Purple People

by Kate Bulpitt

  All this, as so far there were few Purple folk to be found. Most of those from the original facility were yet to be released (Luke seemed to be one of the few who had), and any newly Turned lads and lasses appeared to be keeping a very low profile, certainly not participating in interviews where they were likely to be vilified. Which meant the focus had remained on poor, Purple Lee.

  Journalist friends of Eve’s had told her of the already ferocious competition to get an interview with Lee, but he’d remained in custody after his appearance with the prime minister and it was looking unlikely that he’d be granted bail. Not that the reporters were deterred. Allegedly more than one newspaper had offered to provide Lee with top legal representation in return for access to him and rights to his dismal story. In the meantime, Lee’s father had already been splashed across one front page, pictured standing beside their garden gate – before the family had to be relocated – with the caption ‘Lav Dad Begs: Don’t be Like Lee’.

  Father of shamed thug Lee Bowen, the first criminal revealed to have been turned PURPLE, has urged people to take his son’s plum predicament as a warning. ‘If you don’t behave, YOU could be next,’ Cal Bowen said. ‘Everyone probably thinks it won’t happen to them, but never in a million years did Lee think he’d end up like this.

  Since the press conference on Friday, when the prime minister revealed that the violent violet lad had nearly beaten an innocent man to death, Lee’s family has been under ATTACK. ‘We had so many BRICKS through the windows that we’ve got no windows left,’ he said. ‘We’ve had to board them up, and the letterbox. You wouldn’t believe what people were putting through that. For what they’re doing, they should be turned Purple too.’

  When asked what he thought of Lee’s behaviour, Cal said, ‘He’s been in trouble for a long time, and we didn’t know what to do about it. Me and his stepmum have done our best, his mum and his stepdad have done their best, but he was OUT OF CONTROL. He’s been joyriding. He gets into fights. He hit an 80-year-old neighbour, who ended up in hospital, for not letting him push to the front of the queue in the fish and chip shop. Basically, he’s a right little s***. We wanted his younger brothers and sisters to be able to look up to him, but now we’re just worried they’ll turn out like him and be Lavs too.’

  Some people might be surprised to know what Cal thinks of the mauve measures. ‘Lee couldn’t go on behaving like he was, this is going to be a lesson for him. He deserved to be Turned, definitely. I only hope other people will THINK TWICE before they do something stupid and turn out like Lee – everyone hates him, he’s LOCKED UP, miserable – and Purple.’

  Newspaper on her lap, Eve looked at the photo of Cal Bowen, haggard and haunted. Could he have done anything differently, raised his son to be an angel, not a jackal? Had outside influences made Lee this way? Or had a genetic blip left him borne on course for this most dubious of honours: Lav number one, unlucky for some?

  She turned the page. This paper had certainly taken a definitive stance on the Purpleness. Inside was a rogues’ gallery called Lav Line Up where photos would now be published daily of all those newly Turned, along with details of what they’d been caught doing.

  Stuart Ashworth, 19, and Sam Taylor, 22, Dartmouth: led a DRUNKEN FIGHT outside a Chicken Fried Chicken fast food restaurant, which left two people in hospital.

  Rob Rallin, 34, Enfield: seen threatening another man with a MACHETE.

  Darren Mortimer, 46, Manchester: noted in an altercation outside a pub, during which he SLASHED a man with a broken beer bottle.

  L.J. James, 17, Newport: observed fleeing a stolen car which he’d driven dangerously, CRASHING into a Belisha beacon and nearly hitting a pedestrian, and his dog. Found to be FIVE TIMES over the legal alcohol limit.

  Leanne Murphy, 24, Reading: made violent THREATS against a neighbour, and claimed she would STRANGLE Percy, the neighbour’s CAT, despite already being cautioned following six months of verbally abusive behaviour.

  These individuals thought they could behave abominally and get away with it. Not any more! It’s our promise to the great British public that we will name and shame ALL Purple people – call our LAV LINE to report one!

  Blimey, thought Eve, what a witchhunt. With her stop approaching, she rang the bell, calling a thank you to the driver as she hopped off. She was looking forward to the debate, if with some trepidation. Given their utterly opposing views on the Purpleness, attending with Womble and Helena felt foolhardy, but they’d both insisted on coming. To – hopefully – ease the tension, and put them on their best behaviour, Eve had suggested that they invite Rory, the new vet. Helena had thought that an unusual social invitation, but Rory had seemed keen. ‘I guess it’s a night out,’ Helena had said. Poor Rory, thought Eve. He couldn’t have realised that this enthusiasm, if it transpired to be pro-Purpleness, could be a descending bucket in the well of Helena’s estimation.

  When Eve got to Womble and Helena’s, Helena was already fuming. She’d had tickets to a gig by experimental rockers Eat Your Greens, but the show had been cancelled after an announcement that the band’s bassist had been Turned.

  ‘Seriously,’ she said, ‘you just couldn’t make this stuff up.’

  ‘Oh dear,’ said Womble. ‘What did he do?’

  ‘What did he do?’ Helena retorted. ‘I don’t know. I don’t care. This whole thing is moronic. It’s as though… I don’t know, evil aliens arrive and start destroying the planet, and we’re all just saying, oh, look how cute their ears are.’

  Womble, who had been looking through the Lav Line Up, said, ‘Now, do any of them seem like decent people?’

  Eve peered at the machete-wielding, face-slashing, cat-threatening mini mob, and couldn’t say they did; sullen faces, defenseless crimes.

  ‘You don’t know their stories,’ said Helena, peering into a cupboard.

  ‘I don’t need to! They sound awful, the lot of them. And everyone knows the difference between right and wrong. Plenty of people who’ve had a rotten time in life don’t go around taking it out on other people.’

  ‘True,’ Helena agreed, ‘but then put them through the courts in the normal way, and lock them up.’

  ‘What if this is a better way?’

  ‘It’s not a better way. How can you not see how offensive it is?’ Helena said, placing a mug in the KitchenKlene dish-washing unit before slamming the door shut.

  So far, the Purpleness seemed to have cast a definite cloud over this household.

  Womble said nothing, but shook his head, despondently, his nose wrinkling, either from a further glance at the Lavs’ gallery, or the floral aroma just released into the air (KitchenKlene had produced a range of truly silent kitchen appliances – ‘Retro Styling, Futuristic Ability’ – which would announce the end of a cycle by emitting the scent of peach blossom, tea rose, or white musk, depending on your preference, though after a number of complaints a more manly aroma, ‘Alpine Fresh’, was about to be added to the range).

  With a glance at the clock, Womble stood up, saying, ‘We need to leave in twenty minutes.’

  Crikey moly, thought Eve. Guy Fawkes would have marvelled at the mass of explosives ready to go off tonight.

  *

  The atmosphere in the car was artificially calm. Eve sat in the front seat, next to Helena. Womble was in the back, tapping his foot to a song playing on the radio; Helena pursed her lips, saying nothing.

  ‘There he is,’ Helena said, as Rory came into view.

  Rory was standing bolt upright, waiting next to a recently manufactured red telephone box. These were mostly the same as the old ones, though the doors on the new models felt flimsier, lacking the grand heft of their predecessors. Rory was using one of the box’s glass panes as a mirror, smoothing his already tidy hair.

  ‘Oh, by the way,’ said Eve, ‘Can we not mention to anyone this evening that I’m looking into the Purpling? You never know who’s going to be at these things, and Frankie made it sound as though gabbing about it might not
be wise.’

  Helena turned to Eve. ‘I’m very much admiring your work,’ she said, with a smile. ‘You are becoming quite the sleuth.’

  They pulled in next to the telephone box.

  ‘Hiya,’ said Helena, as Womble scooted over so Rory could climb in next to him. A sartorial match for Helena’s description of his personality, Rory was dressed smartly, in a pressed short-sleeved shirt and cotton trousers. He was also wearing deck shoes.

  ‘Evening,’ said Rory.

  Helena introduced him to Eve.

  ‘Nice to meet you,’ she said.

  ‘Likewise,’ said Rory, before adding enthusiastically, ‘This is fun.’

  ‘Hmm,’ said Helena, glancing in her wing mirror as she rejoined the stream of evening traffic.

  ‘Helena said you got the tickets through work?’ said Rory.

  ‘Yup, that’s right,’ said Eve.

  ‘Thanks for letting me join you. I must say, I like Say Fantastique! – it’s been quite—’ Rory seemed to pause mid-sentence. It felt like being part of a satellite link-up on television, with a brief, stilted time lag even though he was right there. Was he having a very low-key seizure, Eve wondered. She glanced at Helena and Womble, neither of whom appeared concerned.

  ‘Heartening,’ Rory eventually continued. ‘Especially lately. That lady who saw Elvis Presley in a fried egg. That was—’

  Another pause. Eve waited.

  ‘Hilarious. A fried egg!’

  ‘To be honest,’ said Womble, ‘I thought she was yolking.’

  Rory laughed, but there were groans from the front seat.

  ‘Sorry,’ said Womble, chuckling at the awfulness of his joke.

  Eve noticed Helena’s mouth twitch into another smile. Maybe this evening won’t be so dramatic after all, Eve thought, picturing a Catherine wheel spinning decreasingly slowly before falling dully to the ground.

  *

  A temporary television studio had been set up at a grand town hall, and there were already protesters outside – some with placards featuring Theo Fletcher, his face painted Purple – who chanted: ‘Purple people. No no no. Theo Fletcher. Go go go.’ Jostling for space beside them were campaigners with brightly coloured banners asking: ‘Who do you want to protect? US or THEM?’

  Security was robust, and each audience member had to show their CIV pass before being admitted. As their bags were checked, Helena glanced towards Eve, relaying her disapproval, and that was before they’d reached the metal detector.

  They were being herded through the entrance hall when Eve saw Helena, who was close in front of her, falter, startled, and heard Womble utter an exclamation in Danish.

  ‘What the—’ said Helena.

  Eve followed her gaze to a man with mauve skin. He was middle-aged, stout, with a glimpse of purple belly poking from beneath his shirt. His balding head was a shiny lilac. He was flanked by a police officer, for protection or detention it was hard to say.

  Helena, shaking her head at the injustice of it all, smiled in solidarity as they passed.

  ‘He might have murdered someone for all you know,’ Womble muttered, close to Helena’s ear.

  Rory, meanwhile, peered at the man – taking in his head, his hands, his belly – apparently too astonished to react.

  Eve knew how that felt. As they reached the entrance to the studio, she glanced back to see the crowd’s reactions to the Purple man. There were wide eyes and slack jaws, looks of disgust, and of sympathy. One man, standing almost nose to nose with him, loudly declared, ‘You’re a disgrace.’ Another clapped a hand on his shoulder and said, ‘Look after yourself, mate.’ Eve felt a hand on her own arm as an usher politely requested that she move along.

  They took their seats in the studio, mid-way back, behind a row of eager students, whose excitable chatter was punctuated by laughter and hoots of agreement.

  ‘Remember the days?’ Eve said to Womble and Helena, but both were quiet. Too soon, she thought, remembering how far her jaw had dropped when she first saw Finn. In addition to their own thoughts, they were possibly – probably – stewing over one another’s reactions to the sight of the Purple man. They’d taken seats on either side of Eve, which she wasn’t sure was a good sign.

  The guest panel for the debate made their entrance. Eve swayed like a faulty pendulum, trying to establish the best view, or any view, around the willowy lad in front of her. The calm and capable host, Desmond Goodacre, looked out at the audience.

  ‘Welcome to this special edition of Question Time. Tonight we’ll be discussing one of the most controversial initiatives of recent times. Not since the privatisation of the police force has a scheme caused such a strong reaction. But unlike that development, which was predominantly unpopular, responses to the Purple Scheme are proving to be starkly divided, so we’re looking forward to a lively debate.’

  Desmond smiled and glanced around him, continuing, ‘I’d like to welcome our panel, who tonight are Gwen Thomas, the home secretary; Rupert Barron-Clency, the shadow justice minister; leading criminal lawyer Immy Birch; Daily Dispatch columnist Ella Breally; broadcaster, author and comedian Ed Fitzpatrick; and finally, someone who’s been campaigning against the Purpleness with a coalition of organisations, including human rights charity Humane, and the very newly formed Parents of Purple People, or PoPP, entrepreneur Magnus Jones.’

  Magnus. Eve leaned forward, peeking around the tall student, her heart-rate a-gallop. She suspected her eyes might have momentarily sprung out of her head like in an old cartoon.

  Helena needled Eve’s ribs with her elbow.

  ‘Magnus!’ she mouthed, incredulous.

  Womble whispered in Eve’s ear. ‘That’s your Magnus, isn’t it?’

  Her Magnus. Oh, how she’d wished.

  ‘That’s him,’ Eve nodded, still facing forwards, eyes on the panel, finding she couldn’t look away.

  ‘He’s done alright for himself, getting on a programme like this. We’ll have to look him up later, see what he’s been doing.’

  Eve already knew that, though she didn’t say so. It was funny, seeing Magnus now, right in front of her, after years of looking for him – in bars, on the street, even, ridiculously, and now, ironically, in the audience on TV shows – wondering when he would turn up. Once she had thought she’d spotted him in a New York deli wearing his ‘Bells Not Bombs’ t-shirt, but having spent a moment tucked behind the tinned vegetables, steadying herself, when she finally moved to get a better look he had gone. Given his attire, she had considered whether the sighting was just a figment of her imagination.

  ‘Right then,’ said Desmond. ‘Let’s get started. Our first question is from Leila Ali.’

  A young woman wearing a patterned scarf looked evenly towards the panel.

  ‘How effective do you think the Purple measures will be in combating crime?’

  ‘Gwen, this was your party’s initiative, so let’s start with you.’

  With a lilting Welsh accent, Gwen began, ‘Naturally, I think it’s a groundbreaking plan for significantly reducing crime. We’re already beginning to see, just as we’d anticipated, a drop in crime on the streets. Which just goes to show what an effective deterrent this is, and how we can achieve swift, impressive results in making this country’s streets safer. We’ve also been very pleased to have received such positive feedback from the public, most of whom seem jolly happy that at last some genuinely dynamic leadership has been taken on this issue.’

  There was a response of both claps and jeers from the audience.

  Rupert Barron-Clency, the shadow justice minister, stepped in. ‘I must take issue with Gwen claiming a drop in street crime. There’s no conceivable way that this could be judged accurately at such an early stage, and it’s very important not to be making exaggerated claims,’ Rupert grumbled (his spotty tie and matching pocket square were jaunty even if his comments were less so). ‘There are probably fewer people on the streets because everyone – and not just those likely to commit criminal act
s – is too terrified to venture out, in case they’re turned Purple! The streets aren’t safer, they’re more fearful. What we need is a better conviction rate and less lenient custodial sentences to keep criminals off the streets. And on the streets we need more ISON cameras, which have had tremendously impressive long-term results for tackling crime, and more visible police officers. This Purple Scheme is just silly, and makes us look ridiculous. Our country must be a joke to the rest of the world.’

  ‘It was your government’s cost-cutting that reduced the number of police on patrol though, wasn’t it?’ said Magnus.

  ‘It’s a fair point, Magnus, but we’ll come to you in a moment,’ said Desmond. To Rupert he said, ‘So you’re not in agreement with your colleague, Hugo Clarence?’

  There were some laughs from the audience.

  ‘Yes, I’m surprised at your response, Rupert,’ said Gwen. ‘Some may not have seen this as an obvious move from us. But given that your party not only instigated the disastrous privatisation of the police force, which then hardly became a beacon of satisfactory justice – and by the by gave the UK our worst conviction rates for thirty years – but is also renowned for having little interest in the man on the street… well, I find it amazing that you’d criticise this scheme.’

  ‘Thank you, Gwen, you have had your say,’ said Desmond. ‘And to clarify, Hugo Clarence was quoted as saying’ – he looked down at his notes – “I wish we’d thought of it. Good idea. Dye all the feckless buggers.”’

  There was a ripple of laughter from the audience.

  ‘I think he might have been taken out of context,’ said Rupert.

  ‘Really?’ said the host, unimpressed. ‘Well then, Immy Birch, moving on to you.’

  Immy’s poker-straight hair swung as she shot a disdainful glance towards the politicians. ‘We certainly are making a spectacle of ourselves,’ she said. ‘It seems hard to tell whether we look daring or stupid. And it does contradict everything our justice system is supposed to represent: the right to a fair trial… innocent until proven guilty. So whether or not it’s effective, I think we have to ask ourselves, at what cost do we continue with these measures? What type of justice does this provide, and is it setting a very dangerous precedent? I believe in our pre-Purple system, and I think that while it’s not faultless, it is at least democratic.’