Gifthorse: The next instalment of the riveting Marnie Walker series

by Leo McNeir

  “We’re boat people, too.”

  “There’s a dock beyond the trees.” Ben pointed towards the window. “Boat called Sally Ann.”

  “That’s ours,” said Marnie.

  Willow walked into the hall and opened the front door. The snow had eased off to a light mizzle. She looked out at the office barn, the farmhouse and the other cottages.

  “Where are we in fact? I don’t know this place. I remember ruined buildings a few years back between Cosgrove and Yore.”

  “That’s here.”

  “This is your house?”

  “I renovated the cottages and I let them to tenants. This one’s vacant for a while till the new people arrive.”

  Willow closed the door and turned back, looking appraisingly at Marnie. Although they were similar in age, Marnie was taller, with dark shoulder-length wavy hair and clean, intelligent features. Her jeans were of the close-fitting designer variety, and her boots were more Russell and Bromley than boatyard. The Barbour jacket was open to reveal a black polo-neck sweater.“All this property is yours then, Marnie?”

  “The building society might not quite agree, but on the whole, yes.”

  “And is there another party who might be involved?” Willow smiled. “My turn to pry.”

  “Strictly speaking no, not in terms of ownership here, but there is another party involved in my life. He’s suffering from a migraine. You’ll no doubt meet Ralph later. His is the other boat on our moorings, Thyrsis.”

  “You’re practically a fleet! Any other boats on the list? Sorry. I shouldn’t be so nosy.”

  Marnie shook her head. “That’s the lot.” A sudden afterthought. She looked at her watch. “But that reminds me, there is something I have to do.”

  “We’re holding you up,” said Willow. “We’ll get back to our boat and let you get on, unless there’s anything we can do for you?”

  “I don’t suppose …” Marnie began. “Have you seen any other boats on your way here?”

  “Quite a few. You mean travelling?”

  “Yes.”

  “Not many of those. What name?”

  “Ah, good point. The card only has the man’s name and his mobile number.”

  “Who is he?”

  “His name is Dekker, Maurice Dekker. I don’t recall seeing a name on the boat. It was painted all over in a kind of reddish brown. Looked like undercoat or primer.”

  Willow grew thoughtful and looked at Ben. He nodded.

  “I think we have seen a boat like that,” Willow said. “A few days back. Sixty-footer, was it?”

  “Could be thereabouts.”

  “Northwich Trader?” said Ben. “Replica?”

  Marnie looked doubtful. “I don’t think I know what that is.”

  “Dekker …” Willow sat at the kitchen table, her expression vacant.

  “Have you met him on the canal, perhaps?” Marnie said. She noticed how drawn Willow looked. “Don’t worry about it. Why don’t you rest a little longer before going back to your boat? We’ll make sure the stove stays alight.”

  “Why are you looking for this man?” Willow asked.

  “Some letters have arrived for him at the village post office. I promised to let him know when they came.”

  Willow seemed to have drifted away in her thoughts.

  “Do you in fact know him?” Marnie said.

  “I’ll think about it.”

  Chapter 9

  Bareback Rider

  During the night Marnie stirred. From her sleeping bag in Ralph’s study she heard sounds of movement, the bathroom door clicking shut, the loo flushing, water running in the washbasin. She groped for the torch and checked her watch. Almost one o’clock. Easing herself out, she rolled off the airbed and stood up. Through the porthole she saw snow swirling in the darkness while she pulled on her dressing gown. She hurried along to the sleeping cabin and arrived just as Ralph was slipping under the duvet.

  “How are you, darling?” she whispered.

  “It’s passed. I’m just a little shaky.” Ralph’s voice was barely audible.

  “Can I get you anything?”

  “I’m fine. I just need to sleep.”

  “Shall I stay with you?”

  “Oh, yes. Please.”

  Hardly any time passed before Marnie heard him breathing rhythmically. She edged closer so that their bodies were touching. When she eventually faded back to sleep, her dreams were filled with images of the sick and injured. Anne was dressed in a khaki uniform from the Great War with a red cross armband, standing in the yard with a clipboard, supervising stretcher-bearers. Ralph was on one of the stretchers, his head bound, a blood stain seeping through the bandage. A woman was being helped into one of the cottages. She looked like Willow. A boy led a horse to its stable. He looked like Ben.

  She was haunted by the anxiety that somewhere nearby, lurking round the corner, a stranger in a long dark coat and black fedora was watching her every move.

  *

  That morning Ralph once again did not take his usual power-walk along the towpath before breakfast, opting for something more gentle. In a lull between snowfalls, he stepped down onto the ground and walked slowly towards the bridge where he crossed the canal. He had gone barely thirty yards when he encountered Willow and Ben alighting from Glastonbury. The boy offered his mother a steadying hand where the gangplank met the snow-covered bank.

  They turned to look at Ralph as he approached. Willow spoke without preamble.

  “I’m guessing you might be Ralph.”

  “You guess correctly.” He knew he looked washed-out after the migraine. The woman now facing him looked little better herself. He indicated Glastonbury. “And I’m guessing you might be Willow and Ben.”

  All three shook hands.

  “Do you have everything you need?” he asked.

  “Never been so well cared for. Now, we just need a bit of fresh air to clear our heads.”

  “Don’t let me detain you, but I know Marnie would like to offer you breakfast on Sally Ann, if you’d care to join us.”

  Ralph was back on the boat ten minutes later, declaring himself a new man, ready to face the world again. He almost sounded convincing. Willow was sitting in the saloon accepting a cup of tea and a slice of toast from Anne.Marnie looked up from pouring hot water into the coffee filter. “You’ve got some colour in your cheeks, Ralph.”

  He smiled and his reply broke Marnie’s dream. “Sally has become a nursing home for the walking wounded.”

  “Will you be able to get back to work today?” Willow asked.

  Ralph noticed that she too looked less pale. “Oh, yes. No problem.”

  “What is it you do?”

  Anne answered first. “Ralph’s a professor at Oxford. Economics. All Saints’ College.”

  “Really?” Willow looked impressed and surprised. “You’re unusual boat people, all right. Do you commute to college, then?”

  “Actually, I just do research and a small amount of tutoring, postgraduate students, so I mostly work from here.”

  “Here?”

  “I have a study on Thyrsis – my boat over there – and it meets most of my needs.”

  “Talking of unusual boat people,” Marnie began, “do you remember I mentioned a man called Dekker yesterday?”

  “Dekker?” Willow looked as if she was hearing the name for the first time.

  “You said you’d think about it.” Marnie checked herself. “Now’s probably not the time. It’s not important. Getting you back to normal is what matters.”

  Willow gave a faint smile. “Normal,” she said, as if she found the word strange.

  “What do you do?” Ralph asked. “And where’s Ben, by the way?”

  “He’s gone to see if Poppy’s all right,” Anne said. “Have some orange juice.”

  Ralph took his seat at the table. “Sorry, Willow, I didn’t let you reply to my question.”

  “We travel around. The boat’s our home, has been since Ben was
little. We have enough to live on and if I’m bored I get a casual job for a while.”

  “Continuous cruising,” Marnie said.

  “It suits us. You seem to have the best of both worlds, Marnie. A boat and a place of your own on the bank. A beautiful place.”

  Marnie made to reply but Willow interrupted. “Don’t say you’ve been lucky. Something tells me you work very hard to keep all this together. Unless you were born rich?”

  Marnie laughed. “Sadly not. No, we all work hard, all three of us, but we’ve also had opportunities.”

  “Everyone has opportunities, Marnie. Making the most of them is the hard part. That’s what life is, choices.”

  She smiled a far-off smile, tinged with melancholy, seeming to float back in time. Anne broke the silence, glancing out of the window.

  “Here’s Ben coming. He looks worried.”

  The boy saw her through the window and asked permission to come aboard. Once inside, he took off his boots and walked along to the saloon.

  “Everything all right?” Willow asked.

  “Did I put out the right stuff?” Anne’s tone was anxious.

  Ben nodded. “Poppy’s died and gone to heaven.”

  Anne gasped.

  “I meant she’s in horsy heaven.” He turned to his mother and grinned. “Anne’s made a manger for her out of a wheelbarrow, and she’s got a lovely clean bucket for water, wedged between sacks of sand so it won’t fall over.”

  “Then why did you look so worried?” Willow said.

  “She needs to get out of the stable and have some exercise. It’s not good for her to stay in like that.” He looked at the others. “She’s used to working, doesn’t like being cooped up in a stable all the time.”

  “What can we do for her?” Marnie asked. “When I was a girl we used to ride at a pony club and we’d take them for a hack. Not much chance of doing that with Poppy.”

  “I’ve got to collect the post from the shop,” Anne said. “Would she walk up the field track?”

  “Could do,” said Ben. “Better than the towpath. That’s all slushy. Wouldn’t want her sliding into the cut. When are you going?”

  They set off straight after breakfast. Ben led Poppy and clutched a shopping list of essentials. A calm had settled over the village; the snow was holding off. Theirs were the first steps to break the powdery surface of the field track, and Poppy had no difficulty crunching up the slope.

  Anne wondered if he was going to lead the horse all the way up the high street and tether her outside the shop like a cowboy in a western. Instead, he knotted the leading rein round the gatepost, stroked her nose and told her to wait for them inside the field. She seemed happy enough to stand patiently watching them over the hedge as they walked off.

  “She’s very good,” Anne remarked. “Will she just stay there like that? She won’t get worried?”

  “She’s a working horse, used to our ways. She understands.”

  “And she doesn’t mind the cold?”

  Ben glanced at Anne, smiled and said nothing.

  The pavement was a layer of snow on top of impacted ice, and they planted their feet carefully, taking short steps. Arriving at the school entrance they found Margaret Giles, the head teacher, waving off a car as it pulled away from the kerb. She looked less than happy but brightened when she saw Anne.

  With a final glance at the disappearing car, she explained that one of the children, a ten year-old boy, had been hit in the face by a snowball in the playground. This had resulted in a nose bleed, and it looked as if he would have a bruise just below the eye. Margaret had phoned his mother who happened to be a district nurse, and she had opted to collect him and care for him at home.

  Anne commented that it must have been a big snowball to inflict such damage. Margaret made no reply.

  “Oh, this is Ben, Mrs Giles.” They all noted the change to the formal mode of address. “Ben, Mrs Giles is the head of the school.”

  Margaret smiled. “Hallo, Ben. Are you visiting?”

  “Our boat’s stuck in the ice down there.”

  Anne could see Margaret assessing the situation. There were no schools on half-term break at that time. Ben didn’t look as if he was absent through illness.

  “So you don’t live in this area, Ben?”

  “I live on the boat.”

  “Ben and his mother are staying in one of the cottages while they’re marooned here,” Anne said. “The canal’s frozen solid.”

  “Do you go to school, Ben?” Margaret asked.

  “My mum teaches me.”

  “I see.”

  Anne wondered if I see meant a problem was arising and was relieved to see Valerie Paxton, the school secretary, standing in the entrance across the playground, waving.

  “I think Mrs Paxton’s trying to attract your attention, Margaret,” she said.

  “That’s probably the education office. I’d better go. See you again, Anne, and perhaps you too, Ben.”

  *

  Back at Glebe Farm, Anne left Ben to install Poppy in the stable and found Marnie and Ralph in the office barn discussing plans with Willow. There was no question that Glastonbury was well and truly stuck. For how long, they had no means of judging. Marnie had phoned the BW patrol officer and learnt that not only was the canal frozen throughout the district, but some lock gates had been damaged and others were awaiting inspection. Comparisons were being made with the great freeze of 1962, when the canals had frozen solid for three months, which effectively killed off commercial boating.

  Ralph, who spent much of his professional life assessing trends, expressed the view that such judgments were premature after just a few days of harsh weather. Even so, they all agreed they had to make plans to deal with the circumstances that had brought them together.

  Willow was adamant that she and Ben should move back on board. It was vital for the boat to be kept warm, dry and aired, and only daily living could guarantee that. She had stocks of coal and logs for the best part of a month. The main problem was water. They had filled up not long before reaching Knightly St John, but even with their capacious tank, they could not hold out indefinitely. Washing, bathing and flushing the loo would consume considerable quantities, and reaching a pump-out for the toilet’s holding tank was a further concern.

  Marnie proposed a compromise. They could continue to live on the boat but use the bathroom facilities in cottage number three, which was also equipped with a washing machine and tumble-dryer. Like all compromises it had its drawbacks, but it seemed to be the best solution available.

  Anne was just telling them about the meeting with Margaret Giles when Ben knocked on the door and came into the office. As before, he looked troubled.

  “What’s up?” said Willow. “Poppy?”

  “Yeah. She hasn’t had enough exercise. She’s still restless.”

  “This is common with working horses,” Willow explained. “Idleness doesn’t suit their temperament. They’re trained to work from an early age.”

  “She needs to get out,” Ben said. “But I don’t fancy letting her loose on the towpath. It’s treacherous.”

  “We could close the top gate and let her have the run of the field,” Marnie suggested.

  Anne grinned. “I don’t think we’ve got any skis in her size.”

  “Good point,” said Marnie. “And I don’t want to worry you, but it has started snowing again, so if you are going to let her out, you’d better do it soon.”

  “Why don’t I take her up through the village?” Ben said to his mother. “It seems quiet enough.”

  “Go on, then, but don’t go far. If the snow gets heavy, come straight back.”

  *

  As soon as Ben led Poppy out of her temporary stable, he could feel she was happier. She nudged his shoulder with her nose and made snuffling noises as they set off up the track. When they exited through the field gate the road was deserted, and they crossed over, turning right to head through the village.

  Ben h
ad earlier spotted a row of staddle stones, a line of giant mushrooms forming the front border of the first house they would pass. He guided Poppy over to the first stone, climbed on top of it and vaulted onto the horse’s back. She needed no urging and set off at a steady gait down the high street. Ben had ridden her in this fashion many times before. They had grown up together and knew each other’s ways without the need for words.

  A sudden noise caused horse and rider to turn their attention to the opposite side of the street. With whoops and shouts of delight, children issued out of the school building into the playground, overjoyed to be set free in the snow. They at once set to building snowmen, and even though he barely glanced in their direction, Ben noticed that no one was throwing snowballs. He guessed Mrs Giles had issued stern warnings against anyone who transgressed her orders after the mishap that had begun the day.

  As Poppy drew level with the school another cry went up, and a crowd of children rushed to the fence to watch the bareback rider go by. Many of them let out a cheer.

  In the school, Margaret Giles was in the secretary’s office outside her own room, handing Valerie Paxton a letter to type. It was a report on the incident involving the snowball injury and an account of the action she had taken to deal with the situation.

  Both women heard the shouting. Margaret crossed quickly to the window, ready to intervene at once if another incident was taking place. She was surprised to see a boy passing by on a horse to the accompanying cheers of her pupils. She recognised Ben from their earlier encounter. Even though he was riding without a saddle, he seemed to be completely in control and at ease, allowing neither the noise nor the attention of the others to distract him. A self-possessed young man, she thought.

  *

  It was unusual for Marnie to venture out after supper on winter evenings, but she was curious to know that all was well with her guests. There had been intermittent snowfalls during the day, and despite Marnie’s repeated offer of accommodation in the cottage, Willow had insisted on staying on Glastonbury. It was soon after nine o’clock that Marnie and Ralph donned outdoor clothes and walked along to the bridge over the canal, thirty yards or so beyond Sally Ann’s docking area.