by Lynn Watson
Vicky smiled fondly. ‘Oh, Fran, that’s so typical – it’s like I’ve known you for years! If it does start making big money, we have to make sure we’re in the right place to profit from it. Daniela’s a tough cookie, never forget that, and smart. She has to pass information on to us, but she won’t divulge any more than is strictly necessary. As for the risks, I think of them as fairly standard business perils, with a little extra pizzazz to keep us on our toes.’
She smiled at Fran, tipping her face sideways and cheekily raising her beautifully groomed eyebrows to make them disappear under the full fringe. ‘If you have a magic formula, your most ruthless competitors will always want to get hold of it and believe me, they will be devious. Ask any number of top companies.’
‘You’re right, Vicky; it’s just a different world. I haven’t been involved in anything remotely like this before and I’m only now realising what a sheltered life I’ve led. I’m truly glad I’ve moved on from it before it was too late – and the best thing is, I no longer have a bozo for a boss! No, actually, that’s not right. The best thing about it, among a load of good things, is that I’ve met you.’ She blew some stray grains of sugar across the table in Vicky’s direction to cover her slight embarrassment. ‘So there!’
When she stepped out of the café a few minutes later, leaving Vicky to linger over a second coffee before heading off home, she almost bumped into Dr Kwesi. He greeted her warmly.
‘Good afternoon, Fran. Are you shopping today?’
‘Hello, Kwesi. No, I work in the dress shop along here. It’s one of my two jobs.’
He was smiling and stroking his chin thoughtfully, clearly indicating that he hoped for more of a conversation.
‘Have you seen the girl again, Kwesi, the street girl? Was she okay?’
‘Yes, she stood up before the ambulance car arrived and she ran away when I tried to talk to her. She is a very sad and sick person, an addict. It is common in my country, everywhere.’
She knew she could easily excuse herself again as being in a rush but she felt she owed this man something, because of the way he had come forward and got her out of a tight spot.
‘Have you got time for a quick coffee later, after I finish work? I think you may like this little French café here, with all its delicious cakes. Say 5.30?’
‘Thank you Fran, I would like it very much. I have the whole day free.’
He had used similar words last time and she wondered where he worked; in which hospital or GP surgery.
When she arrived later at the café, Kwesi was one of a handful of customers sitting inside, as most people were gravitating to the pubs on the green for after-work drinks in the late sunshine. She went to the counter to order coffee and carrot cake for herself and a cherry tart topped with cream for Kwesi. He picked up the spoon, gave her a half-guilty look and felt his stomach through his loose shirt.
‘I enjoy the English cakes, they taste special. I will buy a cake for you next time, but I have no money today.’
She asked where he worked and he told her how he had been forced to leave his country – he didn’t want to identify it – as he treated a lot of patients with AIDS and was persecuted for it. He was gay, although this was known only to a few trusted friends at home. He had been harassed out of his job and eventually out of his town. Deciding to seek refuge and a new life in the UK, where he had once studied on a university scholarship programme, he had expected to find work as a hospital doctor but it turned out he didn’t have the right papers. Now he was involved in a lengthy process of appealing against a decision to refuse him refugee status.
‘Are you working at all, then? What’s your position now?’
‘Yes, I also have two jobs, like you, but they are not good jobs. I worked as an office cleaner in the City, but my company was shut down by the police. I have a new cleaning job but it is part-time, a few hours a week. And in my other job I work at night, packing in a warehouse for a delivery company. It is not secure until I have my papers; then I hope to be a doctor again.’
‘Where do you stay? Have you got somewhere, a room, near here?
He hesitated for a long moment and gave her a serious look. ‘I will trust you, Fran. You are a good person, I know. I sleep in the library. I stay there in the day as well when it rains and I have a way to get into the building in the evening, after it has closed.’
She knew where the library was, although she hadn’t yet visited it. It had been reinvented as a multi-purpose ‘discovery centre’, but it still had the words Public Library engraved in stone above the imposing main door.
‘That’s terrible, Kwesi.’
‘Not always terrible. The library staff, some of them know I am sleeping there. One day I will repay them for their kindness. I have a suitcase with many gifts.’
‘Gifts – you brought gifts with you, presents? Who are they for?’
‘Yes, presents from Africa, from my country. I filled a suitcase with presents for my new friends in London, when they invite me as a guest into their homes. That is an important custom with us.’
Fran stared at his wide, gently smiling face over her half-eaten and abandoned carrot cake. It was dead right, what she had said to Vicky earlier. She had led a very sheltered life.
***
She was sitting in a shaft of sunlight, her mind swinging between itemising her next tasks in setting up the Junoco business, speculating on the identity of the rival who had made the veiled threat, and deciding what she was going to make for dinner. The children were coming home and there was Lily walking on her own, looking small in her new school uniform and peering in the window as she passed. Fran returned her eager wave, remembering her comment about being clever but not cool. Had Lily ever had a best friend?
An hour later, she surfaced from her doze and saw Marcus from next door running past the window at full pelt. She blinked to wake herself up completely and the doorbell rang. There he was, breathing heavily, in his stylish office suit and pointed brown shoes, leather bag on his shoulder.
‘Can I come in please, not for long? I’ll explain. I’m sorry to disturb you.’
She stepped back so he could enter and then closed the door behind him. He stood in the hallway, his eyes shut while he regained his breath.
‘Come through to the kitchen, Marcus. I was about to boil the kettle for tea – unless you need something stronger?’
‘I could do with a cold beer, if you have one, thanks.’
As Fran had already surmised, it was about Kirsty, the ex-girlfriend. She had left him alone for a couple of weeks because she had gone to visit relatives, but she was back now and had accosted him outside his office at lunchtime, saying she had taken a job locally as a nursery teacher and was going to move in with him.
‘It’s like I’ve got no option. She’s made a decision that we’re soulmates for life, those are her actual words, and we’re going to have several children and it’s all fated to happen, even though she knows I’ve had a vasectomy. It’s not an issue apparently, I can have it reversed.’
‘Wow, easy as that. Did you live together before you moved here?’
‘Yes, for a while, but it ended two years ago. We fell out and she got jealous – well, I guess we both did. She went to Australia on a work visa and I don’t know what’s happened since but now she’s got this fantasy scenario of happily-ever-after with me and a troop of kids.’
‘How old are you, Marcus?’ It wasn’t immediately relevant to the story, but she was curious to know.
‘I’m forty-four, for God’s sake, well past it. I had my kids young, they’re grown up now. I’m too old to deal with this, it’s ridiculous.’ He paused and moved to the kitchen window, so he was no longer looking directly at her. ‘The worst of it is that I did something idiotic, which makes it partly my own fault. I let her stay here for two nights, a couple of weekends ago. It was stupid of me, weak. After she’d left, I realised she’d gone off with my spare key. I’ve been meaning to change the lock, but I
haven’t got round to it yet.’
Fran hesitated before responding to this frank admission, aware that their friendship was still new and untested. ‘Perhaps you kind of wanted her to come back, to get in – not consciously, but at some level?’
‘It’s a thought, but no, I don’t think that’s right. I am sorry for her; she’s not got a place at the moment and yes, she’s attractive but she’s a total nightmare and out of control. I got all paranoid about it this afternoon and rightly so, because I was convinced she was following me home just now. I sensed her behind me and that’s why I ended up running: to get ahead and hide out here to see what she does. I just hoped you were in. It’s not the best idea, me running along the street, especially not at that pace.’
‘Well, I’m glad you thought you could hide here, so don’t worry about that.’
As they entered the living room, Marcus suddenly ducked and squatted down low, pointing out the window. Kirsty was on the other side of the road, leaning on the big chestnut tree and, like last time, busy with her phone. Fran closed the lower window blinds so they could still see out over them and Marcus half-stood up and moved, in full stealth mode, to the armchair nearest to the window. He checked his phone, signalling with his fingers that he had received seven voicemail messages and three texts.
Kirsty stayed under the tree for half an hour, then picked up her sports bag and sauntered across the road towards Marcus’ house. The wrought-iron gate whined as it swung open, the bell rang twice, and they heard her swearing as she struggled to turn the key in the lock before the door slammed shut. Marcus was bolt upright now, like a startled animal frozen in the critical instant of indecision. Next to him, on the animal-skin drum, Guacamole peered over his wire-rimmed spectacles with an air of benign interest.
Marcus leant forward, putting his hands on his knees and shaking his head. ‘Oh no, she’s in now!’
‘Will she damage anything, do you think? Is she destructive?’ Fran was thinking back to Kirsty’s aggressive encounter with Eric and Delia; the force of her anger and self-righteousness.
‘I can’t be sure, but I don’t think she’d create havoc in that way. She’s more sad than angry. I think she’ll just sit and wait for me to arrive home – at least, I imagine that’s the plan. She won’t want to alienate me, not yet. We are soulmates for life, after all.’
‘Do you think you should go round now and talk to her, try and sort it out?’
‘If you want me to leave then I will, but quite frankly, I can’t face it. I’m talked out and the conversation just goes round in circles. She might snoop about but she doesn’t know any of my device passwords, thankfully, and I’ve got my work tablet and phone here with me. But as I say, I’ll only hide out here if it’s no trouble to you.’
Fran reassured him and said she had no plans for the evening. She set about cooking a supper of stir-fry chicken and vegetables and put a bottle of wine to chill in the fridge. After a brief discussion on the best place to eat, they carried their plates through to the front room, where the side window was open at the top, so they would know if Kirsty gave up and left.
As time went on and after they had talked about the Kirsty issue at some length, it seemed okay to broach a different subject.
‘Can I ask you about something else, Marcus, unconnected to this?’
‘Yes, go ahead, I’m all ears.’ He had calmed down and seemed to be quite enjoying himself, with the aid of two large glasses of wine following the beer.
‘I’m going to ask because you work in the Department of Health and you may be able to tell me something, or find out for me.’
‘Okay, it’s a big place with lots happening and I may not be able to help, but what is it?’
She told him what she had revealed to Ned about the Junoco venture, again omitting the part about its origin in berry seeds from the rainforest. She spoke carefully, aware that she hadn’t yet got a properly refined promotional pitch, and that they were still debating how to promote the benefits of the truffles.
‘The effect of the secret ingredient, when combined with the rich chocolate, is to enhance curiosity and creativity. That’s what makes it exciting and potentially important. We’re not making a big noise about it because we don’t want to draw the wrong kind of attention.’
Marcus was sitting forward in his chair now, clearly fascinated by what he was hearing and the unwelcome guest in his house temporarily forgotten. ‘It sounds amazing and I’ve got a million questions, but first off, have you tried the chocolate yourself? And if you have, what happened?’
She told him about the lakeside dream and the pencil sketches of Marina, her father and her late friend Judi, which as a set she considered better than anything she had ever drawn. She had more sketches now, of Marina at different ages and of Judi as a free-spirited child on the farm, plus several of wild animals, especially the large cats and zebras, hippos and different types of antelope. She drew them all from her memory and imagination, as they came to her.
‘Wow, Fran, this is awesome. I thought you worked in a local dress shop; that’s what you were telling me.’
She laughed and replied in a low, husky whisper. ‘That was last month. Now I’m in a global chocolate racket.’ She paused. ‘No, actually I’m still working as a sales assistant in the dress shop round the corner. That’s my day job.’
She followed Daniela’s strict instruction and didn’t tell him the two businesses were linked and Junoco was located above Frocks and Chocs. She also left out the strange connection she was experiencing with Guacamole and other creatures, real and pretend. It was still too weird and difficult to mention.
‘Okay, I’ll hold off on the rest of my million questions for now, but I hope you’ll show me your drawings one day. What was it you wanted to know from me?’
Fran hesitated, thinking about Daniela’s repeated words of caution. ‘Before I say anything more, I have to stress the need to keep it strictly confidential; not to talk openly to your colleagues or anyone about what I’ve asked.’
‘I’ll be discreet, don’t worry. You wouldn’t believe the amount of confidential stuff I’ve got in my head – most of it worthless rubbish, mind you.’
‘Well, okay then. I’ve been doing market research for our promotional strategy and it seems there’s a large grey area, legally. First, there are the mind-enhancing or smart drugs, used by students and others, which claim to improve focus and mental performance. Then we have the former “legal highs”, which mimic the effects of illegal drugs and are cheap substitutes. They contain nobody knows what, often a cocktail of toxic substances. The Psychoactive Substances Act has banned legal highs, although I don’t know how successfully – but that’s not the point. What I want to find out is whether the Act covers mind-enhancing substances like Junoco. They are clearly psychoactive, but very different from legal highs or known hallucinogenic drugs. Is it illegal to supply them, or borderline legal? My boss says you can get away with just about anything if you’re operating online and as long as we’re light-footed, there’s no problem.’
Marcus stared into the middle distance, elbows on his knees. He had slim, muscled thighs. ‘You’re right, it is hugely complex and your chocolates may well fall into a grey area, as you say. The legal aspect is more for the Home Office than the Department of Health, but I know who’s likely to be involved from our side and he’s a friendly guy, very approachable. I’ll talk to him in general terms and get back to you on which way the wind’s blowing.’
‘That’ll be fantastic, and I hope you don’t mind me asking. Hey, would you like to try Junoco now, or take a pair of blue and gold truffles home with you?’
‘Thank you, but no, I won’t. I put too much crazy stuff into my body in the past and decided to draw the line when I hit thirty-five. I’d love to find a creative solution to the Kirsty problem and I’m certainly curious about how her mind works, but I think I’m best coming up with that on my own.’
It was late by now, almost midnight, and Kir
sty still hadn’t left. Marcus gratefully accepted Fran’s offer to stay over and asked if he could sleep on the sofa, as her second bedroom adjoined his own back room and he didn’t want Kirsty hearing sounds through the wall and possibly ‘putting two and two together and making four – or even five’.
They were up early the next morning and observed Kirsty leaving the house to join the commuters heading for the underground. Fran couldn’t make out her facial expression, but she noticed that she didn’t have her sports bag and was carrying only a small shoulder bag. Marcus left at a quarter to eight, looking devious himself as he crept down Fran’s front path and round their dividing wall to his own door. Within a few minutes, she received a text thanking her for shielding him and saying that all looked as usual, no visible damage. His priority task for the day, as he put it, was to change the locks.
***
She paid the taxi driver and walked up the lane to the end cottage, wondering if she should have come. It was so soon after the funeral. She stopped to lean over the paddock fence, but there was no snort of welcome and no sign of the pony, either in the field or sheltering from the sun under the trees on the ridge. She and Andy had never spent any time together, just the two of them, and the attraction between them had always been cleverly mediated by Judi. It could all be illusory. The butterflies in her stomach were fluttering like crazy, as they invariably did in the final approach to meeting a new date in a pub or café, when she just wanted to turn around and run for home. This was a much bigger thing, complicated by history and fraught with risk, although she hadn’t fully considered what the risks were. That she – or they – would let Judi down, betray her memory? That she would look like an utter fool to anyone – and that was everyone – who didn’t know what had passed between them and had no knowledge of the history? That they would keep it going too long and for all the wrong reasons?
Stop it, Frankie, lighten up. Judi had simply said that she hoped they would go on holiday together. She had indicated by her deliberate phrasing that it should be short and sweet. This was the spirit in which to keep walking along the lane, although the clear intention of Judi’s wish was already compromised by Andy saying he wasn’t ready for a holiday yet and it would be more relaxed if she came to the cottage.