Come to Harm

by Catriona McPherson

  “What?” said Keiko.

  “Elephants.”

  “How do you know that?”

  “From Vi. From homework. Ask me some dinosaur names. Ask me anything.”

  Keiko blinked.“But why did Murray say he didn’t know what killed his father?”

  “I don’t know,” said Fancy. “Why does anyone say anything?”

  “Well, why did he say that his father’s body wasn’t in his grave?”

  “He didn’t!” said Fancy. “I was there, remember. He didn’t say his dad’s body wasn’t in the grave—I can’t believe I’m talking about this, I’m never going to sleep again—he said his dad wasn’t in the graveyard, because he loved his dad and there’s more to a person than what they leave behind to be buried. Keiko, I was here when Mr. Poole died, you weren’t. He was laid out in the house for viewing. It was an open coffin.”

  “You saw him?”

  Fancy almost laughed, almost. “Have we met? No, of course I didn’t see him. I couldn’t bring myself go near the place because the bloody coffin was open, and I felt terrible about it. But do you think I’ll ever forget everyone else going on and on about how peaceful he looked?” Keiko wanted to interrupt, to protest that of course people would say the right thing, but Fancy held up her hand. “Mrs. Watson was there. Hm? Mabel?”

  “Yes, but Mrs. Watson is involved somehow. I told you about her face when she saw the letter.”

  “Okay,” said Fancy slowly, “but if she isn’t one of them and she sent a letter threatening to expose them, why would she lie about Mr. Poole being in his coffin all ready to be buried?” Keiko twisted her mouth in grudging acknowledgement. “And anyway, Pet took Vi to the wake.”

  “Viola saw him?”

  “Oh yes, and it gave her great satisfaction to come home and tell me all about it. She said he looked like Fred Flintstone—whatever that’s supposed to mean—and that they had dressed him up like a baby and she thought it was a shame because everyone knew he always wore men’s clothes.”

  Keiko nodded slowly.“Viola saw Mr. Poole in his coffin. Okay.” She bent her head briefly. “But what about the rest of it? If it’s not what I think it is, then what is it? What is wrong with them?”

  “Who?”

  “Mrs. McLuskie, Mrs. Dessing, Mr. Ballantyne, Mr. Imperiolo. You see what they’ve got in common?”

  “It’s the committee,” said Fancy.

  “Exactly. And they all did my dry run questionnaire and they’re all in a … a state about something.”

  “Wait a minute, wait a minute,” said Fancy. “What do you mean? You said that stuff you do was supposed to be confidential.”

  “It is,” said Keiko. She couldn’t meet Fancy’s eyes. “Supposed to be. I was desperate, Fancy. I was trying to help Murray and he wouldn’t tell me what was wrong.”

  “Well, I can tell you what Iain B and Vinegar Tits Dessing are in a state about,” said Fancy. “They’re having a fling. They walk their dogs at the glen. Pet can see them from her shop window, says they’re in the woods for hours sometimes. And once she saw them in a bar in Dirleton.”

  Keiko shook her head. “That’s only two of them,” she said. “What do all four of them have in common to be so scared about? And the Pooles, of course. They wouldn’t let themselves be tested. They refused.”

  “Maybe they didn’t trust you,” said Fancy, making Keiko flush.

  “A butcher, a baker, two publicans, and a restaurateur,” Keiko said.

  “What about Mrs. Watson?” said Fancy. “Did you snoop at her answers too?”

  “Mrs. Watson sells fruit and vegetables,” said Keiko. “She doesn’t get any supplies from Malcolm Poole.”

  Fancy rubbed her face again then stood and went to the cupboard to get her bottles of port and brandy. She poured two and pushed one across the table towards Keiko.

  “You really have gone absolutely barking mad,” she said, and she began counting off on her fingers. “Iain and Sandra are at it. Etta McLuskie? Pet reckons Etta’s pulling strings about the redevelopment. Kenny Imperiolo … I don’t know.”

  Some distant memory was stirring in Keiko. “I think he writes all his own reviews for restaurant websites,” she said.

  Fancy gave a shout of laughter. “Genius!” she said. “Of course he does! Man, I can’t believe nobody rumbled him before now. He must be shitting hedgehogs. Jimmy McKendrick’s got that hotshot web manager picking the Painchton site to bits trying to do that … you know when you get it up the Google rankings?” She laughed. “No secrets from those guys. They’re like hackers.”

  “Yes, all right,” said Keiko. “I admit all of that, but are you telling me you never thought the committee was doing anything except plan the redevelopment?” Keiko said, watching Fancy closely.

  “No way, Jos—” Fancy began. Then she stopped. “Actually yes, I did. I do. I don’t know what it is they’re up to, but please believe me: top of the list of what it’s not is … that thing you said.”

  Keiko bit her lip. “Why does Mrs. Poole hate me so mu—” She shook her head as Fancy tried to protest. “She does hate me. Why did Murray leave the butcher’s shop in the first place, before his dad died? Why has she dragged him back?” She waited while Fancy chewed her lip in silence for a minute.

  “Who knows why Murray left,” she said. “Because he doesn’t like it? Who knows why she wants him back. Because her husband’s just died and she wants her sons near her? Why does she hate you? Maybe because her husband’s just died and she doesn’t want you to take her son away. Maybe she doesn’t want you to make her big fat miserable son even more jealous of his brother. Maybe she’s just a racist. It happens.”

  “Okay,” said Keiko, “but listen to this. You admit that the committee is up to something, but you think it’s a coincidence that they’re all supplied by Malcolm and they all meet up at Mr. McKendrick’s all the time and they’re all up to high doh and oxters and crabbit as wee ferrets, but—”

  “Jesus Christ,” said Fancy.

  Keiko raised her voice and kept going. “But what about the food? What about the schedule? They didn’t even hide it—it was like a campaign. It was unstoppable, an obsession to get me into their houses and stuff me with four-course meals and give me great big tubs of leftovers and come and check to see that I’d eaten them. It was … it was madness.”

  “Yeah,” said Fancy. “Death by drop scone. See I never got much of that—except from Pet—because they didn’t approve of me, but you were always going to be for it: a good girl like you, all on your own and thousands of miles from home. You might as well have had a red cloak on and a basket of stuff for Grandma.”

  Keiko was nodding, but Fancy saw through it. “What?” she said. “What else is there?”

  “Janette Campbell,” said Keiko. “Why was she so cold when I talked about the slaughterhouse? I don’t believe it was what Malcolm said.”

  “Neither do I,” said Fancy. “I never did. Janette Campbell doesn’t have much time for Murray. I reckon it was finding out you’d taken up with him that bugged her, not the mention of that back shed.”

  “But why didn’t you tell me that?” said Keiko.

  “Because Malcolm was there, remember?” Fancy said. “It was steak and kidney pudding day. And I didn’t want to say that someone didn’t think much of his brother in front of him. And then I forgot.”

  “But why?” said Keiko.

  “Oh, for God’s sake, Keiko!” said Fancy. She poured herself another drink and after a sip of it, she spoke very slowly and loudly. “Okay, I didn’t forget. I just don’t like talking about it, but okay, you win. I, Frances Mary Clarke, did not tell you that Janette Campbell bears a grudge to Murray Poole. Shoot me.”

  “I didn’t mean why did you forget,” Keiko said. “I mean why doesn’t Janette—”

  “For God’s sake!” said Fancy and
then started speaking very loud and slow again. “Because Natasha was her shampoo girl and she probably told Janette that Murray was a crap boyfriend. Or … I don’t know.”

  Keiko frowned.

  “What now?” said Fancy.

  “Who’s Natasha?”

  Fancy blinked. “Tash,” she said.

  Keiko stood up and jammed her hand into her jeans pocket. She pulled out the necklace and let it swing in front of Fancy’s face.

  “I found this in my kitchen drain,” she said. “This is what was clogging it.”

  Fancy reached out and grasped it. “That’s Tash’s,” she whispered. “Pet’s got a picture of her wearing it.”

  “It was fastened,” Keiko said. “It didn’t just fall off.”

  “Oh my God,” said Fancy.

  “Has anyone heard from Tash since she left?”

  “Mother of God,” said Fancy. She held the chain and put it to her lips. She looked up at Keiko with fresh tears in her eyes. “What have I done?” she said.

  Keiko took her free hand. “Please,” she whispered. “Tell me.”

  Fancy waved to the bottles, and Keiko refilled both glasses with even bigger measures than before.

  “I lied to you,” Fancy said when she had taken a big swallow from hers. “It was true about the state Pet was in when I came back, rocking with the baby, crying, all that. And the ego boost, that was true too. Except the more time went on, the more I got the idea that it was Tash she was mourning, and Vi and me were like a consolation prize.” Keiko shook her head but Fancy ignored her. “And I sort of knew I should try and get in touch with Tash and tell her she was wrong about foster mums. We all get so cynical so young, you know? Toughen up so no one can hurt you? We all used to tell ourselves the carers were in it for the money. Only I must have known it wasn’t true with Pet, or why did I come back, right? And I knew I should find Tash and tell her. But …” Fancy ducked her head down between her shoulders the way she had the first time they met. “I didn’t want to share. I didn’t want Pet’s favourite coming back and shoving me out.”

  Keiko was shaking her head faster now. “Pet loves you,” she said. “She adores you. And Viola. No one could shove you out!”

  “Well,” said Fancy. “That’s what I did, anyway.”

  “You didn’t do anything,” Keiko said. “All your feelings are understandable and natural, even if they’re wrong.”

  “Yeah, but I did lie though,” said Fancy, in a tiny voice. “By omission.”

  Keiko groaned. “Please forget I said that.”

  “And the other thing too. I didn’t look for her to try to get her home again.” Fancy’s voice had grown hoarse. “And then—Jesus, this is hard to say!—when Pet asked me to, cos she’s useless with the Internet, I said I would, and then I said I had, and I said couldn’t find her.” She caught a sob before it could get free. “But I never checked at all because I was scared if she came back there’d be no place for me. And then, after you asked about her and Nikki and Dina the other day, I did search and there’s nothing. I left it too late and she’s lost now. She’s really gone.”

  Keiko put down her glass and took Fancy’s out of her hand, then she wrapped her arms around Fancy’s shoulders and hugged her close. Fancy buried her head into Keiko’s middle and finally let go. Keiko bent and kissed the parting of her hair.

  “I am so sorry,” she said as Fancy wept. “I’ve dredged up your worst memories and made you feel badly. You did nothing wrong.”

  “I let her stay lost,” said Fancy, her voice sodden and muffled.

  “You were young,” Keiko said. “Then you grew up into a good person and a good mother, and you are a wonderful daughter and friend. You did nothing wrong.”

  Fancy sniffed and pulled back, turning her face up to look at Keiko. “Well, neither did you then,” she said with a watery smile.

  Keiko went to get a cool cloth and took her seat again.

  “You know what the real mystery is?” Fancy said after she had blown her nose and finished her drink. “Murray thinks he can tell you what to do and what to look like and drop mysterious hints until he’s got you demented. And Craig McKendrick has been playing silly buggers with me since he first stuck his hand up my jumper on a school trip. Jesus, you jumping when Murray says jump must be making him as happy as a pig in shit, you know! And so the only real mystery is why I—after everything I learned the hard way from Viola’s dad—and you—who spend your whole life studying human nature—give one single solitary sod about either of them.”

  Keiko finally felt her body and mind smash back together at last. “I’ve made such a fool of myself,” she said. “I just want to crawl into a hole and hide. I don’t know how I’m going to face anyone.”

  “Nobody knows what you were thinking, you bampot,” said Fancy. “Or hey! You could always walk home backwards like Vi does. Rewind!”

  “I must have gone mad. I really thought—”

  “Look,” said Fancy. “You’re in a new country, a long way from home and it must seem like, ‘Oh my god, what a crazy place, what’s going on?’ Like all kinds of things that could never happen at home might happen here. But it’s not real. It’s like if I went to Tokyo, I would be just the same. Total head wreck.”

  “Well, I’m over it now,” Keiko said. “And you’re right about Murray. But …” She hesitated. “Don’t be too hard on Craig. He did warn me. Except I thought it was Malcolm he was warning me about.”

  “Did he say he warned Tash?” said Fancy. Her voice was cold. “Or was he another one who reckoned she didn’t matter?”

  “He didn’t mention Tash,” Keiko said. “He felt bad even saying what he did. He was trying to be loyal to his friend.”

  “Yeah, well, his friend’s not worth it and he’s definitely not worth you. And poor Malcolm—he’s done nothing!”

  “Please promise me you will never tell anyone what I said, what I thought,” Keiko said.

  “Cross my heart and hope to die and be served at a barbecue to all my friends and neighbours,” said Fancy with a smirk. “I won’t tell a soul.”

  _____

  Keiko called in to say sorry to Mrs. Watson for dashing through the shop earlier. Mrs. Watson stroked her arm and made soothing noises through her giggles.

  “Well now, you must just put it out of your mind in time for New Year’s Day, so you can sit down to your hough dinner and enjoy it. I’m just the same with tongue, mind. I love a slice with a good sweet pickle, but I couldn’t cook it for a king’s ransom. Lying there in the pot looking just like a great big tongue.” She shuddered and then squeezed Keiko’s shoulder. “So I won’t tell if you don’t tell. And don’t you worry about Malcolm; he’s used to the rest of us being more squeamish than him.”

  Keiko stood still, staring at her, wondering if she could ask—just ask straight out—about the letter and why Mrs. Watson had looked that way. If Fancy was right, there would be some silly, innocent explanation for it.

  “And speaking of the Pooles,” said Mrs. Watson. “I was hearing in the post office first thing that Willie Byers has finally caved in and agreed to sell to the Traders. He went round and told Jimmy McKendrick last night.”

  “Really?” said Keiko. “That’s excellent news. Well, not for Murray.” What would he do? she wondered. Cut the ties, leave Painchton, and find a proper place of his own? For a split second, the feeling this thought produced—a flattening out, a downward swoop in her insides—might have been mistaken for disappointment, but in no time at all she had identified it: it was relief.

  thirty-two

  Wednesday, 27 November

  After talking with Fancy on Monday, Keiko did not put on her tracksuit and trot over to the workshop at the time set by Murray for their sessions. She sat in the flat listening for him and rewording her explanation until bedtime. The next night she waited again, thinking
of all the times she had skipped downstairs to find him, of how he had watched for her passing and come out onto the street to talk to her, of how he only climbed the stairs—all that effort!—when he needed something.

  So when the knock finally came at seven o’clock on the third day, as she was standing in the kitchen slicing vegetables for her dinner, she was almost tired enough of thinking about him to feel no triumph at all. She stood aside to let him in and he slouched towards the living room and threw himself down into a chair with a groan. Keiko settled herself on the sofa.

  “Have you heard?” he said at last.

  “I don’t think so,” said Keiko, almost sure what he meant but refusing to go along with his estimation of its enormity.

  “Willie Byers said to McKendrick that the Traders can have his place. He’s going to sell.”

  “I see.” Was she trying to provoke him with this performance of calm?

  “It must have been right after Mum went to see him. For sheer spite.”

  “He is not a kind man,” Keiko said. “But does it matter? Since you want to leave anyway?”

  “What?” said Murray. “Who said I want to leave? Why would I want to leave after the work I’ve put in on the place?”

  Keiko was speechless for a moment. “You said it,” she said, when she had got her voice back. “You said it over and over again. That Painchton wasn’t right for you. Or for me. That it was dangerous and you wanted to get away.”

  “Oh,” he said. “That. Yeah, well, it was just the shop really.”

  “But you said there was a secret. You said I was in danger.”

  “What secret?” he said. “Yeah, I said you were in danger—of ending up like Malcolm and the rest of them.”

  Keiko thought hard. Could that be right? Had Murray really never mentioned a secret? Was that her own imagining? “You said there was a puzzle,” she told him. “You definitely said that to me.”

  “Yeah: how to keep my workshop when the Traders were trying to get it,” he said.