by Leo McNeir
“Normally Willow teaches him at home. While he’s been here, he’s been attending the village school. At least he was, until a couple of days ago.”
“No longer?”
Marnie shook her head. “It appears there was an altercation involving Willow and Ben’s class teacher.”
“What do you mean?”
“I gather he hustled her away from the gate after school.”
Dekker frowned. “Hustled?”
“Grabbed her by the arm and moved her away. It seems Poppy was blocking the exit and Mr Meadows took exception to them being there.”
“You mean he assaulted her?”
“Not violently, but –”
“He laid hands on her?”
“Well, yes, if you put it like that.”
“That’s outrageous.”
“Ben was there,” Marnie continued, “and apparently he told Mr Meadows to let go of her.”
“Good for him!” Dekker smiled. “A bold young man, as well as being highly talented.” A distant look came into his eyes. “You know, Marnie, when I heard him singing last evening I felt really proud of him.”
“But you knew of him, presumably?”
“Let’s say I was aware of his existence.”
“I think it’s understandable that you should feel proud of him. He’s a great credit to your family.”
Dekker sighed. “Though I’m a little saddened that he doesn’t bear the family name. It would be nice to think there was someone who didn’t discredit it.”
With that he opened the door, inclined his head briefly towards Marnie and climbed out. He crossed the bridge without looking back.
*
Mr Meadows did not notice the Discovery passing him in the high street as he drove into the school car park, pre-occupied with thoughts of the day ahead. Apologise! In his four years at the school he had never had cause to doubt Mrs Giles’ judgment, but in these past few weeks something had warped her mind. She seemed to have been mesmerised by the Haycroft boy. Anyone would think he was Einstein reincarnated. And as for the hippy mother, not to mention the bloody horse! What was the school coming to?
Switching off the engine, Mr Meadows took a deep breath and collected himself, vowing that that day would mark the start of him reasserting his authority. He picked up his briefcase from the passenger seat and got out. In a momentary lapse of concentration, he lost his footing and slipped on the ice. Vainly he tried to stop his fall by grabbing at the car roof, but his fingers could find no purchase and he came twisting down with a hard bump on the ground, jarring his pelvis.
As quickly as he could, Mr Meadows rolled onto his knees and stood up, supporting himself on the door handle. Grimacing, he stooped to pick up the briefcase, glancing round to make sure no-one had witnessed his fall. There was snow and crystals of ice on his clothing, and he brushed himself down with a few hasty movements before moving stiffly away in the direction of the school entrance.
When he was halfway across the yard another car pulled into the grounds. He was grateful the head had not arrived a minute earlier. He waved as nonchalantly as he could and went inside. Not a good start to the day, he thought, wondering if it could get even worse.
*
While Marnie was away, an easy routine settled on Glebe Farm. On the frozen canal Ralph and Ben pursued their respective studies in the snug, warm cabins of Thyrsis and Glastonbury. Meanwhile, Donovan cleared up in the cottage and Anne went over to help with the dishes.
They decided to leave the Christmas tree in place for one more day and finish off the remains of the German buffet for supper that evening. Anne found herself wondering if life with Donovan was ever normal. She realised she was standing in the middle of the sitting room with a grin on her face when Donovan walked in and stared at her.
“What is it?” he asked.
“Oh, I, er, well … If you must know, I was thinking about you.”
“In that case, it’s good that you were at least smiling. What were you thinking about me?”
She hesitated. “Among other things, I was feeling glad that you were able to come up here without worrying about your safety.”
He nodded. “No-one’s tried to kill me for ages.”
“Perhaps you’re losing your appeal,” Anne said.
“Could be.”
He knelt down to retrieve a paper napkin from under the table.
“That is all over now, isn’t it?” Anne said. “I mean, you don’t think anyone is after you any more?”
“I don’t think so.”
His tone was definite, but Anne noticed he had hesitated before replying.
*
In his classroom Mr Meadows spotted Mrs Giles through the window in the door and went out to catch her in the hall.
“Excuse me, Mrs Giles. Are the children to stay in at break-time?”
“No. I think it will be good for them to get some fresh air as it’s not snowing at the moment. Please make sure they wrap up warm and remind them about not throwing snowballs. I believe you’re on playground duty this morning.”
“That’s right. I’ll keep an eye on them.”
“Good.” She lowered her voice. “And have you thought about seeing Mrs Haycroft and Ben today?”
He stiffened. “Yes. I’ll go down after school.”
“I’m sure you’ll be able to resolve the situation. As I’ve told you before, I have every confidence in you.”
“Thank you, Mrs Giles.”
*
In the early afternoon Donovan appeared in the office barn. Marnie was using the phone, so he crossed quietly to Anne’s desk.
“Am I interrupting?” he asked in a whisper.
Anne looked up from her work. “No. It’s fine.”
“I was going to ask if it would be all right if I used the shower in the cottage.”
“Of course.”
He saw the Bauhaus postcards spread out on the desk. Anne had been grouping them in blocks of six.
“These are wonderful,” she said. “I still can’t believe you’ve given them to me.”
“They needed a good home.”
“I’m going to frame them and hang them in here so we can all enjoy them every day.”
“I knew I’d made the right choice.” Donovan smiled. “You might need UV glass to prevent fading.”
Just then Marnie put the phone down. “That was Molly at the shop,” she said. “Another delivery for Maurice Dekker.”
“Smelling salts?” said Donovan.
Marnie chuckled. “You always think of the perfect gift. I’ll give him a ring straight away to let him know.”
Donovan headed for the door, muttering about taking his shower. Anne blew him a kiss as he went out and returned to her groups of postcards. Marnie rang Dekker, got no reply and left a message on his voicemail. After disconnecting she stared into space. Anne noticed from across the room.
“Are you worried about Mr Dekker, Marnie?”
“I think I probably am.”
*
Mr Meadows was putting off the moment of truth. Still in his classroom half an hour after school ended, he was ostensibly finishing preparations for the next day’s lessons. In reality he knew he was just wasting time. Mrs Giles regarded this visit to the hippy woman as a way of re-establishing positive contact, a chance to shine, to prove his professionalism, to be the good guy.
If he got this right, he would redeem himself in the eyes of the head, the parent and the child. All he had to do was make a brief apology and explain the plan for Ben’s future. He would make it seem as if the basic idea was his, and that the head had given him her blessing.
He slotted the papers into his briefcase, locked the desk and went out to the car park. The snow that had begun falling earlier in the afternoon had not abated. It surprised him how quickly dusk had descended, and the lamps in the school were casting patterns of light and shade from the windows across the snowy ground. He was anxious to reach the boat before darkness fell and he q
uickened his pace to the car, taking care not to risk a second fall of the day. Getting into the driving seat, he took a deep breath.
In less than an hour, he told himself, it would all be over.
*
For a change, Ben took Poppy for a walk along the towpath that afternoon. He wanted to check out the condition of the pathway and the general state of the canal, expecting – hoping – that soon the thaw would come and they could be on their way again. They set off northwards at an easy pace in the direction of Stoke Bruerne while snow sprinkled down and the light softened.
Poppy went ahead, occasionally glancing back at Ben. He often told her stories from his history books as they plodded the towpath together, but on that day he was silent. Having severed all links with the school, he was wondering about his future.
He had never really related to what boat people called life on the bank, but he enjoyed being at Glebe Farm with Anne and his new friends. They were interesting, and he was pleased they were boat people like him and his mum. They understood the waterway life but had managed to make a special place on the bank. He would miss them all and would be extra sad to say goodbye to Anne, even though he realised she was too old for him, and Donovan was her special person.
Ben pulled up the zip on his jacket to close the gap under his chin as the snow came down in fine flurries. The light was fading quickly now and as they approached a bridge where the path was wider, he called out.
“Poppy. Home now.”
Ben stood aside to let her pass, patting her neck, seeing the condensation billow from her nostrils, and he took up station behind her. He wondered if she would be sad to lose her comfortable stable barn, but he knew she would adapt to any circumstances.
As they fell into a steady pace again, he was sure of one thing. He would not be sad to leave the school behind him.
*
There was no post run for Anne that afternoon. They needed supplies, and Marnie offered to take the letters up to the shop on her way to the supermarket in town.
As soon as Anne noticed dusk coming down, she took a dozen nightlights from the box under the sink, dropped them into a carrier-bag and grabbed her jacket. Just before going out she picked up the heavy clout hammer that they used for knocking in mooring pins. Some of the poles of her flight-path had been loosened in the wind, and she wanted to ram them firmly into the ground.
Looking in at the stable barn, she was surprised to find Poppy missing and guessed Ben had taken her for a walk before darkness fell. Anne made her way up the field track, stopping at each pole to insert a fresh nightlight into the hanging lantern. Dusk had come down quickly by the time she reached the top, and she was surprised to find a car parked by the field entrance. She recognised it as a Vauxhall Vectra, a similar model to her father’s.
With all the lamps replenished, Anne made her way back down the slope, using Marnie’s Zippo and a taper to light the candles. One by one the lanterns on the flight-path came to life. Nearing the end of the line she looked back to see the lights twinkling through the falling snow. Unaccountably, the title of a song came into her mind: Stairway to Heaven. Equally unaccountably, the thought made her shiver. She pulled her collar tight round her throat to keep out the cold.
As she lit the final candle and walked back to the office barn, all thoughts of the Vectra parked in the field entrance had vanished from her mind.
*
Marnie was glad to be going home. Her meeting had gone well, with a new client signed up. Despite the inclement weather, business was good. Or perhaps the harshness of the winter was making people focus on their internal environment. Even so, after a day spent driving through ice, mist and snow plus a lengthy visit to the supermarket as a bonus, she was looking forward to another social evening.
A smile came to her face as she entered the village and thought of Donovan’s second Christmas, but it vanished when she reached the field gate and the headlights picked out a car parked in the entrance, leaving barely enough room for her to pass. Marnie was extra careful turning off the road in case she slid sideways and dented its bodywork.
It was only the second time since moving to Knightly St John that she had ever encountered a car by the gate and she was on her guard in case the driver was making his or her way down the field track, dimly marked out with the lanterns of Anne’s flight-path.
There was no-one on the track and no-one anywhere in sight near the buildings of Glebe Farm. The phantom driver was presumably walking on the road somewhere in the village. Even if he or she had come down the slope, the snow would have obliterated any footprints. Marnie put all thoughts of the driver out of her mind as she swung the Disco into the garage barn.
When she pushed open the door to the office barn, the aroma of freshly-brewed coffee assailed her nostrils.
“Perfect timing, Marnie.” Ralph looked up from pouring water into the cafetière. “Your radar is infallible.”
“Mm … bliss,” Marnie murmured, pulling off her jacket. “Lead me to it.”
“Did you pass Anne outside?”
“No. I saw no-one. What’s she doing?”
“Two visits, first Poppy, then Donovan.”
As if on cue, the door swung open and Donovan came in, closing it quickly behind him.
“Gottes Willen!” he exclaimed in German.
“Translation, please,” said Marnie.
“Gordon H. Bennett, it’s bloody freezing out there.”
“All that in just two words. Economical in their language, the Germans.”
He grinned. “But not in their food. I really hope you’re coming to help me finish it off this evening.”
The door opened behind him and Anne came in as Marnie replied.
“Wild horses couldn’t –”
“Funny you should say that,” said Anne, pushing the door closed. She turned to face them. “Poppy’s acting really strange.”
“How strange?” Ralph asked.
“She’s stomping around out there near the bridge. I tried to get her to go back to the stable barn, but she wouldn’t take any notice of me.”
Marnie reached for her jacket. “I’ll go and see.”
“I’ll come with you,” said Donovan.
Ralph plucked his jacket from the coat-stand. “We’ll all go.”
*
Willow shovelled more coal into the stove on Glastonbury. The boat was warm inside, but she had felt the temperature falling as dusk came down. They would need to fill the coal-box to last them through the evening. She knew Ben would bring a bag in with him when he returned from seeing to Poppy.
Willow checked her watch. He had been gone for longer than usual. She smiled to herself, guessing where her son might be. As far as she knew, Anne was the first girl on whom he had had a crush.
How long had he been away? She thought back. The news had been on the radio when Ben was putting on his jacket. They had joked that they didn’t need the BBC to tell them the severest winter in decades was gripping their part of the country. That must have been at least half an hour ago. Willow had no concerns about Ben’s safety; he was the most sensible of boys. But she did not want him outstaying his welcome and maybe getting in the way of Marnie’s work in the office barn.
She would allow another ten minutes before going out to find him.
*
The four of them carried torches, threading their way through the spinney along the snow-covered path. Ralph led with Anne and Marnie close behind while Donovan trailed the group. He had gone to the stable barn in case Poppy had gone back to her shelter and had found it empty apart from Dolly, who was hunkered down Sphinx-like in a nest of straw bales.
Anne was remembering her first encounter with the horse, that evening two weeks ago. In such a short space of time she had become part of their lives, a real personality around Glebe Farm and the village. This latest behaviour seemed completely out of character.
They swept the spinney with their torches, each of them straining to catch the first sign of
movement.
“Shush!” Ralph stopped abruptly, extending his free arm sideways.
The group came to a halt, peering ahead into the darkness. Four beams pierced the air. They stood waiting, the breath clouding before their faces.
“What did you see?” Marnie whispered.
“Nothing. Listen.” Ralph raised a finger. “There. Did you hear it?”
Marnie shook her head, aware only of the sound of their breathing.
“Over there.” Donovan spoke softly.
His torch beam was followed by three more, but their light illuminated only the trunks of trees and snow-laden branches. Suddenly Donovan broke ranks and set off along the pathway at a rapid pace. Before the others could move, they were overtaken by Dolly, who bounded after Donovan through the snow in a series of rabbit-hops. They had gone only a few paces when they heard an agitated voice some distance away.
“That’s Ben,” said Anne. “Who’s he talking to … Donovan?”
No-one replied. They stumbled forward, treading warily on the path to avoid tripping over roots hidden in the snow.
As they broke free of the spinney, Ralph said, ’No, not Donovan. There’s his torch up by the bridge.”
“So where’s Poppy?” Marnie murmured.
“Let’s find out,” said Ralph.
They skirted the docking area round Sally Ann and jogged cautiously along the path towards the accommodation bridge. By now, the reflection of Donovan’s torchlight was clearly visible as he crossed over the canal.
The path was treacherous, impacted ice on ice, snow on snow, deep and crisp and uneven. They trod with care, keeping well away from the edge of the bank. When they reached the highest part of the bridge, Marnie’s question was answered. Looking down, they saw Poppy on the towpath. She was standing a short distance back, facing towards them. In front of her, Donovan and Ben were kneeling at the waterside. An absurd thought came into Marnie’s head. They looked as if they were part of a traditional Nativity scene, the adoration of the Magi.
“Watch your footing,” said Ralph. “It’s like a ski-slope here.”
Holding on to the parapet, they descended sideways-on down to the towpath, planting their feet with caution. Donovan looked up, raising a hand as they rounded the bridge.