis to Sally Ann, chatting as they went. Marnie called out to her as she approached.

  “Guess what? We’re going to have a big crew today. You know who’s coming to join us?”

  Anne was panting. “No.”

  “Angela and Randall. They’re obviously an item, those two. I thought I’d see if they fancied an outing, and they said yes. You okay, Anne? You look less than delighted.”

  “Oh, no.” She gasped for breath. “It’s nice.“

  “But?”

  Anne outlined her conversation with Marlene, and the atmosphere became sombre.

  “Did you try recall?” said Marnie.

  “It didn’t work. I think she was in a phonebox.”

  “She’s slipping away,” said Marnie. “We’re gonna lose her.”

  *

  They travelled just a few miles along the canal in fine breezy weather, Angela taking the tiller with a natural talent for steering. Randall kept a hand on hers, and it had nothing to do with guiding the boat. Ronny and Anne sat on the cushioned benches in the cratch, watching the scenery float by.

  They pulled over for a buffet lunch of hot quiches filled with salmon and broccoli, baked jacket potatoes and coleslaw, with Beaujolais and an Aussie white that Randall had brought.

  When Marnie’s mobile sounded, everyone fell silent as she took the call. She quickly came to the point. “Marlene, we want to get you away from London, somewhere safe. Will you trust us?”

  “I don’t think I’ve got much choice.” Her voice was sullen.

  “So you’ll you come?”

  “I’ve got my bag ready.” There was no enthusiasm.

  “Good. Do you have enough money to buy a train ticket to Milton Keynes?”

  “I suppose so.”

  “Can you find Euston station?”

  “Just up the road.”

  “Right. Get the first train up here and we’ll meet you. I’ll give you the money for your ticket. Okay?”

  “Okay.”

  “My car will be recognised,” said Ralph quietly.

  Marnie said, “Hang on, Marlene.” To Ralph, “Taxi?”

  “If she comes here, she could still be seen by anyone watching us. Everything depends on secrecy.”

  Suddenly another voice joined in. It was Angela. “She can come to me. I’ve got loads of room in the vicarage.”

  “But a taxi arriving in Knightly could be conspicuous,” said Marnie.

  “Then I’ll fetch her,” said Angela brightly. “Nobody would suspect a vicar of anything, especially a woman vicar.”

  “Except the Rural Dean,” Randall muttered under his breath.

  *

  When Marnie’s phone rang, she was checking the boat’s mooring ropes in the docking area with Anne. She feared it would be Marlene calling the whole thing off, but it was a man’s voice, and she recognised it at once.

  Anne watched Marnie as she spoke, admired the patient coaxing, heard her call him ‘Nigel’, and knew she was making progress. They talked for several minutes until Marnie eventually slipped out a biro, wrote a number on the palm of her hand and the conversation ended.

  “I think,” she began slowly. “I think it’s falling into place. I’m not sure how it’ll turn out, but at least the people are coming together.”

  “Nigel?” said Anne.

  Marnie nodded. “Hawksby’s other victim. He said he’s willing to come and meet the others and join in with the statement.”

  “You asked him why he was willing to help now. What did he say?”

  “He thought we might stand a chance of getting somewhere. He’d never thought that before. He said it wouldn’t do him any good, but it could be his only chance of getting back at Hawksby. He wants to try and settle the score.”

  “So that’s it, another one wanting revenge?”

  “Hard to blame them,” said Marnie. “I always thought that was a totally sterile emotion. But the other day Anthony said more or less the same thing: revenge was a very pure motive.”

  38

  Marnie felt almost guilty about what she was doing, how ruthless she had become. Heads turned as the trio entered the church that Sunday morning and took their seats towards the rear of the congregation. Now Marnie knew how the Royals felt when they travelled on duty. There were smiles and greetings, hands raised, even one or two blown kisses, as the whole village strained to see their neighbours who had been in the middle of a gun battle.

  They looked like any other family in Sunday clothes: Ralph in a charcoal grey suit, Marnie in a dark blue dress with a tiny flower design, Anne in black trousers and a cream shirt. They had never been seen attending a service before, not surprising as they were all agnostics. Some of those present made a shrewd deduction; Marnie and Ralph were planning a church wedding. It was obvious, they were making token appearances for the calling of the banns.

  Even those who were dozing off perked up and paid attention when the Reverend Angela Hemingway gave out the announcements. But no banns were called, and muted comments were made around the church. At the end of the service no-one noticed that the trio were the last to file out, and only a few living near the church observed that they waited and accompanied the vicar across the road to the vicarage. Any outsider would have found nothing unusual in the small group of parishioners walking along with the vicar, chatting in the morning sunshine.

  Once the front door was closed, Angela said, “You’re looking even better than you did yesterday, Marnie, much more like your old self. You, too, Anne. I didn’t realise you were actually going to come to church. Did you think it would be a better disguise than just turning up at the vicarage after the service?”

  “I’m afraid I did,” said Marnie. “I feel rather badly about that.”

  “Well don’t. You’re always welcome in church for whatever reason, or should I say ‘motive’. It might even do you some good.” She smiled and turned to call up the stairs. “Marlene, we’re back.”

  Immediately there was the sound of footsteps and the girl came down to join them.

  “Right,” said Angela. “Coffee while we talk? It won’t be up to your standard, Marnie; only instant, I’m afraid.”

  Anne stepped forward and from her shoulder bag took out a box of biscuits. “These are from us. We got them at Marks and Sparks, Belgian chocolate.”

  “Wicked,” said Angela.

  They settled round the dining room table, and Angela passed a plate crammed with biscuits to her guests.

  “I expect you have a
plan.”

  “Only a very simple one,” said Marnie. “I think the simpler we keep it, the better. I’ve no confidence I can organise anything complicated that will actually work.”

  “That’s no bad thing,” said Angela. “Keeping it simple gives a better chance of success.”

  Marlene said, “What will I have to do?”

  “There are four of you. Apart from you, there’s Anthony, a man called Nigel that Hawksby abused as a schoolboy, and Jenny Poulter who was left holding the baby when she was sixteen. You’re all his victims, and now’s the time for you all to speak out.”

  “How are they going to speak out exactly?” said Angela.

  “I’m going to fetch them by car and bring them together here at Glebe Farm,” said Ralph. “We’re going to take a group photograph and send copies to the media with a statement signed by all four of what Hawksby has done.”

  “They’ve all agreed to this?” said Angela.

  Marnie said, “I spoke to Jenny on the phone this morning. She said she’d co-operate as long as everybody else did. She completes the picture, literally.”

  “When does it all happen?” said Marlene.

  “Some time in the coming week.”

  Marlene turned to Angela. “Is it all right for me to stay here till then?”

  “Of course.”

  “You don’t have any problem with this, do you?” Marnie asked Angela. “From a moral point of view?”

  “As far as I can judge, you’re just telling the truth. That can’t be wrong.”

  “And the truth shall make you free,” Anne quoted.

  “Saint John eight, thirty-two,” said Angela. “Well done! One visit to church and you’re a bible-basher.”

  “We did it at school ... RE. I got a B for the course work.”

  *

  Marnie left Ralph and Anne preparing lunch in the galley on Thyrsis, on the pretext of having something to do in the office. For the second time that day she felt guilty at being less than honest, a feeling compounded by their easy acceptance of what she had told them, and she had slipped away while they worked amicably together. Marnie felt a pressing need to be alone.

  She pulled the barn door partly open and sat at her desk in the cool office, a hazy half-light filtering in from outside. Alone with her thoughts, she felt the strain of events bearing down on her shoulders and longed for expert hands to massage the ache away. Was it really only a few short weeks since the boat without a name had arrived in Sally Ann’s docking area, and everything had turned upside down?

  Now here she was, poised on the brink. She wondered if you could teeter on more than one brink at a time. In front of her was the last stage of her crazy plan to expose the media as completely hypocritical. The further she had gone down that road, the more she suspected that Anthony was right. Everyone in public life had something to hide. Everyone exposed to temptation would probably succumb. Was this the beginning of cynicism? She hoped not.

  Another brink was her own private life. She had promised herself after the failed marriage with Simon that she would never become dependent on someone else for happiness. Yet here she was, cheerfully planning a joint future. She had come this far, giving up a secure job in London to run her own show, taking her own decisions, making her own mistakes. Was she really going to gamble everything on another relationship? She stood up and walked round the room. What’s the matter with you, Marnie?

  She dropped down onto her chair, emitting a sigh. It was immediately followed by its echo as Dolly jumped up onto the desk. The big black cat blinked slowly at her and began purring, settling herself down in front of Marnie, who reached out to stroke her head. Dolly closed her eyes and the two of them communed without words, Dolly turning her head to push against Marnie’s hand movements. Marnie felt her face muscles relax and a smile ease its way into her features. The cat made a barely audible sound of undisguised pleasure.

  “Oh, Dolly,” Marnie breathed.

  She reached across for the phone and dialled a familiar number.

  “I was just thinking about you! Do you believe that stuff about sisters being able to communicate without speaking?”

  “Not in your case, Beth.”

  “Thank you. So what’s new?”

  “I’m about to do the most stupid thing of my entire life, that’s all.”

  “What particular stupid thing do you have in mind, Marnie? You have such a wide repertoire.”

  “I’ve got everybody lined up to expose the newspaper editor in public. All four of them. We’re sending out a group photograph and a press release this week.”

  “And that’s it? All over? Or does he sue you all for slander or libel or get you thrown in the Tower?”

  “I phoned you because I wanted cheering up, Beth.”

  Beth laughed. “There’s gotta be a first time. Seriously, though.”

  “I don’t know what he’ll do. But I do know we’ll only send out hard facts. Ralph thinks we should get sworn statements, affidavits drawn up by a solicitor.”

  “Well, if that’s what Ralph says, you should do it. He’s reliable, that one. For once you’ve made a good choice. I approve.”

  “What do you mean, for once? I thought you always liked Simon.”

  “He was great ... in the beginning.”

  “You had doubts about him? You never said.”

  “And I don’t want to now, Marnie. I wouldn’t want to speak ill ... you know. I really thought you were ideal for each other for a long time.”

  “So did I.”

  “I thought you were lucky, both of you. Do you believe in Big Love: capital B, capital L?”

  “You think there is such a thing?”

  “I don’t want to cause pain, but I thought Simon was yours, if I’m honest. And you were the same for him.”

  “That’s funny. I’ve sometimes wondered if Laura was that for Ralph. They must’ve been so suited to each other.”

  “Does that mean you think you’re both settling for second best, you and Ralph?”

  “What a thought!” said Marnie, taken aback. “That’s not how it should be. All your life you see yourself centre-stage, and one day you wake up and find you’re somebody’s compromise?”

  “Hey, this is getting too heavy, Marnie. You said you wanted cheering up.”

  “Yes. But how can everything go so wrong when it started out so well?”

  “Things change – that includes relationships – then you move on. You can’t look back, can’t afford to. It’s just too painful.“

  “That’s what Simon said.”

  “There you are, then.” A pause. “Wait a minute. Simon? You’ve been talking about that sort of thing with Simon? Was that a good idea?”

  “Beth, do you know the things they believed in the Middle Ages about wounds bleeding? Ever heard of that?”

  “Wounds? You’re losing me. What wounds bleeding?”

  “Simon told me about this idea they had. You stood a suspect next to the body of someone who’d been killed, and if that person was the killer, the wounds started bleeding again. They believed it in mediaeval times.”

  “Sounds weird. Anyway, what’s that got to do with anything?”

  “Nothing, I suppose.”

  *

  A Sunday afternoon outing. It was becoming a traditional English Sabbath: morning church, Sunday lunch, a ride in the car. Only that was where the comparison ended. This ride was transporting a Member of Parliament secretly back to a hostel for down-and-outs, with the aim of finalising a plan to expose hypocrisy in the establishment. Not quite the traditional English Sunday.

  As a precaution, after dropping Anthony at the back of the hostel, Ralph parked the Volvo a little way down the street. He and Marnie walked hand-in-hand towards the blue front door. They had left Anne at Glebe Farm, going for another walk along the towpath with Ronny.

  Randall loaned them the room that he and the housekeeper shared as an office during the week, with cream walls and white paint, desk an
d chairs in lightwood, a pale grey filing cabinet in the corner. An honest room. It looked an unlikely place for conspirators.

  They went over the plan one last time. Four people standing against a wall, one group photograph, one individual close-up of each person, a statement outlining how Hawksby had touched – and contaminated – their lives. Plain facts, all verifiable, cut and dried.

  “You’re sure they’ve all agreed to this?” said Anthony. “And you can somehow reach Marlene?”

  “All of them have agreed,” said Marnie. “And we’ve brought Marlene up from London.”

  “You’ve brought her up?” Anthony looked astonished. “Where is she?”

  “You drove past her half an hour ago. She’s safely tucked away in the village.”

  “Good god,” said Anthony, suddenly pale. “I can hardly believe it.”

  “Well, you’d better believe it because she’s here, but she’s very shaky. When you see her again –”

  “No, it’s all right. I won’t say anything. No reproaches. I don’t blame her any more.”

  “Good.”

  “When do we do this?”

  “We’ve yet to organise getting everybody together,” said Ralph. “We’re not sure exactly which day that will be.”

  “But this week?”

  “Yes. The timing’s very important. We have to spring the whole thing as a surprise. Hawksby mustn’t suspect what we’re up to. That’s how Marnie’s planned it. We’ve gone to great lengths to cover our tracks.”

  “That’s brilliant, Marnie.” Anthony smiled. “Elegant simplicity. The essence of good design, I believe. How appropriate.”

  “I don’t know about brilliant,” said Marnie. “It’s the best I can think of, that’s all. I’m way out of my league.”

  Anthony walked with them to the front door.

  “You’ll be glad to see the back of me, Marnie. I know I’ve been an imposition in your life. I’m sorry for that and for other things that have happened, of course. And I’ll always be grateful for what you’ve done for me.”