by Lynn Watson
He winked at his raised glass, and Fran and Alice smiled at each other. Fran was already plotting how she was going to engineer another meeting with Alice.
When she got home, Guacamole was sitting square on his drum, betraying no sign of vitality. She spoke to him anyway as she dropped her handbag on the floor, flung her jacket onto the sofa and unzipped her boots.
‘Well, guess what I found out. There’s evidence of humans using mind-bending plant substances as far back as eleven thousand years ago. And curiosity can be a real threat to established wisdom, a form of insubordination. That’s your lecture for tonight, Mr Mole. Now I’m going to enjoy a nice hot mug of cocoa before bed. Are you asleep or would you care to join me?’
***
It was the week of Halloween and Daniela had given Fran fifty pounds to buy decorations for the shop window display. She had chosen four witches on broomsticks, which she planned to hang from the ceiling so they were flying in formation but at different heights. As they were relatively high-quality, there wasn’t much left in the budget after this, but she put in an extra ten pounds and bought a mobile of a moon and stars to hang in front of the witches. She had positioned the stepladder and placed the tools on top to start fixing the decorations when she heard the bell tinkling upstairs, signalling that someone was coming into the shop. She turned carefully on the middle step of the ladder and saw Kwesi, the doctor, hovering in the doorway.
‘I am sorry, Fran. I am disturbing you. I will come back another day.’
‘Not at all, I’m only doing the decorations for Halloween. It can wait a few minutes.’
He came in as if entering a private home, wiping his shoes on the non-existent door mat and looking round politely. They smiled at each other, Fran remembering again how he had come to her aid while others had stood by and then slunk away from the scene.
‘How are you, Kwesi? Are you still at the library – and what about your asylum papers? Has there been any progress?’
‘Unfortunately, I am waiting for my appeal to be considered. It takes a long time because there are many people asking for refugee status and I don’t have an answer yet, or a date. I have to be patient but it is difficult.’
He spoke quietly, even though there were no customers or other staff in the shop. She stepped down off the ladder.
‘I am still sleeping in the library but I may have to leave, as they are planning to close down the area where I have a space. Are you questioning why I have come to see you?’
‘Well, no. I thought maybe you were passing by the shop and you noticed me in the window with my coven of witches!’
He looked shocked, just for a moment. It was a crass, thoughtless comment.
‘Fran, my friend, I have come to ask you for a favour.’
‘Okay, go ahead.’
‘I have drums, traditional drums that I played at home, when things were normal in my life. I was in a band and we played at weddings and local festivities and often for fun, out on the square where the old people rested on benches and children played football.’
‘I can imagine it, you paint a good picture.’
‘Yes, and there are four drums, different sizes. I brought them with me and I asked a friend, someone I met here in London and who lives in a big house with other people, I asked him to keep them until I have a place to live. Now he has to leave because the landlady cheated with her tax and she wants to sell the house. I thought, Fran is a kind person and perhaps she will know a friend who can keep my drums.’
She was quiet for a moment while her mind speeded through any likely pitfalls.
‘Well, I have three bedrooms and both my children are living abroad. Anyway, they’ve left home now and will find their own places when they come back in two or three years. I’d be happy to find a space for your drums; it shouldn’t be any problem.’
As she spoke, she became aware of the discordance in this: he had no home to go to and here she was, offering a bedroom for his drums. ‘I mean, as well, maybe you’d like to stay with me, just for a week or two…?’
He jumped in quickly. ‘No, Fran, thank you but that would not be a good thing. I want to be friends, if you wish it too, and it would not be right to stay in your house.’
‘Oh, okay then, yes of course.’ She was relieved at his firm position. ‘When do you want to bring them over? I haven’t got a car at the moment, so I can’t collect them.’
‘This evening, is that too soon? Or when will it be a good time?’
‘Yes, this evening is fine, say between seven and eight?’
The small van arrived soon after seven and Kwesi and his friend unloaded the drums onto the pavement. Fran could see Marcus peering out over his front window blind and the poster of Marmalade, the missing cat. Then he disappeared from the window, opened his front door and waved at them.
‘Oh, hi, Marcus, my friend Kwesi here is leaving his drums with me for a while. Don’t be too alarmed – I don’t know how to play them!’
Marcus came down the path to check out the drums, which were similar to the small one on Fran’s hearth, Guacamole’s seat, except cone-shaped and taller. She introduced the guys and they each picked up a drum and carried them into the house and up to her second bedroom. Marcus had lots of questions for Kwesi and their chat turned into a conversation about musical influences and their experiences of performing in bands.
‘I haven’t played the sax publicly for years now,’ said Marcus, ‘not since my twenties, but everyone assumes I do. I remember once going to a professional conference on health and care at a hotel, and as I was entering the front door, the doorman said, “Musicians round the back, mate!”’
Fran sensed that Kwesi was reluctant to leave the comfort of her kitchen. How did he obtain access to the library at this time of night? Was it warm enough to sleep in there? Is that where he kept the suitcase full of gifts for the Londoners he believed would invite him to their homes? As if on cue, he pulled something out of his tote bag and handed it across the table. It was wrapped in soft tissue paper, through which she could see a pair of spiral horns. She pulled off the paper to reveal a carved wooden antelope about eight inches high, excluding the majestic horns, very graceful and with its nose raised to sniff the air.
‘Oh, thank you! It’s beautiful, so natural and lifelike. I’ll put it on the mantelpiece, near to my mole, Guacamole. He’ll enjoy that.’
After Kwesi had left, Fran returned to Marcus at the kitchen table and picked up the carved animal, trailing her fingertip around the long coil of its horn.
‘Do you remember, Marcus? I told you I’m drawing wild animals; it’s an effect of the Junoco truffles. Well, this carving that Kwesi has given me has such an amazingly strong likeness to one of my sketches. Can I show you?’
She went to the chest in the front room and took out a folder of drawings. Marcus followed, and as she looked through the sketches for the one she wanted, he was picking them up at random.
‘They’re lovely, Fran. You should turn them into paintings, breathe colour into them. Yes, that one you’ve got there. It’s so vibrant and full of spirit.’
‘This is the one I mean. Look at it next to the carving! They are nearly identical.’
‘Yeah, that’s extraordinary. It’s a classic pose for a deer but the horns are the same, and you’re right, it looks like the same creature.’
‘Is that what you think, Marcus, that my drawings are full of spirit? What do you mean by that?’
‘It just came to me, as I skimmed through. Why, have I said the wrong thing?’
‘No, it’s just that I feel a spirit near me sometimes, a presence following me around. It takes different forms and sometimes it’s just a feeling. My best friend died a few months ago and one of the last things she said to me was that she wanted to be a spirit, not a ghost. I wonder if I am expressing it in some way, through all this drawing. I started sketching again on the day she died. She was like a gazelle, Judi. She had those soft, lustrous eyes.’
; She raised her face from the carving and looked up at him, expecting him to be embarrassed or perplexed. He took his time before replying.
‘Putting it like that, maybe she meant that a ghost is restless and comes back to haunt us, while a spirit is carefree and stays around to inspire us. A ghost is indifferent and cold, while a spirit is kind and compassionate. Does that make any sense?’
‘Not entirely, I’m not sure. Maybe it’s a bit harsh on ghosts; maybe they’re just sad.’
She picked up the antelope and stroked its smooth surface from head to tail and back again, ending up at the tip of each horn. She felt too wobbly, had taken it too far. Now wasn’t the moment to cry.
‘I mean, Kirsty has come back to haunt you and it’s not exactly indifferent of her to chuck a lump of brick through your window.’
‘That’s true, but she’s certainly restless, so that part holds good. Anyway, I thought we were discussing non-earthly spirits and ghosts, not living people.’
Fran’s phone buzzed at that point and she went over to check it. It was a text message from Andy, confirming the date for his overnight visit. Ned had also sent a text, asking, Are you okay – dinner soon? She hadn’t been in contact with him since the night of the film premiere and she was intending to wait until the Junoco launch party to judge the lie of the land. Given the nature of their relationship, there were merits and perils in both her options – disclosing that she had seen him in Leicester Square or keeping quiet about it.
Marcus broke into her thoughts with a new question. ‘Will he come over to play, do you think? Is that the plan?’
‘What? Who do you mean?’ Ned didn’t come to her place; that wasn’t part of the deal, or not yet anyway.
‘Kwesi, your drummer friend, will he come over here and play? If he does, I’d like to join him sometime and see if we can get it together with the sax and drums. I think we’d get away with some light jamming at this distance without upsetting our dear friends Eric and Delia. What about you, would you mind if we did that?’
‘Yes, that sounds good, it could be fun. Oddly enough, I hadn’t thought about him coming over to play the drums until you suggested it just now. I’ll ask him.’
‘Great. And, by the way, it’s too late to talk about it now but I’ve got more to tell you about that government research programme I mentioned, Bright Minds. Also, I don’t know if you’ve seen her, but Lily was hanging around outside your house today. She wanted us to know that two more cats have gone missing.’
‘Oh dear; if that’s true, it is very strange, I have to say. I’ll watch out for Lily. And yes—’
‘I must go home now. Can I sneak out the back door and over the fence? I’ve a feeling Kirsty may be spying tonight, and she mustn’t find out I’m here, as she gets jealous at the slightest thing.’
As soon as he had gone, Fran sat down to Skype Chaddy. There was an eight-hour time difference between London and Hong Kong, so she might catch her with a few minutes to spare before she set off to work. When Chaddy responded, it was lovely to hear the excitement in her voice as she offered snippets about what she had been up to and the people she had met so far.
‘And what about you, Mum – are you doing okay? Not too lonely without us? How’s life in London?’
‘Yes, I’m fine, settling in. I haven’t had time to be lonely. It’s been a bit manic.’
‘I can imagine, with all the unpacking and getting to know your way round and starting the new job. What about the weird couple that gave us that flak over the removal van?’
‘Oh, that’s Eric and Delia. They’re the original neighbours from hell. The only good thing is that people bond well when they have common hate figures, so I’m getting on beautifully with the rest of the street.’
That was it, short, sweet and not very revealing on Fran’s part. She went up to her bedroom and closed the curtains without turning on the light, then pulled the two edges open so she could put her face through the gap. There was no one under the big chestnut tree and no sign of cats, just a man in a long dark coat who slowed down to light a cigarette as he walked by.
Chapter 10
The plan was to launch the Junoco website on the same day as Daniela’s party. Daniela had directed Fran to lead on communication with their individual customers and look after the social media side, while she took charge of the corporate customers herself. Vicky’s IT role was to deal with the inevitable technical hitches and add features and capability as the business evolved. Following the idea to create the feel of a select club with an edge of mystery, Daniela had sent out the party invitations with a handwritten note, saying the venue would be in Central London and would be disclosed at twelve noon on the day.
It was a misty November morning and Fran headed to the office early to do the final trial run with Vicky. The minor glitches were sorted and at eleven o’clock they went live and began to get their first hits. The tone and language of the site were carefully measured and unsensational, as they aimed to attract the genuine curiosity seekers, rather than people wanting to chase the novelty of the latest mind-altering product. At the same time, there had to be an emphasis on fun and sensuality and they had put in a lot of effort to get the balance right.
‘Do you know who they are, Vicky?’
‘Who do you mean – Infrared and his gang?’
‘No, not them; I’m thinking of the corporate clients, the party guests. Daniela doesn’t want to tell me their names, but if it’s so confidential, why is she having a party where they will meet each other and know who everyone else is?’
‘It’s a kind of private members’ club, that’s why. They love secrets. She didn’t tell me who’s coming either, but I found the list quite easily.’
She quickly brought up the party guest list on her other screen and they ran through it together. Most of the invitees were in high-level positions in businesses such as hotels, restaurants, property development companies, estate agencies, fashion retail, events management and accountancy and law firms. Two university professors had made it onto the list, along with three directors of online dating sites and other people that they weren’t able to categorise from the company name.
‘Accountancy and law firms – they seem a bit out of place, don’t you think?’
‘No, not at all; you absolutely need friends like that to smooth the way and help with major transactions and deals.’ Vicky glanced back at the computer screen. ‘Hey, look here – we’ve already made ten sales!’
At twelve o’clock, they received a copy of Daniela’s promised email. However, instead of letting the guests know the party venue, it told them the event was unavoidably postponed due to sudden family illness. She would let them know the rearranged date as soon as possible and sent her sincere apologies for the inconvenience.
‘Sudden family illness,’ said Vicky. ‘Maybe it’s cousin Osvaldo or another of her relatives in South America. Do we know if her parents are still alive? It has to be serious for her to stop the party, surely?’
Before they had time to speculate any further, the shop bell tinkled and they heard Daniela’s voice greeting the sales assistant. She came leaping up the stairs two at a time and burst into the office.
‘Did you get my email? The party’s off, I’ve postponed it. There’s been a fire.’
‘There’s been a fire? It’s not family illness, then, like you said?’
‘No, it’s a fire at the factory. The manager called me an hour ago and I’m going out there now, when I’ve picked up a few things. I’ve ordered a taxi.’
This was peculiar. A UK factory hadn’t been mentioned before, except as a future possibility. The chocolates were produced in South America – that was what Fran had been told. It couldn’t be Ned’s warehouse unit, the distribution centre? She glanced at Vicky, who usually had more inside knowledge by virtue of her IT role, but Vicky was focused on observing Daniela as she scattered stationery and papers around the desk in a frenetic search for whatever it was she was missing. Fran
was anxious not to aggravate Daniela further, but she had to find out if it was Ned’s place that had been attacked.
‘Which factory is it, Daniela? Where are you going? Tell us.’
Daniela looked up and swept back her thick hair with both hands, realising she wasn’t going to get away with the minimal explanation she had so far offered.
‘We opened a factory three weeks ago, on farmland north-east of London. You didn’t need to know, but it made sense to move some of our production to the UK. Now it’s been set alight. The building hasn’t burnt down but there’s smoke and water damage and at least one of the machines is ruined. It is arson, the manager is saying, he’s convinced of it. It has to be Infrared and his cronies, almost definitely. Was that a car horn outside?’ She went to the window. ‘My taxi – I’ll contact you later, when I’ve had time to assess the scale of it. You know nothing about this, remember. Don’t answer any questions.’
As Daniela flew off down the stairs, Fran and Vicky looked at each other, stunned by the whirlwind visit. Then Vicky’s face relaxed into an impish smile.
‘I know it’s serious, not funny at all, but it sounds like a bit of a meltdown, don’t you think – Junoco melt?’
‘That’s a terrible joke, Vicky, extremely bad taste. It’s like the newspaper story – this is true – about the migrant who hid in a lorry full of hot liquid chocolate and when it got unbearable, he had to climb out the top and walk back to the camp, dripping with chocolate from head to toe. That’s not funny either.’
Vicky giggled and lifted her feet onto the edge of her chair so she could clasp her knees like a ten-year-old. ‘Honestly, I don’t know how we ever survived without each other.’
‘Me neither. You’re like Judi, in many ways, but with you and me, it’s more even, it’s mutual. I’ve taken on some of Judi’s spirit and you and I will lead each other astray, that’s the difference. In fact, we already have!’