by Leo McNeir
“Okay.”
*
The other garden was fitted out with children’s play equipment, and they sat on a bench provided for parents. The bright colours of the swings and slides seemed to clash with the bleak atmosphere brought in by the two young people.
“Will this do?” said Anne.
Ronny looked down at the ground. “Why are you leaving me out all the time? You never phone, never invite me to the summer scheme, never tell me what’s going on. I thought I was supposed to be one of the team, part of the group, your … friend.”
“You are,” Anne said quietly. “All of those things. It’s just that everything’s been happening so quickly.”
“Then why didn’t you keep me in the picture?”
“It was difficult. We got caught up in the riots, attacked by the mob. I got arrested by the police, got injured, taken to hospital, escaped, hauled back into town to be identified on suspicion of being a Nazi.”
Anne glanced sideways at Ronny. His mouth had dropped open. He was staring at her, wide-eyed.
“You what?”
“Yeah. And you don’t get much time to make phone calls while all that’s happening.”
“When was this?”
“Yesterday and today.”
“Arrested?”
Anne nodded. “In town yesterday morning.”
“And you escaped from gaol?”
“From custody. I didn’t get as far as the cells.”
“Bloody hell,” he murmured. “I had no idea. You got injured?”
“Suspected broken ankle.” She lifted her foot from the ground and waggled it slowly. “It’s not so bad now, though, just a sprain.”
Ronny knelt down and supported her heel in his hand. In a quick movement he removed the shoe and cradled her foot.
“Is it painful?”
“Throbs a bit now and then, but it’s much better than it was.”
He caressed it gently. Anne found the warmth of his hands comforting. She was relieved he had become his old self again and had pangs of remorse about his complaint. She closed her eyes and put her head back while the ache was eased from her ankle.
“I’m sorry about what I said, Anne. I didn’t know you’d been through all that.”
Without opening her eyes Anne said, “Of course, you didn’t. How could you? And that was only part of it. We almost got caught by a gang. Well, I did get caught on account of not being able to run.”
“Christ! So what did they do to you?”
”Nothing, as it happens. I distracted them so they ended up vandalising a car, one of their own people’s, but they didn’t know that. Then the police arrived and carted me off.”
“You said we.” Ronny was massaging her ankle and the underneath of her foot. “Who else was involved?”
“One of the West Indian boys. Remember Buzz? They caught him and … it was horrible. I thought they’d killed him.”
Anne’s voice was growing softer, the more her foot was soothed. A feeling of lethargy was rolling over her, and she could feel how depleted her energy reserves had become. The strains and tensions of the past weeks were being concentrated in her foot and eased away with each stroke of Ronny’s warm hands.
“It must’ve been awful.”
“Mm.”
Anne was aware of voices in the distance, birds singing somewhere nearby, a steady thumping that she recognised as the sound of a boat engine on the canal not far behind them. She felt a slight movement as Ronny shifted his position.
“Don’t stop,” she murmured. “That’s nice.”
But Ronny was on the bench beside her again, nearer this time. She felt his arm around her shoulders and his breath on her cheek as he inclined his face towards hers.
“Oh Anne,” he whispered in a husky voice. “I wish I could be closer to you.”
With her eyes still closed, she smiled. “If you got any closer, you’d be behind me.”
“I’m serious.” His voice was urgent. “Don’t you understand how I feel about you, Anne?”
Eyes suddenly open, she sat up quickly, their cheeks colliding as Ronny moved forward. Anne put a hand to her face. She looked startled. “Sorry, I …”
Ronny stayed where he was, his arm still around her. “No, I’m the one who’s sorry, Anne. I just want to –”
Anne put her hand on his chest and pushed gently. “Ronny, please. We ought to be getting back to the others.”
“I thought you liked what I was doing.”
“What do you mean?”
“To your ankle, making it better.”
“I did. It was very … nice, comforting. But we –”
He pulled away. “I know, I know, I know!”
“Don’t be like that, Ronny. We’re sitting in a pub garden. Anyone can come here. You can’t do that sort of thing in a place like this. It’s too open.”
“But it wouldn’t make any difference where we were, would it? You never let me get close to you. You just treat me like a casual friend. I want to be more than that, but you don’t want to. Ever since you met that Donovan character with his fancy boat, ever since he came on the scene, I’ve been left out.”
“No. That’s not true.”
“Then promise me there’s nothing between you and Donovan.”
“You can’t expect me to make promises like that.”
“No. I can’t expect anything. And there’s Luther, too. You hardly take your eyes off him, Mr Superman. I thought you and I were …”
“We’re friends, Ronny, good friends.”
“Friends!” He spat the word out. “I don’t want to be friends. And don’t pretend you don’t know what I mean.”
“We are friends, Ronny, but that doesn’t give you rights over me. You don’t own me.”
Ronny took his arm away and sat forward, his head in his hands. Anne laid a hand on his back.
“One of my mates at school said he thought you looked … frigid.”
Anne breathed in sharply. They had never spoken like this before. She had known Ronny for more than a year and, although they had never been on intimate terms, never even kissed apart from socially, she realised that he had invested more in their relationship than she had. There had always been something that kept them at a distance: his studying for exams, her job with Marnie. But now she knew there never could be a close relationship because her feelings were not strong enough. Sitting there together, all too aware of her youth and inexperience, Anne struggled to find the words that would make clear how she felt without being hurtful.
“It’s a strange way of being a friend,” she said evenly, “having that sort of conversation about me with your mates at school. But then I suppose that’s what boys talk about. Girls are much the same.”
“I wasn’t having that sort of conversation about you. It was just something someone said, making a joke.”
“Fine.”
“I don’t think you’re frigid, Anne.” He sat up and turned to look at her. “You didn’t feel frigid when I was rubbing your foot.”
“That’s not quite the same thing.”
“No. And you’d know all about that. I know it’s nothing personal. You’d just prefer sleeping with someone else.”
Anne could not stop herself blushing. She felt the crimson surge over her face and she could say nothing. Ronny stared into her eyes and leapt to his feet so suddenly that Anne thought he was going to strike her. She remained where she was without flinching. He turned on his heels and stormed off.
*
Luther checked his watch. He would soon be there. Round the next bend in the canal and he would be in sight of Solomon’s bridge, with its niches and carved stonework.
Now that he was almost at his destination, he increased his stride, looking forward to seeing everybody. He had a spring in his step.
The bridge came into view, and he was mildly surprised to find that he had to cross it to regain the towpath on the opposite bank. His memory had deceived him, but he had only been to this pub once bef
ore and he had come with Estelle by car. Sure enough, there was the pub on the other side of the canal. He stopped to think. He would have to retrace his steps to find a way round by following the road from the bridge … It was then that he remembered the pedestrian tunnel under the canal.
Luther found the steps leading down from where he was standing and turned to enter the tunnel. As he approached it, he recalled Anne once saying it was her favourite tunnel of all because it looked just like a child’s drawing.
There was a smile on his face as he stooped to enter.
*
As Anne sat for some minutes regaining her composure, a Clio pulled into the car park. Serena got out looking tired and drawn and walked quickly into the pub garden. Anne made a great effort to stir herself and rejoin the group, noticing as she went that Ronny’s bike had gone. She had not heard him ride off.
Marnie signalled a space kept free beside her, and Anne took her seat. Of Serena there was no sign.
“Serena’s arrived. I just saw her.”
Marnie nodded. “She knows we’re here, went inside to freshen up.” She lowered her voice. “Is everything all right?”
“Ronny’s upset because he thought we’d left him out.”
“Shall I have a word with him? It’s my fault, after all. I’m sure I could put him straight.”
“I think he’s gone.”
“I’ll pop round and see him when we get back. I’m sorry if I’ve caused a problem between you. I’ll do my best to put it right.”
“I’m sure he’d like that. He’ll have calmed down by then.”
Marnie squeezed her hand. “I’m really sorry.”
Anne attempted a smile. “He’ll get over it.” As an afterthought, she added, “Perhaps I should go and see if there’s time to cancel his baguette.”
“Or we could keep it for Luther. He should be here soon.”
Anne stood up. “I want to go inside anyway. Back in a minute.”
Only Marnie watched her as she walked towards the pub. When Anne knew she was out of sight of the garden, she continued past the entrance and reached the narrow side street that sloped down towards the little tunnel. A few minutes walking quietly along the canal towpath would restore her to normality. There was no need to lower her head as she entered the tunnel, but she would have to take care in the middle section where the height was reduced and even she could hit her head. She did not want any unpleasant surprises.
*
Ronny cycled out of the village at a tearaway pace, powered by rage and guilt. He felt like a fool, bitterly regretting what he had said and done. Wiping his eyes with the back of one hand, he almost collided with a group of mothers and children crossing the road near the green. The bike swayed, and he nearly lost control, fighting to keep it upright as he braked heavily and swerved, while the mothers pulled their infants towards them, calling out after him.
He felt shame and humiliation, knowing that things said and done could not be unsaid or undone. He liked Anne, really liked Anne. And now he had been stupid and thoughtless, blurting out ridiculous accusations. How could he have done that! He had even repeated what that stupid Gus had said about her at school.
Things would never be the same again. He felt sick, a pain starting to throb over his left eye. It was a mess and a nightmare. Fighting off his misery, he forced himself to focus as he approached the main road. He took the junction steadily, leaving nothing to chance, and rode out fast on the two-mile stretch to home.
The traffic was light and only one lorry overtook him, buffeting him with its bow-wave and causing the bike to tremble in its wake. He was within sight of his turning when he saw the police cars racing in convoy in the opposite direction. There were two white patrol cars with lights flashing, and sandwiched between them was a dark grey Cavalier. He could still hear the sirens wailing in the distance after he had pulled off the main road and headed for Knightly St John.
*
Anne did not see the shape at first. Watching her footing on the floor in the narrow tunnel, the change of light was confusing, a mixture of shadows around her and a glare from the opening at the far end, twenty metres away. She gave her full attention to planting her feet with care, not daring to risk twisting her ankle on the concrete surface. It would be more than unfortunate if she had to be taken back to casualty, where the sight of her might rekindle memories among the staff. With eyes downcast, she stepped cautiously forward, one hand steadying herself against the wall.
In the centre the roof lining was lower, and she raised her hand to touch it, keeping her balance and checking the headroom. It was when she lifted her eyes briefly to check the distance ahead that she became aware of an unexpected object on the ground in the mouth of the tunnel. Her eyes were adjusting to the brightness of the outside light now just a short way in front of her, and it took a second or two for her to register what it was. Beyond any doubt it was a man.
Her mind went into overdrive. Part of her brain wanted to flee, to run back and fetch the group. The other part wanted desperately to run forward and offer help. She was just moving when a sound reached her ears. Sirens were wailing nearby. Still watching her footfalls, Anne advanced quickly and knelt to examine the man.
Oh no! She gasped and reached out, shaking him, seeing a trickle of blood from his left ear. From some way off she could hear noises, one of them she realised was her own sobbing.
“Luther!” she cried out. “Luther! Luther! Oh no, please God no!”
He was lying on his back, eyes closed, lips slightly apart showing the edges of perfect white teeth. Anne was on her knees reaching towards his broad strong shoulders trying to shake him back to consciousness. Absurdly the words uttered by Ronny came into her mind – Mr Superman – as she felt the inert muscles through the cotton. Luther’s head wobbled as she shook him, but there was no life to revive, no consciousness possible. Anne’s head drooped forward onto his chest, and she saw a stain growing on his shirt, where her tears were falling.
Sounds filled her brain, assailing her from all sides, a strange rushing noise of blood pounding in her head, a crunching like tyres on gravel, whining and wailing like mourners at a funeral, voices calling. She thought she was going to pass out and steadied herself against Luther’s arm. It was all too hideous that this magnificent man should lie here like a dog at the side of a road. It was all so unfair. Poor Luther … poor Estelle! A new wave of sadness flooded over her when she remembered Estelle. How would she cope, how could she possibly come to terms with the death of this man she loved above all others, who had given her back her love of life?
Anne was dizzy with shock and pity when she finally disentangled one voice from all the other sounds.
“Stand up and move away from the body.”
It was a magnified sound, a man’s voice imbued with authority, speaking clearly and slowly. Through her tears, Anne looked up and saw the blurred colours of police cars, blue flashing lights, and an ambulance in green and yellow chequered livery.
“Stand up and come out of the tunnel. Now.”
He means me, Anne thought. That man is talking to me. But despite her understanding of the situation, Anne was powerless to move. Her brain was not connecting with the rest of her body, her limbs were not responding. She pitched forward onto Luther’s lifeless torso, resting her head on her forearm, exhausted.
The voice again. “You will stand up –”
Abruptly the sound was cut off. Another voice, this one known to her, interrupted the amplified command. She could hear it without the electric megaphone.
“All right Larry, I’ll handle this. I know her.”
With her eyes still closed, Anne heard footsteps approaching. Sergeant Marriner came to a halt beside her and reached down to take her arm.
“Anne, it’s me,” he said gently. “Are you hurt? Are you all right to stand up? Let me help you.”
With ungainly effort, Anne rose to her feet and clung on to the detective. She was already beyond sobbing. Her grief w
as numb and silent, her face a river of tears.
“Anne?” Marnie’s voice, from the other end of the tunnel. A sound of quickening footsteps. “What’s happening?”
“Keep back, Mrs Walker. There’s been an accident. Don’t come any nearer.”
The instructions were ignored, and Marnie hurried to within a few metres of where Anne and the detective were standing.
“Oh my God! What’s happened here?”
“Marnie, please.” Marriner spoke quietly but emphatically, still holding Anne to his chest. “This is almost certainly a crime scene. Keep back.”
“Is Anne all right? Does she have to stay here?”
“She appears to have discovered the body.”
Marnie focused on the prostrate form. She groaned. Marriner spoke again.
“What are you actually doing here, at this moment?”
“We’re in the pub garden having lunch, a meeting of our planning group.”
“Go back there. I’ll bring Anne round.”
Marriner turned to issue instructions to the other officers while Marnie retraced her steps, her mind in turmoil.
*
Minutes later, Marnie sat on a bench in the garden holding Anne in her arms. Both had a traumatised look that Marriner had seen many times before. The others sat in a loose circle in varying degrees of shock. Marriner watched the group while he called to Bartlett on the mobile. Anne needed medical attention. She looked on the point of collapse. Marriner told a uniformed constable to fetch one of the paramedics from the ambulance before it left.
“You must have arrived very quickly,” Marnie muttered.
Sergeant Marriner had to strain to catch the words.
“No more than ten minutes at the outside. A three nines call came in for an ambulance. A woman … anonymous. It sounded suspicious. We were in the area, got diverted.”
“Had the woman seen what happened?”
“She just called in and hung up. Obviously it wasn’t you or one of your group.”
“Obviously not.”
“We’re going to need all the help we can get, Marnie.”