by Kate Bulpitt
Simon had scowled at them. ‘What happened?’
‘Is he all right?’ Eve asked her mum, quietly.
Linda sighed and nodded.
‘Stupid people,’ said Vince.
‘They weren’t stupid. Just drunk and… provoked.’
‘Provoked? It wasn’t my fault! We were being social. Friendly.’
Linda looked at him, saying nothing.
‘What? I was only talking to his wife. He was all chatty-Cathy, complimenting you, and I didn’t deck him one.’
‘He didn’t have his arm around me and he wasn’t sniffing my neck.’ Eve’s mother sounded not angry but resigned.
‘I wasn’t sniffing her neck. I was asking her what her perfume was. It reminded me of yours.’
A flicker of crushed disappointment had crossed Linda’s face.
‘You think I deserved to be whacked for a bit of harmless fun? You were right there – you saw. We were just chatting. He must be mad.’
Linda turned away, towards the sea. Eve had tried to guess what she was thinking, whether she was considering stamping on his foot with one of her silver sandals. Instead she turned around, looked at his swollen eye and said, ‘We should get back to the hotel and put some ice on that. And you two,’ she told Eve and Simon, ‘should get to bed soon.’
At the B&B, Vince checked his face in the dressing table mirror before again pressing the bag of ice that Linda had sheepishly requested from their landlady against the swelling. Simon, en route to fetch some toothpaste from their suitcase, stood next to him.
‘Y’alright, Dad?’
Vince nodded. ‘Yeah, thanks. Just irresistible, eh son?’ he said, winking with his good eye.
Eve glanced across at her mum, who was reading – or pretending to. Eve had been watching, and hadn’t seen her turn a page.
*
Eve leant back in her seat, eyes closed, still picturing them all in that room. She might be entirely wrong – and of course that wouldn’t excuse her dad from blame for his current injuries – but she couldn’t help but wonder if somehow history had now repeated itself. This thought was interrupted as the captain’s voice announced that they would soon be landing, and with a ringing sound, the seatbelt sign blinked on. Oh, green and pleasant and now purple land, Eve thought, looking out of the window as the plane began its descent.
Chapter Four
Naturally, given the mere wink in time since the Purpleness began, back in Blighty everything appeared unchanged. Yet Eve was on high alert, eyes peeled for sightings of Purple people. It was an unsurprising but no less guilty truth that she really wanted to see a plum ’un, and, now she was here, felt expectantly a-flutter at the thought, it could happen at any time. She wondered what it would be like when she saw a Purple person. Would she want to hug them, to let them know that not everyone agreed with the witchhunt? Or would she be repelled, seeing dead eyes matching dull skin, someone as lacking in heart as Theo Fletcher claimed? The bruised or the bruisers? Or both?
She’d been hopeful as she ambled through the airport, but two raised hoods were red herrings, and an unlikely tinge, spotted in a distant queue – this is it, Eve thought, heart skipping – transpired to be the result of extensive tattoos. Be realistic, she told herself; if you were newly Purpled, it’s unlikely that you’d be gadding festively on holiday, and even if you simply wanted to scarper, where in the world would they welcome anyone so inescapably singled out to be a troublemaker?
Other changes to the nation, meanwhile, were increasingly pronounced; the Repeal had resulted in an unexpected offshoot, commonly known as the Rollback, whereby, seemingly spontaneously, many things culturally and socially had begun to reverse. In a trivial, trifling way at first – old-fashioned foods such as gammon steaks with pineapple in the supermarket, and chains of high street stores re-adopting decades-dead branding – then later, a resurgence in letter-writing (away from prying eyes on the Portal), milk deliveries (which had increased by 6,000 per cent in the year following the Repeal), and other elements that you couldn’t quite put your finger on, but inspired a flicker of déjà vu. As with the things which had been gradually forgotten as the world progressed – like letter-writing and milk deliveries – now some newer developments would slink back into the shadows when you weren’t looking, as though they’d never been there at all. It was surprising how little resistance there was; apparently so much comfort to be found in what you knew, and could rely on (‘As long as they stick to naff sweets and pay phones,’ said Eve’s friend Helena. ‘If they crack out mother-in-law jokes, or the Black and White Minstrel Show, I’ll start the revolution myself’).
As Eve made her way through the wide airport corridors, she detected the faint smell of cigarette smoke, all the more noticeable now she was used to being away from it, bar Adio’s sneaky puffing. Red, white and royal blue chairs clustered in sporadic rows beneath seemingly endless framed pictures boasting the best of British: the latest James Bond star – Eve could never remember his name – sat, fag in hand, alongside the newest, sleek Jaguar (‘Still made in the UK’); the current captains of the English cricket and football teams sharing an Arkwright’s beer; the modern, questionably efficient, solar-powered Teasmade; a shot of Live Aid; ice champs Torvill and Dean getting Olympian gold after their Bolero; and a celebratory, cup-wielding snap from England winning the World Cup in 1966 alongside a picture of the trophy recently, finally, coming home. It was only as she exited customs, passing a bank of pay phones and catching a glimpse of the newspapers in a Quigley’s kiosk, that betrayed any clue as to the nation’s newly controversial hue. It was ridiculous, but Eve felt slightly disappointed. She’d expected the place to feel different, but of course it didn’t yet, at all.
Eve was about to make a Quigley’s pitstop when she spotted Womble and Helena. Womble was holding a small sign featuring a printed picture of Pam Fox-Jones with Eve’s face super-imposed onto it. ‘Welcome home!’ it said, with ‘Time for a sherry’ scribbled just about legibly underneath. Eve laughed, trundling towards them with her luggage.
‘Hi, wanderer,’ said Womble, glad the sign had made Eve laugh (he muttered an ‘I told you!’ to Helena, who’d apparently admonished him, saying that the Pam picture might be too frivolous, under the circumstances).
‘Hello, you,’ said Helena.
‘Aah, hello,’ said Eve, giving them each a tight hug, before pulling back and looking at them expectantly. ‘Is there any news?’
Helena shook her head. ‘I’m so sorry, Evie,’ she said. ‘I spoke to your mum before we left and there’s no change. But we’ll take you straight over to the hospital.’
‘Thanks, and thank you so much for meeting me.’
‘Our pleasure,’ said Helena.
‘Yes, a trip to the airport is almost as good as a holiday itself,’ said Womble.
‘He’s counting the hours ’til the school holidays.’ Helena linked her arm with Eve’s as they made their way towards the car park.
‘Nearly there,’ said Womble. ‘I can’t wait.’
‘How are the young ’uns? About to pass their exams with flying colours, thanks to you?’
‘Naturally. And now I shall tell them if they don’t do well I’ll have them turned Purple.’
‘Oh, don’t,’ said Helena, with a note of irritation in her voice. ‘It’s not funny.’
Eve was about to tease Womble about changing his tune but, sensing tension, held back. Something to discuss later, she thought.
Helena pulled a parking ticket from her handbag. Eve could feel a rising anxiety with each step that they took towards the car and away from Quigley’s. She needed a news fix.
‘Can I just quickly grab some papers?’
‘I knew it!’ said Helena.
‘Well, with everything that’s going on…’
‘Knock yourself out,’ Helena said, before grimacing. ‘God, sorry, wrong turn of phrase…’
‘Ah, don’t be silly,’ said Eve, already quickening her step towards the n
ewsagent’s.
She stood by the piles of papers, and gave a quietly enraptured sigh. The Purpleness was splashed across every front page, of course it was. Eve surveyed the headlines, revelling in the scene, before scooping up two copies of every title and heading to the till.
The cashier glanced quizzically between Eve and the pulpy mountain.
‘All of these?’
‘Please.’
‘You’ve got two here? Wait, of each?’
‘That’s right.’
‘Huh.’ The cashier paused then muttered, ‘Mental.’
Bit harsh, thought Eve. ‘Well, I just wanted to—’ She noticed the cashier’s finger prodding the sweatshirt-raising man’s shoulder, as she pointed at the picture of the three Purple people.
‘Ah. Yes. What do you think?’
The cashier stared at the photo, considering this. She tilted her head.
‘Wonder what drugs they were on when they thought of it,’ she said. ‘But I suppose if that’s what it takes.’
The cashier shrugged, then indicated to some chocolate bars lined up neatly on the counter.
‘Chocolate?’
‘No, just the papers, thanks.’
Eve loaded her haul into a shopping bag and strode, sated, back towards Womble and Helena.
Over the tanoy, there was a series of chimes, signalling an announcement.
‘Gentlemen, if you’re travelling today, why not pick up a set of Mills Brothers moustache-trimmers – on special offer at Kay Brand Chemists Duty Free. Yes, that’s right – wherever you’re going, impress with a moustache shaped by Mills Brothers, the only product with the silver seal. And for the ladies, take a look at Yardley’s range of show-stopping neon cosmetics, which have just arrived in store – perfect for nights on the town. From Shanghai to Chicago, they’re sure to get you noticed.’
Further chimes concluded the announcement just as Eve, Womble and Helena reached the exit.
‘Too late to pick up those moustache trimmers now, then,’ said Womble.
‘Just as well,’ said Helena, ‘given that you don’t have a moustache to trim.’
Womble grinned and rubbed his upper lip. ‘Ah. I knew there was something missing.’
*
Helena pulled into a space in the hospital car park and switched off the engine. She and Womble then turned simultaneously to Eve, who was sitting in the back seat.
‘How are you feeling?’
Eve took a deep breath. ‘A bit sick.’
At the reception desk, Eve was directed to where Vince was being treated.
‘Shall we come with you?’ Helena asked.
‘No, don’t worry. Go and enjoy your weekend, I’ll be okay on my own.’
Eve wandered through what felt like a dozen sets of swing doors before spotting her dad’s ward ahead, at the end of a corridor. She stopped for a moment to let a woman on crutches move past.
‘Sorry,’ the woman said, inching slowly forward. ‘Still getting my sea legs.’
Eve smiled and waited. Nearby, a phone rang, and a passing nurse quickened her pace to answer it.
‘Hello? They never! In A&E? When did he come in – have you seen him? He’s got police with him?’ She gave a disappointed sigh. ‘So we can’t just go and have a look. Shame. You know Suba reckons they’re putting something in kebabs? She says it’s funny blokes being Purpled after getting in fights in the street, that they’ll get a kebab on the way home, and that’ll have something in it. Sounds mad, but who knows…’
Eve clocked this conversation. It made for an unlikely theory, as unlikely as anything could be these days, but she liked that someone had a notion about it at all. Plus a Purple person here in this very building… She made a mental note of that. Then, as the crutch-assisted woman nodded a thank you, Eve continued on to the reception desk at her dad’s ward. With a dry throat, she introduced herself to the nurse.
‘Hello there, Miss Baxter. Your mum and brother were here, but I saw them leave the ward a little while ago.’
‘Really? They were expecting me—’
‘They probably just went to get a cup of tea. There can be lots of tea breaks here, it’s a lot of waiting around.’ A sympathetic smile. She had a kind face; a fortuitous asset in this profession, Eve imagined. A silver name badge declared this to be Shona Attride.
‘Shall I show you to your dad’s room?’
Eve followed the nurse, a shiver of nerves tingling through her, numbing her hands and knees.
‘Here we are.’ Nurse Attride opened a door.
Eve walked into the room, and slowly towards her dad’s bed. There was bruising on his face, and a medley of tubes poked out of him. She swallowed and, feeling unexpectedly light-headed, reached towards the side of the bed, pressing a hand against the mattress to steady herself. Doing so she inadvertently moved closer to Vince – closer than she was usually. Hugs between them were rare and awkward, but now she felt an odd urge to lean further forward, and – what? She couldn’t easily embrace him, lying like that – maybe rest her head on his chest? She dismissed this notion, removing her hand from the side of the bed and tucking it in her pocket, before taking a step backwards and turning to the nurse.
‘Do you have any idea when he might come out of this?’
Nurse Attride shook her head. ‘It’s hard to tell, I’m afraid.’
‘Right.’
‘You can talk to him. Sometimes it helps.’
Eve nodded, not sure what to say.
‘I’ll leave you.’
Eve stood quietly while the heart monitor bleeped, and another machine hissed. She looked down at her dad, who – incongruously – appeared quite peaceful. Having a nap while all this fuss occurred around him. If she was honest, Eve had partly expected – hoped – that he would be on the mend when she arrived, conscious, and lucidly chatting up nurses, asking if they could smuggle beer into his teacup. It would be true to form for him, to obliviously cause chaos and then charm his way out of it.
‘Hi, Dad. It’s Eve.’
There was a chair pulled up to one side of the bed. Eve sat down. She stared at the blanket that covered Vince; it was blue and bobbling, the way jumpers did. Minutes passed.
‘We’re all worried about you. Quite a scare you’ve given everyone. Mum’s beside herself. I came back as quickly as I could. I thought you might be awake when I got here.’
Eve glanced around the room. There was a newly bought comb on the bedside table, resting on top of the cellophane packet it had come in. She looked at her dad’s hair. Neat, tended to, despite the circumstances. Obviously her mother’s doing.
‘There was a couple on the plane,’ Eve said, ‘who’d just got engaged. It had been their first trip to New York, and he’d planned the proposal – was going to ask her on top of the Empire State Building. Which is sweet, I guess. But he was so overexcited that he’d asked her at the airport before they’d even left London. Imagine that. Being so eager to propose. Someone being so eager to propose to you.’ Eve looked at the comb. She wondered if she would ever feel that; she seemed to get relationships all wrong.
What else should she talk about? Old memories, revarnished for the occasion? The weather?
‘It’s funny being home. You won’t believe what’s happening in the news. Theo Fletcher’s starting dyeing people. Criminals. Which is bananas.’
Nurse Attride had re-entered the room. She stood at the end of the bed, glancing at the monitors and making notes on a clipboard.
‘As you can imagine, I’m already obsessing about it. I mean, people–’ She paused. ‘Turning purple. It’s incredible. Can you really do that to humans? Should you? How on earth are they doing it?’ Eve stretched, her body dull and itchy from the hours concertina’d on the plane. If the nurse hadn’t been there, she’d have considered lying on the floor. ‘You always said I’d make a rubbish war reporter. Which is probably true. But this I can do. I’m going to find out how they’re Purpling people. You yourself say I’m like a dog with
a bone…’
The nurse tucked away the clipboard, gave Eve a smile. Eve yawned, fidgeting in her seat.
‘I’m babbling, sorry,’ Eve told the nurse. ‘Bit delirious. Not sure how helpful that will be with waking anyone up.’
‘Don’t you worry,’ said Nurse Attride. She had taken a roll of sweets from her pocket and popped one in her mouth, before extending the packet to Eve.
‘Mint imperial?’
‘Oh. Thank you,’ said Eve, noticing the retro design of the wrapper.
Nurse Attride looked as though she might say something else, but hesitated. Then added, ‘Your mum said you were coming back from America.’
‘Yes,’ said Eve. ‘Hence the babbling. Jet lag.’
‘What do you do there?’
‘News. Sort of,’ said Eve.
‘A newspaper?’
‘A place called Say Fantastique! Fun news, mostly. But we’re starting to do more reporting.’
‘I’ve heard of it. My girlfriend reads it.’
‘Ah!’ Eve exclaimed, pleased.
‘She’s in A&E, and they definitely appreciate a bit of light relief…’
A phone began to ring.
‘I’d better get that,’ the nurse said, returning to the front desk.
To Vince, Eve said, ‘The nurses seem very nice, so you might want to get your skates on, make the most of the attention.’
‘Eve!’
Linda entered the room, with Simon behind her. Eve wasn’t sure if her mother had overheard what she’d said.
‘It’s a relief to have you home, love.’
Linda looked as forlorn and fatigued as anyone would be after a sleepless night in a bedside chair. And the contrast of her typically elegant attire – today mostly emerald green, with a string of heavy glass beads clinking around her neck – only made her tiredness appear more pronounced.
‘How are you doing, Mum?’
‘Oh, so so.’
She and Eve hugged. From the corner of the room, still by the door, Simon gave a small nod in greeting. He was his usual scruffy self, though appeared less scrawny, less sallow. He actually looked healthy, as though he might be taking care of himself, which seemed hard to believe. More likely, Mum is taking care of him, Eve thought.