by Leo McNeir
“Thanks, Molly. I’ll tag onto the end of the line and follow them back to town.”
“Oh no, wait a minute. They’re not going to Northampton. One of them told Richard they were going to Brackley. That’s the opposite direction.”
“Brackley? Why Brackley?”
“Next stop on the grand tour, I suppose.”
After finishing the call, Marnie rang Ralph. They agreed there was little point in mounting guard at Garfield Primary school if the enemy were on their way to the other end of the county. Minutes later Anne rang in, exactly on time.
“It’s tantalising, Marnie. One of the teams out there really needs my skills with the rounders bat. Pity I can’t show myself.”
“Ralph and I think you should probably show yourself back here.”
“Really? Why’s that?”
“Brandon’s crowd have headed down to Brackley, apparently. You may have been right about us over-reacting. Probably best to pack up and come home.”
“That sounds like a nice idea. I’m always happy to be home.”
“Good.”
“On the other hand …”
“What?”
“If it is going to be all quiet on the western front, we could use it as a dummy run, gain experience for future nights.”
“Mm …”
“You don’t sound very keen, Marnie.”
“Well …”
“I don’t mind staying here for tonight if you don’t want to come up.”
“Oh no, I wouldn’t leave you there alone.”
“I’m not the least bit nervous. Honestly, this is a safe neighbourhood. Look, if I get at all worried, I’ll just get in the car and drive home. It’s right by the back door. And I’ve got my mobile fully charged.”
“I don’t know, Anne. I’m not wild about the idea.”
“Let’s just try it for one night. Nothing’s going to happen. Trust me, I’m a trainee interior designer.”
*
Brandon’s entourage suspected they were being observed by most of the residents of Knightly St John, and they were pleased. Their high-profile strategy was working. The procession was being watched from behind dozens of pairs of curtains as the black Jaguar led the column along the high street and out of the village. They were also being watched by dozens of photos of Garth Brandon, looking down from every available surface.
Arriving at the main road the cars began filtering out into the thin late evening traffic following the signs pointing south towards Brackley. One after another they turned left and accelerated away, with stickers in their windows proclaiming allegiance to Brandon and the party that would put Britain first.
Towards the end of the line a small group separated itself from the main convoy. They pulled into the right-hand lane at the junction, crossed to the central reservation and swept out onto the northbound carriageway. They were six cars in all, moving rapidly in the direction of Northampton, led by a highly-polished black BMW with shiny steel edging round its wheel arches.
*
“I’m not happy about this, Ralph. I know I shan’t sleep tonight. The thought of Anne up there in that building by herself …”
“Would you like me to speak to her, persuade her to come back?”
They were sitting in Ralph’s study on Thyrsis. Here all was orderly and controlled, a safe purposeful place designed for reflection and analysis. Outside was not a sound as darkness came down, not so much as a breath of wind to ripple the surface of the water.
Marnie shook her head. “I don’t know. Part of me just wants to get in the car and go up to fetch her. Another part thinks she ought to be allowed to use her own initiative and take her own decisions. But she is only seventeen.”
“Would you have done what she’s doing when you were seventeen?”
“Probably.”
“And what would your parents have thought?”
“That’s just it, I’m not a parent. But I am responsible for her.”
“If you feel like that, perhaps you ought to go and get her. What’s holding you back?” He grinned. “You’re usually more impetuous, but also more protective where Anne’s concerned.”
“That’s what I keep asking myself. I think it comes down to trust. I can’t treat her like a child. I wouldn’t want her to think I didn’t trust her judgment.”
“So what will you do?”
Marnie sighed. “I think for Anne’s sake I should let her do what she suggests … and keep the mobile under my pillow.”
*
Anne patrolled the school for the umpteenth time. She now knew the name of every teacher from the plate on each door. It astonished her that they were all women, and she wondered if it alienated the boys … school is girls’ stuff. She had heard that before. In the darkened building she walked slowly and quietly like a prowling cat, relying on the street lights for illumination, not using her torch. She found the place strangely comforting, its sights and smells bringing back memories of her own primary school. Nothing here caused her anxiety.
On one occasion she visited the loo and from habit went into the girls’ toilets. It was in the Infants’ block, and she laughed out loud when she pushed open the cubicle door and found the miniature lavatory bowl confronting her. It felt strange to be so close to the ground, and she chuckled even while she was using it.
A car passed in the street across the yard, and she watched it turn out of sight at the corner junction. Two more went by, then another … and another. She looked at her watch. Just after eleven. The pubs were turning out, perhaps. From the corner of her eye she thought she saw movement outside, but it was only the play of shadows thrown up by another set of headlights. She began moving calmly along the corridor towards a side entrance, the one with the heading Juniors – Girls carved in stone above the door.
Anne yawned. Time for bed. She had to be up and out of the premises before six-thirty when the caretaker would arrive to do his own rounds. She mused that technically she was an unauthorised intruder and would have some explaining to do if anyone spotted her and called the police. No probs. Serena and the others would – what was that?
Something rattled. Was someone trying the door not five metres from where she was standing? Soundlessly she stepped into a classroom doorway and waited. A year went by. A decade. She remembered to start breathing again. Time to get her bearings. This was the north-east corner. Here the door was closest to the street, which was why she had parked her car there. Her car! The beloved Mini!
She strained every nerve to detect any sound, but everything seemed to be – no! There it was again. This time she was almost within arm’s length of the door. In a Hitchcock film she would see the knob turning and her eyes would bulge like footballs. She could see no knob on the inside, but she certainly did the eyeballs thing.
She crept into the nearest classroom to look out of the window. The panes were too high from the ground, and the bottom row of glazing was frosted and wired for security. Waiting for something to happen was not an option, she told herself. It was not why she was there. Two deep breaths. Shoulders back. Chest out … such as it was. She began counting to ten, but by the time she reached seven she was on the move.
In seconds she reached the back door. It was wider than normal size with a heavy brass security lock at shoulder height. She put her ear to the join just below the lock. Nothing. Time for tough questions. Had she imagined the sounds? Could it have been the wind rattling the door? A security guard checking? The police?
What would Marnie do? There was little doubt. Deep breaths again. Anne pressed nine-nine-nine on the mobile and fitted it back onto her belt, ready to call at the touch of the send button. She stood the Maglite on its face on the floor and pressed against the lock, turning the knob without a sound. The door opened easily on silent hinges. First just a crack, wide enough for one eye. Nothing. She picked up the heavy steel torch, a reassuring weight in her hand, and pulled the door wider. All was quiet. She risked a head out into the playground to che
ck that her car was in one piece.
The sudden beam of light from a powerful torch outside caught her full in the face, and her heart almost stopped beating.
*
The ringing of the mobile did not wake Marnie. It was well after eleven but she was not asleep. She grabbed the phone from beside her and pressed the green button.
“What’s up, Anne?”
“Oh, oh dear, sorry. I must have …”
It seemed to be a wrong number call, but the voice was familiar.
Marnie cupped her hand round the phone and whispered. “Who is this, please?” She rolled out of bed and stepped along towards the saloon to avoid waking Ralph.
“Well, it’s Dorothy Vane-Henderson, but is that you, Marnie? I didn’t mean to disturb you.”
There was a very curious logic at work here. It was eleven forty-five, and she had made the call.
“What can I do for you, Dorothy?”
“I just wanted to leave a message on your answering machine in the office. I didn’t think I’d get through direct.”
“That’s all right.” She felt like adding, No problem, I’m just lying awake worrying that my best friend might be under attack from murderous fire-bombers.
“It’s about your request for help from the voluntary organisations. I’ve been ringing round a few friends, and Cathy Izzard came up with a wonderful idea. I’ve got to go out early tomorrow morning, so I thought I’d let you know so that you could think about it before we speak.”
“Thank you.”
“What she has in mind is that we organise a summer fete. We could do it in the Garfield school playground and get loads of people to run stalls. You know, bric-a-brac, tombola, home-made preserves, toys –”
“I get the picture, Dorothy. It sounds … an interesting plan.” Marnie thought, Here we are faced with an army of Nazi trolls who defeat riot police in straight combat and our counter-attack is a garden party.
“You’re probably thinking it’s a bit tame, but it would bring in all your – what did you call them? – establishment bodies. It would show that the backbone of the country, I think you said, was on your side. And no-one attacks a lady in a cardigan running a cake stall. Think it over. I’ll ring you tomorrow afternoon. Bye.”
Marnie crept back to the bedroom and slipped in beside Ralph.
“Who was that?” His voice was drowsy.
“Field-Marshall Montgomery and the Eighth Army.”
*
Anne winced. Leaning back against the door to close it, the noise as it slammed shut echoed down the corridors and must have been heard in Helsinki. Donovan Smith stood facing her in the semi-darkness. He pointed at her belt.
“Your phone’s glowing. It seems to be active.”
Anne reached for it carefully. If she touched the wrong button her three nines would be picked up at the emergency service. The last thing she wanted was to summon the police by accident. She cancelled the call and looked up warily. Perhaps that was not a good idea.
“Why are you here, Donovan? Are you following me?”
“How could I do that?”
“In your BMW, for instance?”
He frowned. “My … BMW?”
“You do have a BMW, don’t you? Black and silver?”
Donovan looked guarded, his eyes rapidly checking out the shadowy corridor over Anne’s shoulder.
“You seem to know a lot about me all of a sudden.”
“So you don’t deny it?”
“Deny what, that I followed you or that I have a BMW? The answers are no, I didn’t follow you and yes, I do have a BMW. But how could you possibly know that? It’s in pieces in our garage at home. It fell over last year and one of the rocker covers got cracked. I’m trying to get a spare but 1954 motorcycle parts aren’t easy to get hold of, even for a BMW.”
Anne’s turn to be bewildered. “Motorcycle? I meant your car, the one with the chrome wheel arches.”
“Chrome what?” Donovan’s face went blank. “I don’t know what you’re talking about. I don’t have a car.”
An exasperated sigh from Anne. “Can we start again? I’m missing something here.”
“Anne, do we have to stand in this corridor all night, in the dark?”
It was a reasonable enough question, but it posed a problem. Should she lead him to her ‘base camp’ or keep him somewhere she could make a getaway if the need arose? But there was nowhere secure and that was not a comforting thought. She led him to the common room, closed the door and turned on the light. They sat facing each other across the room.
Donovan surveyed the scene. The temporary bed, the bag of supplies, books and magazines, a spare torch.
“What are you doing here?” he asked.
“That’s my question. You answer first.”
“I’m checking out the building. This is where the summer scheme’s being held, right?”
“So?”
“When I saw that bit in the paper about taking pre-emptive action, it got me thinking. You’ve heard of Ground Force on the television? I thought maybe this place was next on the list for a makeover by New Force.”
“And that’s why you’re here, really?”
Donovan nodded.
“Why didn’t you join in to help us, if you’re so keen on lending a hand?”
“I got the feeling you might spend hours in public meetings like that one in the school. I thought I could best help by taking direct action, doing something practical. And I had to start by getting from Knightly to here. My only transport is a boat and a mountain bike. I knew it’d take ages with all those locks on the Northampton Arm, so I set off at once. Anyway, I know it’s late but I’ve just arrived and here I am. That’s it. Now it’s your turn.”
“That’s what you’ve been doing since that evening, travelling up here? We were wrong about you having a U-boat. It’s a stealth narrowboat.”
Donovan flashed a smile. There was something different about him, Anne realised. Perhaps he had become more determined. But before she could trust him, she had other doubts on her mind.
“No other mystery visits to tell me about? No trips to London, for example?”
Donovan’s expression clouded, and she knew she had hit the target.
“Well?”
“My uncle Reinhardt died yesterday morning,” Donovan said quietly.
Anne’s mouth opened. “Your uncle … he died?”
“Yeah.” Barely audible.
Anne did not realise she had moved until she found herself sitting beside Donovan, putting her arms round him.
“I’m so sorry.” She could not trust her voice above a whisper. “Would you like a cup of tea?”
A melancholy smile. “Thanks.”
*
While the kettle boiled, Anne took Donovan on a tour of inspection. They kept well back from any windows and moved silently like shadows on a wall in the patchy darkness. Donovan closely inspected every lock and bolt, noted the location of light switches, checked the viewing angles to the outside.
Anne was surprised when he ducked into a classroom near one of the doors to the playground and returned holding two children’s chairs. From the adjacent cleaner’s cupboard he produced a metal bucket. He balanced one chair upon the other against the door and carefully set the bucket on top. Anne understood at once and scolded herself inwardly for not having thought of such an alarm system herself.
With no need for words, they went from door to door rigging up similar structures. At the last exit, Donovan turned and looked down the corridor behind them. From the high Victorian windows pale light from the distant street lamps was striping the walls.
He walked towards a classroom and stopped in the doorway looking in. Anne realised what he was planning the moment he dived into the room and came back holding the teacher’s chair. He closed the door and fixed the back of the chair under the door knob. Anne did the same in the next class, and they leapfrogged each other from room to room, turning each door into an obstacle. The sc
hool had become a fortress.
On impulse, Anne suddenly said, “Donovan, if for any reason we get separated and you need to get into my car –”
“Why should I need to do that?”
“I don’t know. Maybe I’m feeling a bit jumpy. It’s the red Mini parked outside the door there.”
“I’m not going to need to. I wouldn’t abandon you if things got rough or –”
“Just listen. All I’m saying is – in case you ever need to know – I have a spare set of keys in a metal box under the right front wheel arch.”
“Good idea. But I’m not going to –”
“I got the idea from Marnie. She keeps a set of keys in the same place on the Discovery. Just remember.”
“Okay.”
*
In the sleeping cabin on Thyrsis Marnie surprised herself by falling asleep. Ralph stirred and was beginning to turn when the overhead cabin light made him blink. He yawned and hitched himself up onto one elbow, leaning across to look at Marnie. She was lying face down, her head turned away from him, breathing calmly. Beside the pillow she was clasping the mobile, inches from her mouth.
He reached over and gently eased the phone from her grip, stretching up to place it on the shelf above the bed. She did not stir. For some seconds he looked down at her, willing her to have a good night’s rest and peaceful dreams. He kissed the back of her head, smelling the clean brown hair, before reaching to turn out the light.
His last thought was for Anne, hoping she too would pass a quiet night.
*
Clutching mugs of tea, Anne and Donovan resumed their seats in the common room. Donovan sipped in silence, and Anne wondered if he was mentally reviewing their defence arrangements or grieving for his uncle. Trying not to make it look obvious, she observed him through the steam rising from her mug. He had always been quiet in the few times she had been with him, and now it seemed to her that perhaps he was not as sinister as she had imagined. She had found him disconcerting in the way some people feel intimidated by the staring of a cat.