by Leo McNeir
Marnie had hardly put the phone down when it rang again. The second surprise call came from Donovan Smith.
“Did your photos turn out all right?”
“Yes. I handed them in this morning. They were fine. Have you seen the early edition of the paper, Marnie?”
“Yes, but I’m hoping they’ll use at least one of your photos in the later edition.”
“The damage is already done.”
“I know, but we just have to keep plodding on.”
“What does Serena think about it?”
“I haven’t heard from her yet. The phone’s been going non-stop.”
“Okay, I’ll get out of your way.”
“I didn’t mean it like that, Donovan. Will you be at the school this evening? We’ll all need to talk.”
“I’m not sure.”
“Can I hear an engine running in the background?”
“I’m on the boat, moving out of town.”
Her heart sank. “You’re not giving up, surely?”
“No, but I have to quit the mooring.”
“You’ve reached the time limit?”
“No. I was followed this morning.”
“Followed? Who by?”
“Two people in a car, couldn’t see them clearly.”
“Was it a BMW, black, shiny wheel arches?”
“No. Ford Escort, maroon, tatty.”
“Damn! So they know about your boat?”
“No. I managed to lose them. I went where they couldn’t follow in the car, then I doubled back. But I think it’d be a good idea if I slipped away.”
“The stealth narrowboat.”
“Exactly.”
“Be careful. You’re rather conspicuous. They could recognise you if they’re on the lookout.”
“I don’t think so. I’ve put the bike inside and changed into jeans and a light T-shirt. With the baseball cap and shades they won’t know me.”
“Good. Where will you go?”
“I’ll head back in your direction. Expect me when you see me, or even when you don’t.”
The third surprise call was as clear as if it came from the next room, which was all the more surprising.
“Beth, hi! How are things in Thailand?”
“Things were fine, but we left there over a week ago.”
“You’re home?”
“We’re in San Francisco, California. Paul’s seminar at Berkeley, remember? It starts next week.”
“Of course it does. So how are you?”
“Great. More to the point, how are you?”
“Fine.”
“Despite everything?”
Beth sounded surprised. Marnie was amazed. It was the global village turned into reality, the communications revolution.
“Even from the Pacific coast my big sister can keep tabs on me? Who said the media only dealt in trivia?”
“Right. We’ve been following what’s going on back home.”
“You know about what’s happening?”
“Sure. Do you realise your heatwave is news over here? It’s been hotter in London than in Los Angeles.”
Beth waited for a reaction. She knew Marnie would be impressed. But there was no response, at least nothing clear, only a few muffled sounds.
“Marnie? Are you still there? Are you coughing, Marnie? Can you hear me?”
Covering the mouthpiece with one hand, Marnie reached across the desk for a tissue to dab her eyes as she rocked in her chair.
*
There was no call that afternoon from Serena, but Marnie had plenty of other matters to handle and was astonished when Anne told her it was time to get ready to leave for Northampton. She was switching on the answering machine when the phone rang.
“Oh good, I’ve caught you.”
“Estelle. Hi! We’re about to set off. How’s it going?”
“I’ve just had the builder here. Not good news, I’m afraid. Structural problems in the cellar; could be bark-boring beetle or wood-boring weevil.”
“How serious is it?”
“Not sure yet. We need a more detailed survey.”
“You’ve got it in hand?”
“Yep. But, Marnie, I’ll need a day or two longer here to sort it all out.”
“Take as long as you need. It’s easier in situ. When do you want to come back?”
“I’ll have things sorted by the weekend. Shall I try and change my flight to Saturday?”
“No. You’ve got enough on your hands. We’ll fix it from here. I’ll get Anne to contact the airline.”
“She can ring me at the hotel with the flight number, leave a message if I’m out.”
“Better if we fax the details, Estelle, less complicated. And you’ll need something in writing at the check-in.”
“Yes, of course.”
“Everything else okay?”
“More than okay. I’ve been visiting some of the other villas owned by Brits. They are just gorgeous. This must be the most beautiful place in the world.”
“And your builder must be hunky too.”
“He is. How did you know that?”
“If you’re Italian has come on so well you know words like bark-boring beetle and wood-boring weevil. That’s impressive.”
“Talking of hunky blokes …” Estelle began.
“I haven’t seen much of Luther today. I’ve had my head down trying to catch up in the office.”
“Odd. I’ve rung a few times but he’s not answering.”
“Sorry, haven’t surfaced for air today, what with the phone and all the paperwork.”
“How’s the summer scheme going?”
“Very well, but it’s a struggle, loads more kids than anticipated. The usual propaganda war with the BFP. You can imagine.”
“Serena’s coping all right?”
“Pretty well. We’re all giving her a lot of support.”
“I bet.”
“Donovan Smith has turned up trumps. His photos have been great. The paper’s been using them.”
“Those are his photos?”
Marnie was puzzled. “You’ve seen them?”
“Didn’t I tell you? I arranged with Molly Appleton. She’s faxing me the articles from the paper each day.”
“Why didn’t you ask us to do that?”
“You’ve got more than enough to cope with. The photos this morning were surely not by anyone on our side?”
“No, that’s Brandon’s lot. But we hope we’ll have one or more of Donovan’s in this evening’s edition.”
“Good. Look, I’m holding you up. You’d better get going. If you see Luther, give him my love, tell him I hope he’s behaving himself.”
“We’ll take good care of him, don’t worry.”
“That’s not very reassuring!”
Marnie was still smiling when she called Anne in and set her to work dealing with the airline. While Ronny helped her put their bags in the car, she thought of Estelle, capably handling the firm’s problems in Italy, Molly Appleton sending daily faxes to Umbria from the shop, Knightly St John, the global village … whatever next!
*
They reached the school with only minutes to spare before the first coach was due back. Anne went straight away with Ronny to fetch the newspaper. Marnie crossed the playground to where Serena was talking to some of the other organisers. Serena did not look happy.
“What’s the matter?”
“Is it that obvious?”
“Your chin’s scraping the floor.”
“There’s always something to drag you down, even when things are going right.”
“Well, this is going right.”
“Yes, Marnie, it is. Jackie’s just told me we’ve hit the thousand mark for enrolments.”
“A thousand kids! That’s marvellous. Congratulations … but?”
Serena drew Marnie aside and flashed a glance across the playground before speaking in a low voice.
“There’s trouble brewing.”
“So wh
at’s new?”
“Big trouble.”
Marnie waited.
“They’re planning something … New Force. It could be like the so-called disturbances in Leicester.”
“When’s it going to happen?”
“Not sure, but soon. Did you know the Prime Minister’s coming to town?”
“No.”
“And the Labour and Lib Dem leaders, too. All in the next few days. They’ll arrive at short notice for security reasons.”
Marnie pursed her lips. “A riot would certainly grab the headlines. How did you find out about this? Brandon send you a printed invitation?”
“One of my neighbours, her son’s on the fringes of that far-right crap. She’s really worried about him, told me she’d heard him on the phone talking to a friend. New Force are trying to whip up support locally.”
“Do you reckon they’ll get any?”
“I doubt it, Marnie. Maybe one or two idiots. But the people here aren’t like that. I don’t think they’d respond to the likes of New Force. They’re too decent. I couldn’t bear it if they did.”
With each passing moment more and more parents were arriving to meet the children from the coaches. The playground and streets were awash with people of all colours and races, mingling together, chatting and smiling. Marnie saw Serena’s anxiety etched in her face. She touched her arm.
“Look around us, Serena. This is the kind of demonstration you want to see, peace and goodwill. I know it sounds trite and corny, but it’s true.”
Serena looked up. “Yes. They are good people here.”
“And you made it all possible, Serena. It was your vision.”
The scouts signalled that the first coach was returning. It was the superannuated bus in its old-fashioned livery, and at the sight of it, a cheer went up on all sides. Marnie and Serena set off to meet it.
“Where’s your friend with the camera?” Serena was craning her neck. “I’m surprised he’s not clicking away.”
“He’s had to pull out.”
“Oh?”
“Just for a while. He was followed this morning.”
Serena stopped abruptly. “What?”
“It’s all right, he eluded them. But he’s left town on his boat to keep out of sight.”
“On his boat? He’d be a sitting duck if they found him.”
“They won’t. He’s too sharp for them. Pity about his photos, though. They’re a great asset. We’ll miss them.”
“Not really,” said Serena. “Sure, they’re an asset, but the editor of the paper as good as told me this morning that our run of press coverage has come to an end. We’re not news any more.”
Marnie remembered Anne and Ronny going for the paper and she turned to scan the playground, spotting them at the far end. She waved to attract their attention, and they came bounding over, weaving their way through the multitude. Children with smiling faces were descending from the venerable bus, happy and tired. Some were being helped off by the adult stewards. One of the dreadlock brigade emerged with a child on each side holding his hands.
“Well, I never thought I would see that.” A lilting accent at Marnie’s side. A fine-looking Indian mother smiling at the sight of the young man in dreadlocks laughing with the children surrounding him.
“You’re not the only one,” said Marnie. “They’ve surprised us all.”
More coaches were pulling in one-by-one to their allotted spaces under Serena’s watchful gaze. The scouts were waving them in like flight deck crew on an aircraft carrier. The fleet was coming home to its customary welcome after another successful mission. Anne threaded her way to Marnie with Ronny in her wake. She was breathless.
“Cor, it’s like a football crowd. Where’ve they all come from?”
“You’ve checked the paper?” Marnie asked.
Anne’s smile gave her the answer. She held it open at page three. Pride of place went to the bus that at that moment was standing in front of them. Its Finest Hour ran the headline over the story of the bus with more than a million miles on the clock that had come out of retirement in the town’s hour of need. Gone were the photos of the earlier edition.
One of the dreadlocks swaggered up. “Hey, Marnie, did you see the paper this morning, all that sh–” He met the almond eyes of the Indian mother, saw the sari in blue and gold, the dark shining plait of hair. “Er, those pictures … made us look like Jack the Ripper or something.”
Anne turned the page to show him. His angry expression turned to a grin. “That’s more like it.” He pointed to himself in one of the photos.
“Yes, what was all that?” said the Indian lady indignantly. “It looked awful.”
It was dreadlocks who replied. “That little girl was crying and we went over to see what was up. She’d lost her mum, seeing her other kid onto a bus. That’s all it was. We found the mum. Little girl happy again. That’s when we were laughing.”
“And the child being carried?” the Indian mother asked.
Dreadlocks shrugged. “Fell asleep on the bus. Charlie didn’t want to wake her, gave her to her mum still asleep. No problem.”
“Well, really. Never mind. These new photos are much better. This is wonderful. My little Gurdeep thinks you’re all marvellous and very funny. Well done and thank you all.”
She turned and led her children away.
“Anything about Brandon in the late edition?” Marnie asked Anne.
“Anyone would think you’re paranoid,” Serena observed in an even tone.
“They’d be right. Is there anything, Anne?”
“Just his usual quote of the day.” She read aloud, “Garth Brandon asks if we really want our children to be in the care of drug-taking aliens.”
Dreadlocks hooted. He had now been joined by some of his friends, who stood round doing their customary shuffle. “That makes us sound like creatures from outer space.”
Charlie laughed. “We could offer to grow another head if it keeps him happy.”
Another spoke up. “I tried some weed once that made me feel I already had two heads.” The others groaned in reproach. He added quickly, “That was before I saw the error of my ways.”
He attempted an expression intended to convey probity. Serena hit him with the heavy eyelids.
The group split up to check the coaches as they booked in. No major incidents were reported, no lost children, no accidents, no breakdowns. Everyone knew that sooner or later there would be problems of some sort. The unforeseen they could handle. It was the nagging worry of dirty tricks that they feared.
Ronny wandered off at Marnie’s suggestion to see if he could be of help to Greg Roberts and the scouts. When he had gone, Marnie filled Anne in on Serena’s news. She jumped in the air at the thousand enrolments. But the account of the trouble being planned by New Force brought her back to earth.
“That’s the last thing we want. Right now we’ve got strength in numbers, but if we were hit by an army of thugs, I bet most of the mums would leave and not come back.”
Marnie agreed. “Like that Sylvia Wilkinson at the school. They’d all panic, and I for one couldn’t blame them. I know what a disturbance looks like.”
“What can we do about it?”
“Not a lot.”
“Tell Inspector Bartlett?”
“We don’t have any evidence, Anne.”
“At least it would alert him.”
“I doubt if he finds life too restful right now. No, I think we’ve just got to keep our heads down and get on with making the best job we can of the summer scheme.”
While they were speaking they watched the return of the coaches. As each one emptied, it would pull away, leaving space for others to take over. The scouts were impressive. Marnie raised a hand to shield her eyes from the sun.
“Over there, Anne. Can you see them?”
“What am I looking for? Oh, yes. It’s that reporter from the paper, Susie, and the photographer.”
“Probably one last fling before the
y drop our story.” Until a full-scale riot breaks out, Marnie thought to herself. Scanning the scene, a familiar shape stood out at the other side of the street. “Is that George’s Range Rover over there?”
Anne turned to look. “Where? He did say he might be able to … uh-oh.”
“What’s up?”
“Marnie.” Anne tugged her shirt. “Look. Do you see them?”
“Who?”
“Could this be Serena’s trouble?”
“I can’t see any … ah …”
It looked like a re-run of the arrival of the dreadlocks brigade, only this bunch was white. And menacing. There were five or six of them, in black and grey, jeans and slashed T-shirts, bare arms with thick muscles, tattoos, shaved heads. No smiley faces. They walked with heads bent slightly forward, making a line straight for the organisers’ reception desks. Marnie took off to intercept them. Anne accelerated to follow, anxiously looking round for Greg, Ronny, anybody.
The skinheads were bearing down on the desks and had just been seen by the women checking off the names and numbers of coaches. They froze. Parents and children parted like the Red Sea to let the men through. With ten metres to go they suddenly found their way blocked. Two people had taken up station directly in their flight path. Marnie and Anne were near enough to hear what was said.
“Good afternoon.” It was a loud voice honed with authority. “Can I help you?”
The skinheads faltered in mid-stride. Before them stood a man of middle age, thick-set and tweedy. He seemed to take up a lot of space. The men stopped.
“Can I help you, gentlemen?”
“Who’s running this?”
“I am. My name is George Stubbs. What can I do for you? And this is my colleague, the Reverend Angela Hemingway. We’re the organisers, or at least members of the team.”
This caused the gang to hesitate. At the organisers’ desks, by chance, the staff on duty that evening were also white.
“We thought this was run by niggers.”
“I think you must be mistaken.” George raised a hand in the direction of the scouts’ encampment, where the union flag fluttered in the light breeze. “Unless you’re assuming that I’m a … nigger … a West Indian, perhaps?” There was a twinkle in his eye.
The crowd that had parted at the arrival of the gang was now regrouping to watch this exchange. Marnie and Anne had halted among the onlookers. George and Angela were doing well and so far did not need back-up.