by Kate Bulpitt
‘They made them do a lot of counselling,’ said Jason. ‘Made them watch videos of victims of crime talking, and their families, you know, saying how it had felt, to have whatever thing happened to them happen to them. They told them they were scum.’
‘They used that word?’
Jason considered this. ‘Might not have, that was probably just how Luke told it. They told them they were wicked and deserved to be punished. Oh, and… I didn’t get this bit, I thought maybe they were trying to help, but there were no mirrors there.’
‘So they couldn’t see what they looked like?’
‘No. Well, they could see it when they looked at themselves, you know, their arms and legs and body, but they couldn’t look in a mirror. Luke couldn’t see his face.’
‘But they would see each others?’
‘Yeah. Strange.’
‘And what effect did all of it have on Luke?’
‘I think he was angry. Frustrated. I mean you would be, wouldn’t you? You’ve turned a funny colour…’ Addressing Finn, Jason said, ‘No offence, mate,’ before continuing, ‘You don’t know what’s happened to you, or what it means, you’re locked up with a load of people who have also been made that colour, and you can’t talk to anyone you know. I think it sort of… messed with his head. He was always a hard nut, you know – I was scared of him, I’ll be honest – I saw what he did to people, but he never laid a finger on me, or Mum. He was just like a powder keg all the time, some small thing and bang, he was off. But when he got back, he seemed… I thought maybe they’d drugged him.’
‘Sedated him?’
‘Yep.’
‘And, if you don’t mind talking about it, what happened before he was taken to hospital?’
‘So. He’d been pretty strange all day. Which you would be, you know, sent home a funny colour, that no one’s seen before. You’re going to feel weird, aren’t you? You can’t escape it. Anyone you see can see it. He just sort of sat about. On the sofa. Drank…’
‘What did he drink?’
‘Beer. Maybe vodka? He talked to Mum a bit. She was hysterical, you know? “How did this happen to you? What did they do?” And he just didn’t know. Then really late – I was in bed, Mum was in bed, we thought Luke was in bed – there was a loud smash. I thought, here we go, he’s kicking off, which would be typical for him, really, like before. Definitely before. Usually if he was kicking off about something though, he’d find someone to take it out on. He was locked in the bathroom. I thought I’d stay out of the way, really. But I could hear Mum banging on the door, saying let me in, let me in – frantic. He wouldn’t reply. So she called the ambulance. They were thrilled to get our address… They came though, kicked the door in, and he was unconscious, on the floor. He’d taken a load of pills.’
‘Do you think… ?’
‘He topped himself?’ Jason was quiet for a moment. ‘You would never think he would top himself. Never.’
‘So it could have been accidental, the drinking, taking some pills, and if he’d already been sedated… ?’
‘Do you know what’s strange, though,’ said Jason. ‘The crash we heard – he’d hit his head so hard against the mirror that it was smashed.’
‘Another accident?’
‘Or that…’
‘Go ahead,’ said Finn. ‘Say it.’
‘That seeing himself in the mirror…’
The three of them sat silently for a while.
‘How are you feeling?’ Eve asked Finn.
Finn shrugged.
‘You’re brave to be out.’
‘Mm. My uncle’s a police commissioner, he’ll get me changed back. Soon. I didn’t hurt anyone.’
‘Your uncle’s a police commissioner? And you can get changed back?’
‘I hope so.’
‘But still you spoke to me?’
‘Luke wouldn’t have got Turned back,’ said Jason. ‘I wanted Finn to talk to you for him.’
At this point a group of young men around the same age as Eve’s companions wandered into the park. They stared at Finn as they passed, heads turning in unison like a mob of meerkats. Eve kept her expression neutral, but felt her heartbeat pick up pace; with swagger, plus an exchange of glances and smirk-inducing whispered remarks, this seemed to be the sort of assembly that’d look for trouble, and would a Purple person be more, or less, of a target? Finn may have been thinking the same thing; his feet bobbed up and down in a nervous twitch.
To Eve’s surprise, the meerkats gave nods – of approval? – in Finn’s direction, and ambled on. She watched as Finn kicked his previously agitated feet in front of him, legs spread, and leant back, now a picture of casual confidence.
Addressing Jason, Eve said, ‘I’m curious – and I say this as someone whose brother has been in trouble with the police his whole life – why do you think Luke behaved as he did? Before the Purpling. When he would attack people.’
‘I’ve no idea. He’d get so wound up. But he seemed to enjoy it. You’d watch him, and he’d get a rush from it…’
Eve wanted to ask more – about where they grew up, their home life, the rest of their family… but she didn’t want to be insensitive, given the circumstances. With her own family background, she knew as well as anyone that sometimes there wasn’t a well-lit explanation behind any bad behaviour (and if there was an explanation, was that enough of an excuse?).
Jason’s words echoed Eve’s assessment of herself and Simon. ‘You look at him and me, we grew up the same, but… I couldn’t do what he did. To hurt someone, to physically hurt them… No, I couldn’t do it.’
*
During the earliest of Simon’s skirmishes with the law, when the police came round Eve would be sent to her room, kept out of the way. But as their visits became more frequent, shielding her seemed an increasingly pointless pretence. After a couple of years, Linda knew how two or three of them liked their tea and that one officer, a stoutish guy, was allergic to wheat, so could never eat the digestives. And there was always something new with the charges. Simon dabbled, fairly unsuccessfully, in all sorts of things, but if there were an E for effort on his criminal record, it would have been awarded for theft, and getting into fights. ‘Apparently we’re never going to get any peace, are we?’ Linda had once said to him, exasperated, during one visit from Anti-Wheat and a less intolerant colleague. The police visits had gone from being met by tears and disappointment to bitterness-tinged defeat. ‘I just don’t know where he gets it from,’ Linda would say, seemingly perpetually surprised at his behaviour, implying that she would only expect such rotten wood when criminality had already grown in the family tree.
One time Simon had been growing marijuana in the seldom-used garden shed. He’d improvised the requisite light with a pair of old desk lamps, one of which subsequently overheated and caught fire when the family was out. A next-door neighbour spotted smoke escaping under the shed door and managed to tackle the infant blaze, but his wife had already called the fire brigade who, upon surveying the scene, subsequently alerted the police.
Eve had watched as her parents stood beside the blackened shed, with Simon and a couple of bemused officers.
‘Get your coat, son, and let’s go down to the station for a chat, shall we?’ said one.
‘You’re arresting him for that?’ Vince had asked, looking incredulously from the officer to the charred, wilted weeds lined up pathetically across the shed floor. ‘He was hardly going to get anywhere with those, was he? He’d have better luck hawking glue-sticks.’
Eve hadn’t been sure if their dad was more disappointed by Simon’s relentlessly illegal activities or by the distinct haplessness of this particular endeavour.
Usually he was one for goading, for starting the fire (whether literal or metaphorical) and then walking away, and his rap sheet was repetitive when it came to criminal mischief. But a disregard for the law and a rarely seen sense of empathy could make for worse misdemeanours. After one incident that had landed an acquaintance of Simon’s
in hospital (verdict: misadventure), Linda had said, ‘Never thinks of anyone else. Like father, like son,’ before excusing herself to get her coat.
As far as Eve could remember, it had been her only utterance of its kind.
*
At the hospital, Vince’s condition remained unchanged. Linda sat reading the biography of an actor who’d been most successful many moons ago, debonair and twinkly-eyed in monochrome, always getting laughs – and the girl. Simon flicked half-heartedly through the papers’ sports pages, attempting occasional dad-oriented comments which would fall flat after a few words, his doubtful attempt at engaging Vince floundering like a hooked fish hanging in the air (Simon had suggested to Vince that they go fishing once – his friend Duncan had gone frequently with his dad, packing rods and sandwiches – to which Vince had murmured inconclusively).
Eve had wanted to work, to percolate on the meeting with Jason and Finn – her first encounter with anactual Purple person – and to search what they’d said for clues. Or at the very least, bury herself in the day’s newspapers, which she’d stocked up on at the hospital kiosk. But she found herself unable to concentrate, too anxious from the bleeps and hisses of the machines, her Mum’s enforced calm, and Simon’s itchy irritation. It was stifling.
Simon had excused himself for yet another cigarette when the police arrived. Two officers knocked on the door, behind the glass, one of them holding up a hand in an introductory gesture. They hovered outside in the hallway.
Linda squeezed Vince’s hand again. ‘We’ll be right back,’ she told him, answered by a bleep and hiss.
Eve and her mother stepped outside. The female officer introduced herself as PC Elworthy; the male looked familiar to Eve, but she couldn’t quite place him. He looked too young to have been to their house, back in the day.
‘Mrs Baxter,’ the male officer said, shaking her hand. ‘I’m sorry to hear about your husband.’
‘Ex-husband, really,’ said Linda, ‘but thank you, Frankie.’ She turned to Eve. ‘Doesn’t Frankie look smart?’
Eve nodded, still nonplussed.
Back to Frankie, Linda continued, ‘Following in your dad’s footsteps?’
The officer smiled. ‘That’s right. He’s in the force again now, too.’
‘Is he? So who’s in charge of The Fox?’
‘Debs. She and her husband are running it.’
‘Frankie!’ At last Eve twigged. ‘I didn’t recognise you.’
‘Don’t worry, it’s been a good few years.’ To PC Elworthy, Frankie said, ‘Eve used to babysit me and my sister.’
‘Right.’ PC Elworthy nodded, then, opening her notebook, said, ‘Shall we sit down?’
They settled on some plastic seats in the unit’s reception area; chairs lined the walls, and they took a corner quartet, their meeting forming a V, with PC Elworthy being careful not to bump her knees into Linda’s.
Linda nervously clasped her hands together.
‘So, what can you tell us?’
‘The man we’ve identified as having perpetrated the attack on your husband is now in custody and has admitted the assault.’
‘He’s confessed?’ Eve asked.
‘He has, yes. And we have eye-witnesses to corroborate his statement.’
‘What happened?’
‘It was an unprovoked assault. Your father was at the bar, the assailant approached him, subsequently striking him in such a way that your father fell backwards, hitting his head on a table. It was obviously very unfortunate that he fell as he did – nine times out of ten he shouldn’t have come away from that with more than a black eye.’
‘Why did he hit him?’
‘Why do some people do anything? Pointless violence. The barman said the assailant was complaining about how long he was having to wait to be served, and your dad told him to—’ PC Elworthy consulted her notebook – ‘Pipe down were the exact words, so the barman said. With some idiots that’s all it takes. Just another thug with eager fists, I’m afraid.’
‘So you’ve charged him?’
‘Correct,’ said PC Elworthy, looking up as Simon returned and, seeing this gathering in the corner, walked warily towards them.
‘The officers are filling us in on the man who hit your father,’ Linda said.
‘Right,’ said Simon. He sat down next to Eve, and perched on the edge of his seat, fidgeting.
‘The message we were given said something about him being Turned Purple…’ said Eve. ‘Is that really true?’
Her plastic chair squeaked as PC Elworthy shifted uncomfortably.
‘That is correct, yes. Under recent guidelines an offence like this would incur such a penalty.’
‘When will it happen? And how?’
‘He will be treated later on today,’ said PC Elworthy. We’re not able to give any further details as to what that entails.’
‘Will he be kept in custody?’ Linda asked.
‘No, he’ll be released later tomorrow and bailed until his court hearing.’
‘And he’ll be Purple?’
‘By the time he wakes up tomorrow morning, yes.’
‘Gosh,’ said Linda.
‘Who’ll do the Turning?’ Eve asked.
‘I can’t comment on that,’ said PC Elworthy, pursing her lips.
‘Purple,’ Linda said. ‘It’s astonishing.’
‘What if it doesn’t work?’ said Eve.
‘It’s early days, but so far we’re finding the scheme effective,’ PC Elworthy said.
‘No, I mean, what if he doesn’t Turn Purple? What if it doesn’t work on him? I mean, how are you—’
PC Elworthy said, ‘Experience thus far assures us it will. So he’ll get what’s coming to him, don’t you worry.’
‘Not like the old days, eh?’ said Frankie, trying to lighten the conversation.
PC Elworthy put her hat on, signalling their departure. ‘We’ll be in touch if there are any further developments.’
Eve watched them stride down the corridor. Police one, reporter nil, she thought. Then, applying her Say Fantastique! cute animal filter, pictured a perplexed squirrel: this was going to be a hard nut to crack.
*
The Shifty Fox peered down, one paw in the air as he moved stealthily forward, lit by the moonlight. The pub sign remained the same: a suitably shifty fox with sinister Hound of the Baskervilles leanings; rusty red against a navy sky which made black silhouettes of the unfortunate fowl behind him.
It was rare that Eve truly craved alcohol, but by lunchtime she needed a distractingly stiff drink.
Debbie was behind the bar when Eve walked in. Eve’s nose immediately twitched at the whiff of smoke in the air (there was one good thing about being in the hospital, she thought, before immediately chastising herself). When she was younger, babysitting for Debbie and Frankie, Eve had found it fascinating, spending time in a pub before she was old enough to drink there. The tunes from the jukebox and the clattering of coins in the fruit machine had seemed like decadent sounds from another world which Eve couldn’t wait to be part of. They mingled in the air with cigarette smoke and the hopeful aromas of aftershave and hairspray, as guys winked across the bar at girls who batted their eyelashes from beneath the flick of Lady Di fringes.
Glancing around now, Eve saw that everything looked almost identical to how it had decades ago – the whirling pattern of the wine-coloured (and no doubt wine-doused) carpet; the flashing lights of the fruit machine; the fuzzily focused and now faded photographs hanging on the walls, a gallery of hair dos and fashion don’ts from across the decades. Even the songs playing seemed to be the same. Eve was confused. She was sure she’d been back here since she moved to New York, and it hadn’t been like this.
‘Hiya, Eve,’ Debbie said. ‘We’ve not seen you in a while.’
‘I know,’ Eve replied, ‘And am I going mad, or is everything in here new – but old?’
Debs laughed. ‘The wonders of the Rollback… Dad had kept a load of stuff in the g
arage, and one of his mates found the games machine and convinced him to bring it in. So of course then it snowballed…’ She shrugged. ‘What can I say? People love it. Except Mum, that is. She wasn’t best pleased. “Brian, so now we will live in a timewarp?”’
Photos on the wall near the till showed Debs and Frankie’s family over the years; the lessening volume of their mum’s hair, their dad in uniform, then out, then in again, and two young children – presumably Debs’s kids – beaming over the side of a paddling pool in the garden.
‘How are they, your mum and dad?’
‘Great, thanks. Just celebrated their thirtieth wedding anniversary.’
Debs plucked a nearby picture frame from the wall and laid it on the bar next to Eve. Each with a champagne glass raised to the camera and a cocktail parasol tucked behind one ear, the couple smiled for the camera. It was becoming odd to look at natural skin colours, Eve thought, noting the naturalness of Ming and Brian’s Asian and European complexions, and realising she was constantly on the lookout for lavender folk.
‘Anyway,’ said Debs. ‘How are you? It’s a bit of a Baxter reunion you being here too. Simon’s been in quite a lot, with your dad a few times.’
Eve felt a pang – of what, jealousy? Jealous of those two?
‘How is your dad? I heard what happened.’
‘He still hasn’t come round…’
‘I’m sorry. He’ll be back on form before you know it, I’m sure. Now, what can I get you?’
‘A gin and tonic, please.’
Eve felt someone tap her shoulder, so lightly she almost didn’t notice. Beside her, also all grown up, was Duncan (it was like that recently resurrected TV show, This is Your Life, in here this evening, she thought, featuring a personal parade of blasts from the past). He gave her a warm, unwavering smile.
‘The usual, please, Deb, and I’ll get whatever Eve’s having.’ Duncan reached into a pocket for his wallet.
‘Duncan!’ Simon’s childhood partner in crime; or rather, all but crime. Duncan was the sensible one, and – oddly, to Eve – they’d been inseparable.