by Leo McNeir
“So you’re expanding the business,” said Margaret. “I’m so glad things are going well.”
“Estelle’s working with us on a project in Italy.”
“In Italy? You’re going international. That’s impressive.”
“I’m on loan from the company in London,” Estelle said. “Marnie’s old firm.”
“Will you be staying here long?”
Estelle looked at Marnie and said, “For the summer, I expect. Maybe a little longer, depending on the job.”
“Well,” said Margaret, “you’re coming at a good time. If today’s anything to go by, we’re in for a long hot summer.”
Ronny was coming towards them carrying a tray when a child rushed over from the main group and held out a jar. Breathlessly she said, “Anne says please will you open the honey. The lid’s too tight. She can’t get it off.”
Marnie held out a hand. “Here. Ronny’s got his hands full. Let me have a go.” She took firm hold of the jar.
Margaret said, “Don’t run back with it, Jenny. You should walk. We don’t want you having an accident.”
“No, Mrs Giles.”
Marnie pulled a face. “This is really stiff.” She strained to turn it, but the jar was solid. “Phew! They must have gorillas in the honey factory to put these lids on.” The little girl laughed.
Ronny straightened up from putting the tray down. “Shall I have a go, Marnie?” He rubbed his palms down the sides of his jeans and took hold of the jar, his sturdier fingers taking over from Marnie’s slender hands. He frowned, clutching the jar close to his chest. After a few seconds he turned the lid and removed it, screwing it lightly back in place and handing it to the girl. She thanked him and was turning on her heel to race back, when she caught the look in her head teacher’s eye and walked away sedately, holding the jar in front of her like a talisman.
“So you’re the muscles round here,” Estelle said brightly.
“This is Ronny,” Marnie said. “He’s a friend of Anne’s, and mine too. Thanks, Ronny. Meet Estelle. She’s coming to work with us over the summer.”
Ronny raised a hand. “Hallo.”
“Did you go to Margaret’s school, Ronny?”
His face clouded for a second as if he was uncomfortable at being linked with the children.
Margaret stepped in. “He left just before I came here, but I heard a lot about him. You left a reputation behind you, Ronny.”
“For his strength?” Estelle asked.
“For all-round ability, actually.”
Estelle smiled up at him. “A hunk with brains. That’s quite a reputation to have.”
Ronny grinned, but he was tired of being put under the microscope and excused himself to return to Anne and her crew. Marnie gave Estelle an old-fashioned look as Ronny walked away and offered her a slice of cake before she could laugh.
Margaret said, “They love these visits. They’ve been excited for days in anticipation.”
“Ronny loves visiting here, too,” said Estelle with a twinkle. “But for a different reason, of course. Are they an item, he and Anne?”
“She likes him well enough,” said Marnie. “And he’s certainly keen on her, but I think they’re just friends.”
“Keen on you, too,” said Estelle. “I noticed the way he looked at you. He was thrilled that he could impress you by getting that jar open.”
“And you fed his ego,” Marnie observed.
“He’s a bright young man,” Margaret said. “Good all-rounder. I believe he’s going to university. Is that right, Marnie?”
“I think he’s taking a gap year, then going on to Leicester to do something in the sciences.”
“Leicester?” Estelle chimed in. “I’ve got a friend who’s starting a Master’s at Leicester this autumn. I’ll have to introduce them.”
A burst of laughter erupted from the children, and the women looked up to see Ronny shaking his head, his face wet from a soaking of spray from opening a can of Coke. He held it out at arm’s length, the foam oozing over the sides. Anne was quick to pass him a tea towel. Several of the children were rocking with laughter where they sat.
“Do you think someone might’ve shaken it deliberately?” Marnie asked.
“Wouldn’t surprise me,” said Margaret. “We’d be hard-pressed to find the culprit in that lot, even if we rounded up the usual suspects.”
“They don’t look very naughty to me,” Estelle said.
“No, they’re lovely.” Margaret spoke with affection. “I shall miss them after the summer, when they go on to their next school.”
The three sat in silence for a few moments watching the children collect together the picnic things under Anne’s command. Ronny went round with a black plastic rubbish bag for the debris, and a squad of children carried cups and plates on board Sally Ann.
“Yes,” Margaret said quietly. “I can see why the scene reminded you of children’s literature, Estelle. I know they’ll look back on this visit in years to come as a perfect, golden summer’s day. I’m sure of it. Thank you so much, Marnie, for making it possible.”
“A pleasure.”
From the corner of her eye Marnie saw Estelle turn her head to one side and raise a hand to her face, as if wiping away a tear. Just then, Anne’s voice rang out.
“Have we got time to do some drawing?”
Margaret looked at her watch. “Fine by me, if it’s all right with you, Marnie.”
Marnie called out, “Sure, Anne. Go ahead.”
The children sat excitedly in a circle, picking up their sketchpads. Anne could be heard saying, “Right. First you can draw Sally Ann – or Thyrsis, if you want – then I’m going to show you how to draw trees. OK?”
“OK!” they shouted enthusiastically and bent to their task.
Marnie poured more tea for her guests as the children settled down. Estelle broke the silence.
“There’s something … strange about the group.”
“Strange?” said Margaret. “In what way?”
“I’m not sure.” Estelle spoke slowly and softly. “I can’t quite put my finger on it.”
Marnie said, “I think I know what it is. Look at them, all those blonde heads. It struck me when I first visited the school last year. I remember thinking … this is Anglo-Saxon England.”
“And that’s odd?” said Margaret. “I mean, it is England. They are English children. Is that really strange?”
“It can seem so, when you come up from London. It did to me.”
“Oh, of course,” said Margaret. “I see what you mean. I’d never thought about it like that.”
“But didn’t you say you taught in Yorkshire?”
“Yes, but it was a village school in the North Riding, not downtown Bradford.”
“That’s what surprised me,” Estelle agreed. “No black kids, in fact no-one from any other race. And most have got fair hair, your Anglo-Saxon England, as you call it.”
“You’re quite right,” said Margaret. “ It’s just that it had never struck me as being odd.”
*
The class trekked up the field track after the visit, Anne and Ronny leading the way surrounded by a small cluster of girls chatting amicably, Marnie and Margaret Giles trailing the group by a few metres. The head carried the inevitable folder under her arm.
“This seems to be becoming a regular fixture on the school calendar, Marnie. I hope it isn’t an imposition.”
“It’s fine. You and the children are very welcome. You can pencil it in for next year if you want.”
“Certainly will, thank you.” Margaret cocked her head over towards Glebe Farm, which was gradually disappearing behind the trees down the slope behind them. “Your friend gave me something to think about, Marnie. She’s right, of course. It is too easy to lead a sheltered life in a village like this. We’re very privileged here, but maybe that isn’t the best thing for the children.”
“I feel like saying you shouldn’t worry about it, Margaret, but after w
hat I saw this week in Leicester, I’m not so sure. What can you do about it?”
“Get the children out more into the real world, perhaps, prepare them better for life.”
“More trips out of the classroom?” Marnie suggested.
“That’s the idea. Not easy, though. You wouldn’t believe how much assessment goes on in primary schools these days. The paperwork’s an enormous burden. Then there’s the worry about legal problems if a child injures itself while on a trip.”
“You’d be held responsible?”
“Got it in one, Marnie. It’s so much more complicated than it used to be, even in the time that I’ve been a teacher. I’m going to look into it, though. Perhaps I’ll send a letter to all the parents and sound them out. I could do it when I send copies of the leaflets about the summer scheme.”
At the top of the track, Marnie said goodbye to Margaret, and Anne parted company with Ronny and her acolytes. The two of them strolled back, Anne feeling pleased with the afternoon.
“You’re quiet, Marnie. Did you enjoy the visit?”
“Yes, of course. Nice kids, Margaret too. She’s worried that the children may be too cut off from some of the realities of life.”
Anne laughed. “I thought that was part of the attraction of living in Knightly St John. It’s so peaceful here. It’s what I like about it. Isn’t it why you came, Marnie, to find a refuge from the modern world?”
Marnie frowned. “Partly, I suppose. But you can’t cut yourself off from the world.”
“Is something worrying you, Marnie?”
The chimneys and roof of Glebe Farm were coming into view, and the afternoon sunlight was shining on the treetops beyond.
“I’ve got this strange feeling,” Marnie began. She checked herself, anxious not to say anything that might worry Anne. “I don’t know …”
“It was those riots, wasn’t it? And seeing the demonstrators on your way to the meeting? It’s upset you.”
“Probably.”
“Do you think they could come here?” Anne asked.
“No,” Marnie said firmly. “No. They won’t come here, but it’s bad enough that they’re out there somewhere. Just knowing they exist, spreads their poison everywhere.”
*
Anne crawled out backwards from under the desk after plugging in Estelle’s computer. She pressed switches and heard the machinery quietly whirring into life, saw tiny green lights glowing on the monitor, the printer, the zip drive. Outside on the landing she could hear Marnie explaining the wonders of the bathroom, while Ralph, in charge of the heavier loads, was climbing the cottage stairs with another box of books.
“The system heats the water as you turn on any hot tap,” Marnie was saying. “So you’ve got constant hot water any time you need it, twenty-four seven.”
“That’s brilliant!” Estelle enthused.
In fact, she had not stopped effervescing since walking into her temporary new home. Marnie and Anne had returned from escorting the school group up the track to find Estelle staggering under the weight of a box of computer software manuals. They had summoned Ralph on the mobile and joined in ferrying her possessions out of the Golf into cottage number three. Every bag or box carried a label showing its destination, and the transfer was soon completed.
The cottage smelt like a new beginning with a trace of perfume in the air overlaying the fresh paintwork and new carpeting. Marnie thought Estelle was on the brink of tears when she saw the flowers dotted around the house. In every room stood small vases containing roses or sweet William, cornflowers or pinks. Marnie was taken aback when Estelle suddenly turned and hugged her tightly, kissing her warmly on both cheeks.
“Country flowers from a country garden!” she exclaimed. “It’s perfect.”
“And you’re right,” said Marnie. “They all come from the garden at the back of the farmhouse. It’s so overgrown, they practically qualify as wild flowers.”
In the middle of the living room, Estelle sat down on the floor, cross-legged like a child, looking around her.
“You’ve even put pictures on the walls!”
She scrambled to her feet to inspect them. “Are they original water-colours? They’re charming.”
“One or two of mine, one or two by Anne.”
Estelle shook her head. “It really is like home. I shall never want to leave.”
Marnie smiled. “Good.”
“But don’t worry, Marnie, I’ll get out of your hair when the contract’s completed. I know I can be a bit overpowering, but this is all so gorgeous, I just feel like celebrating.”
Anne, who had been standing in the doorway, quietly slipped out while Estelle was admiring one of her paintings over the mantelpiece. Estelle turned to compliment her and assumed she had withdrawn out of modesty. But Anne quickly re-appeared balancing a tray holding a bottle of champagne and four glasses. Behind her, Ralph could be heard coming down the stairs. He took the bottle from the tray that Anne held out to him and began removing the gold foil over the cage holding the cork in place.
“I’ve put the books on the shelves, Estelle. I’ve not put them in any order. I’ll leave that to you.”
“I’m overwhelmed. It’s like coming home to a family. And real champagne, too!”
“It was on special offer in Waitrose,” Anne volunteered, grinning.
The cork popped, the wine flowed and four glasses were raised and chinked together.
“Welcome, Estelle,” said Marnie, and Ralph and Anne echoed the sentiment.
“To my new home, and my dearest new-old friends,” said Estelle, her eyes moist and pink.
Anne set out small bowls of olives, cashews and puri, and they sat sipping contentedly on furniture from Marnie’s London flat brought out of storage. Estelle could scarcely believe her good fortune, that her life was changing so much for the better after an unbearably difficult year.
Anne was in heaven, seeing the cottage completed and charming. Drinking champagne in the company of interior designers, her colleagues, she understood perfectly how elated Estelle was feeling. But she wondered if Estelle was going to remain on a perpetual high for the entire duration of her contract with them.
Ralph sat admiring the cottage, wondering if champagne had ever before been consumed there in its long history. He speculated on what miracle Marnie would work on the farmhouse, and how he would feel about it eventually becoming his home.
“If it stays fine tomorrow,” Marnie said to Estelle, “We’re thinking of going for a trip on Sally and having lunch on board. Would you like to join us?”
Estelle made a sad face. “I am sorry. I’ve made plans already. I’ll be out all day.”
“Another time, then,” Marnie said. “We can’t shift it to Sunday, unfortunately. Ralph’s off to a conference in Barcelona, and Anne’s going to see her family. There’ll be other occasions, I’m sure.”
“Oh, yes,” said Estelle. “They say we’re in for a long hot summer.”
Where have I heard that before? Marnie thought.
8
Famous last words, Marnie muttered to herself, looking through the porthole curtain on Saturday morning.
She was standing naked in the sleeping cabin on Thyrsis. It was around six-thirty, and in the dull early light of an overcast morning she could see pinpricks covering the whole surface of the canal where a faint drizzle was falling. The trees were dripping on the opposite bank, and the landscape had disappeared in an opaque mist. So much for the long hot summer … She shivered and climbed back under the duvet where Ralph was breathing rhythmically, only the top of his head visible, dark hair on the light blue pillow. She could feel his warmth as she snuggled down beside him. She closed her eyes and breathed in deeply.
But it was no good. After a restless minute or two, Marnie slid silently out of bed, reached for her dressing gown and padded through to the galley. While the kettle was heating on the hob, she had a quick shower and pulled on a sweatshirt and jeans. Ralph was still sleeping, so she close
d the galley door, poured a mug of coffee and turned on the radio. Two farmers were talking about the iniquities of the Common Agricultural Policy, and she quickly turned the dial, hoping to find some music on Radio Three or Classic FM. She paused in mid-turn, as the radio seemed to collide with her own thoughts. It was a local station, a young bright female voice saying the words she had been thinking minutes before.
… and it gave them the idea for the song, I believe. It was long before my time. I remember reading that John Lennon saw a poster in America: ‘Happiness is a warm gun … and it’s going to be a long hot summer’. I’m not sure if it was advertising guns or promoting race riots, but it led to him writing this song, one of their many classics …
Behind her voice the music had begun playing, the sound gradually rising as she completed the intro.
So here are The Beatles with John Lennon leading on ‘Happiness is a Warm Gun’ from their white album of 1969.
Marnie listened to the ironic words, the bitter humour and beguilingly attractive melody. She raised the mug to her lips, and steam rose past her eyes. She saw in flashback the smoke drifting across the street in Leicester, remembered old newsreel footage from Alabama and Mississippi, fiery crosses set ablaze by the Ku Klux Klan all over the South, innocent people lynched, shot, injured and maimed, victims of hatred and prejudice. Sitting fully clothed in the warm galley, for the second time that morning Marnie shivered.
*
How wrong can you be? Marnie was musing later that morning, as she brought Sally Ann out of the docking area across the canal, turned deftly and brought her into mid-channel, pointing northwards for their trip up to Hanford for lunch. Anne walked steadily back along the gunwale, laid the barge pole on the roof and stepped down onto the stern deck.
The sun was climbing high now, burning off the early cloud cover, leaving a haze on the fields and vapour rising from the wet steelwork of the boats. Everything was glistening and sparkling in strong shimmering light. The very air seemed to be rippling before their eyes. The smell of water and new foliage pervaded everywhere, and Marnie thought it blissful to be alive. She hugged Ralph on impulse, her head pressing against his cheek. He kissed her hair, and Anne smiled with them.