Purple People

by Kate Bulpitt

  ‘It is, yes. The police weren’t at all happy about it. Hopefully the scheme won’t last long enough for there to need to be many more.’

  Eve murmured in agreement. ‘Also, it seems strange that no one knows how the Turning is happening. Is Humane looking into that?’

  ‘We’re trying. It’s very frustrating. The government won’t release any information, and we’re trying to investigate, but our priorities are the welfare of Turned people, and campaigning to overturn the scheme, so… All we can do is ask Turned people what they remember, which so far isn’t very much at all.’

  So much for useful research, Eve thought, swallowing the last bite of her sandwich.

  *

  Taking occasional pictures, Eve weaved through the crowd. A couple of the speakers had already said their piece, and Iggy Interceptor was completing his set; on one of the screens broadcasting the onstage action, he’d just announced his last song, so Eve made her way forwards, delving into her pocket for the newspaper’s schedule, which she was fairly sure had listed Magnus as up next.

  Over by a tree, near to a family having a picnic, a small group of Purple people appeared to be loitering, a gathering of abnormal, stained cells. There were five or six of them, though a couple more (was that Stone Age?) joined the sidelines as Eve was passing. Most were smoking, and they looked tense – as you would, no doubt, if you were subjected to relentless gawping (however well-meaning that might have been today), and now, together, could see your tarnished self reflected in the faces of other marked souls. But still… were they up to something, or simply seizing the rare opportunity to be around others going through the same ordeal? A quick survey of the area showed a lack of police, or Humane reps, as far as Eve could see, and no one else appeared to have noticed the gathering, though perhaps, as per the general public’s pre-Purple, pre-empowered days, anyone who had noted the assembly was pretending not to. Naturally they were here to give any Turned folk the benefit of the doubt, but they had form, didn’t they? Maybe people assumed that nothing would, or could, happen here. Even if the plum flock had the opportunity, why do anything to create more trouble for themselves, or to harm those who were here to support them?

  Eve glanced over, and one of the Purple men noticed, glaring at her with narrowed eyes which implied she’d do best to look away. Eve felt something in her stomach lurch, and not the cheese sandwiches. Unsettled, but telling herself that for them, surely this was a day’s respite from the usual damnation, she moved on.

  ‘And now,’ George McPhillips announced, ‘I’m very pleased to welcome someone who’s been a long-time Humane collaborator, and become an incredible champion of the Anti-Purple cause – just wait ’til you see what he’s got up his sleeve! It’s the tremendous, exemplary Magnus Jones.’

  There was a cheer from the stage area, and Eve hurriedly walked towards it. Spotting the bright tabard of a Humane rep slightly ahead of her, she caught up with him, tapping him on the shoulder.

  ‘Excuse me,’ she said.

  The rep glanced back at her – he seemed distracted, possibly intent on getting towards the stage too.

  ‘It’s probably nothing,’ Eve said, attempting to make a snap decision on how best to present this, ‘and I wouldn’t want to be a snitch, but there’s a group of Turned guys over there,’ she waved her arm towards the tree, ‘and I don’t know… will they get into trouble – more trouble – if they’re caught together? What with the regulations and all?’

  The rep wrinkled his nose, then glanced briefly towards the stage. ‘I’m sure they’ll be fine,’ he said. ‘We wanted this to be a day where they could share their experiences, get a bit of moral support, so if they’re getting that, then great. I wouldn’t worry. They’ll be having to leave soon, anyway. Might as well let them enjoy their last moments with like…’

  He’d walked into an awkward cul-de-sac of a comment. Like-minded, tinted, troubled?

  He shrugged. ‘Let ’em have their last moments of solidarity for the day.’

  Eve nodded, not sure if he was being unduly lax, or she was being unduly fretful.

  They reached the considerable crescent of people surrounding the stage. Magnus had taken the microphone and was encouraging the crowd to give George a round of applause.

  ‘George McPhillips, everyone,’ he said. ‘What an amazing gent. He’s made such a colossal difference to the lives of so many people, has so many incredible achievements under his belt. And the latest of those is getting us all here today. How brilliant it is to see such a massive turn-out. Not that it’s for me to say – but someone needs to say it – you should all feel really proud of yourselves for standing up and being counted, for fighting the good fight for justice – ’ there was a cheer from the crowd – ‘which really does make an immeasurable difference.’ Magnus smiled. ‘Can I just ask you: Purple People?’

  There was a ripple of laughter from the crowd, who chanted ‘No, no, no!’

  ‘And the ridiculous Purple initiative?’

  ‘Go, go, go!’

  Very savvy of him not to mention Theo Fletcher, Eve thought.

  ‘Now, I’m here to read statements from some people affected by this frankly ludicrous scheme, to speak on behalf of those who are still too traumatised by what’s happened to them to go out, to be able to be here with us today. I’m also joined by some special guests who’d like to share their stories with you directly, and as today is about their stories, I’m going to start as I mean to go on. Ladies and gents, please welcome Davey.’

  Magnus turned, stretching an arm out towards one side of the stage. As he did so, something seemed to catch his eye. He kept his composure, shaking the hand of Purpled person Davey, and leaning forward to extend this into a man-hug – confusing Davey, who’d appeared nervous enough about the handshake. But from her side of the crowd, Eve could see Magnus using this embrace to indicate to George, behind Davey’s back, that something was wrong. She saw George look out, beyond the crowd. Eve followed his gaze to see a trio of Purple people attacking a policeman, and other small bands of Turned men beginning to throw punches at other officers. One man had an aerosol can which he sprayed in a policeman’s face, coating him with purple paint. The officer screamed, covering his eyes. Hearing the commotion, members of the crowd rushed back to try and break up the fights, but were kicked or punched, and in one case, warded off with a knife.

  ‘Okay everyone, we seem to be experiencing some trouble,’ said Magnus, ‘but please stay calm, and don’t panic. Can we get some stewards to support the crowd…’

  George was indicating to those in tabards to stand between the audience and the clusters of fighting. Dozens of additional police officers were emptying out of nearby vans and arriving from other parts of the park, some in riot gear, rushing towards the disturbance.

  ‘Please don’t try to intervene,’ Magnus continued. ‘The cavalry’s arrived, and hopefully this unfortunate outburst will be controlled very shortly.’

  There was a muffled shout of ‘You should pay for what you’ve done to us!’ as the offenders were surrounded, outnumbered and strong-armed into submission. A pair of officers ran past the edge of the crowd where Eve was standing, and she heard one of them spit, ‘See what you get with this namby-pamby nonsense…’

  By now a number of attendees were heading out of the park, away from the trouble. Small children were crying, being hurriedly rolled away in their pushchairs. Other attendees, not able to see what was going on, frowned and stood their ground, unsure whether they should stay or go. Seeing them leave, Magnus shook his head and, moving his mouth away from the microphone, swore. Davey, still on stage and frozen in place, looked dismayed.

  ‘Please, don’t let this be what today is about,’ Magnus urged the depleting crowd. ‘Stupid actions by a misguided few should not spoil what we’ve achieved today – what you’ve achieved today.’

  There were some cheers from the audience, but one voice shouted: ‘What if they don’t deserve it? What if we should leav
e them to be Turned after all?’

  ‘Honestly, we can’t think like that. There’s a much bigger picture here, much more at stake. Remember why you came here today. We have to stick together. Right, Davey?’

  Davey nodded, and took a nervous, hunched step forward, scanning the crowd for signs of hostility.

  Calling out to the audience, Magnus said, ‘And you need to listen, everyone, please!’ He put a hand on Davey’s shoulder. ‘Now, why do you think it’s important that we stand united?’

  ‘Because you can’t… you shouldn’t define someone by their worst action, the most stupid thing they’ve done. Because then how do they get past that? How do they have the will to be better, to improve themselves, if everyone’s expecting the worst from them?’ Davey’s voice trembled.

  ‘What happened to you?’

  ‘I was an idiot, of course I was. Got in a fight outside a club, then turned out like this.’ He looked sheepish. ‘I thought that was a funny come-down off the pills.’

  There was some laughter from the audience.

  ‘Now I’ve lost my job, I was going into the army and they don’t want me any more. I might have ruined my life for a pointless brawl. But you know that’s half an hour out of my Saturday night. I’m not a loser. I had a job, I worked hard, I look after my nan and my mum. This,’ he held up his Purpled hands, ‘is not who I am. But now it might as well be.’

  ‘Thanks, Davey,’ said Magnus, looking him in the eye and giving an appreciative nod. ‘Everyone remember why they’re here?’ There was a rousing cheer. ‘Good. Now, we’re going to make an impromptu change to the schedule with some lovable troublemakers who’re going to knock your socks off – in a good way…’

  Magnus swivelled as a black-clad quartet of guys and girls marched purposefully onstage. This was The Furys. Their singer snatched the microphone from Magnus and announced, ‘This fighting is bollocks! We came here united, and that’s the way we’re gonna stay, right? Now I wanna hear you SING!’ With a crash of drums and a squawk of guitar, they launched into their first song.

  Eve could see Magnus had ducked out from the wings, and now stood with George facing a couple of Humane reps, their angrily shaking heads and rapidly gesticulating hands implying they were fuming and frustrated. Eve had considered going over. After all this time, to keep being so close, and yet not… But it hardly seemed like an opportune moment to introduce herself.

  With the stage behind her, Eve made her way through the crowd. The remaining Purple people were being escorted away, glum, plum faces amid appeals for compassion: ‘Most of us are here for a peaceful protest…’ ‘Can’t you see we’re not all like that…’ ‘I haven’t done anything wrong…’ To the last comment, one policeman said, ‘Now if that was true you’d be the same colour as me.’

  A woman approached the policeman. ‘Aren’t they allowed to stay a bit longer?’

  ‘Not after what just happened.’

  ‘But it seems unfair—’

  ‘Rules are rules,’ said the officer. ‘And if this lot realised that, there’d never be any trouble, would there?’

  The woman watched them go. ‘We’re right behind you,’ she said, ‘whatever it takes!’

  *

  Moving out of the park, Eve turned down a side-street which led to a small coffee shop she knew of which, being in a less stumble-upon-able location, she hoped wouldn’t be too busy. Upon reaching what she believed to be the place, she stood outside for a moment, confused; the once common-or-garden café was now the Jitterbug Tea Rooms, with big band tunes playing on an old gramophone. Surprised, she went inside.

  Eve noticed a few placards leant up against the wall behind the cafe’s coat stand. She guessed that half of the patrons had been at the rally: clad in t-shirts, parkas and trainers, they chatted with the enthused passion and cheer that came from taking an active stand for something, believing you could make a change, and being surrounded by a sea of similarly minded others as you did so. The remaining customers were accompanied by more leisurely shopping bags, occasionally staring, intrigued, at the marchers in their midst. A German-sounding man, who was sharing a generous slice of Victoria sponge with his wife, put down his fork and cleared his throat before addressing a group at another table.

  ‘Excuse me,’ he said, ‘the protest – what is it for?’

  Two boys, sixth formers, Eve would guess, leant forward with lanky enthusiasm. ‘It’s against the Purple People initiative,’ said one.

  ‘Yeah,’ said the other. ‘It’s completely mad, and any sensible people don’t like it, so we’re here to get the government to take notice—’

  ‘’Cause if they see all the people here today they’ll have to think again.’

  ‘I see,’ said the German man, nodding. ‘That would be a democratic conclusion, would it not?’

  ‘It has to happen,’ said one of the boys.

  ‘It will happen,’ said the other.

  ‘It is good that you march,’ the German man responded politely, clearly less convinced of the outcome, before returning to his Victoria sponge.

  Eve reached the counter.

  ‘I’ll have the Blitz Tea,’ she said. ‘That’s just an ordinary tea, right?’

  ‘Yes, English Breakfast,’ said the waitress.

  ‘Right,’ said Eve. ‘And a scone, please.’

  Behind her, a man ordered a fancy coffee.

  ‘We don’t do those,’ the waitress said, apologetically. ‘We only serve refreshments that would have been served during the war.’

  The man winced, as though in deep, unfathomable pain.

  ‘I swear this country is becoming more and more like a theme park,’ said the man, addressing the air.

  Eve smiled at him and looked around the room for a seat. There was a spare stool at a counter by the window, though beside it were a couple of precariously propped banners which she didn’t want to knock over. Then she spotted a chair at a table where there was a woman sitting alone; she was looking down, reading a newspaper. Taking her tray, Eve headed over.

  ‘Do you mind if I sit here?’

  The woman looked up. Eve nearly dropped her tray.

  ‘Go ahead.’ The woman pulled her cup and a pair of sunglasses towards her, making room on the table. She then looked at her watch, a calculating flicker crossing her face before she turned back to the paper. She was quickly engrossed, and tucked her hand under her chin as she read.

  Eve took a seat. She swallowed, trying to act normally, before taking out her notebook, setting her pen beside it as she took a look at the group of sixth formers, an attempt at appearing distracted.

  The woman looked at Eve and gave a quick smile. Eve tried to assess whether she was open to engaging with anyone – Eve would guess not, that she must get stopped all the time. But then a family walked past, the father with a child on his shoulders, the mother wheeling a pushchair in which another child sat. All of their faces were painted Purple. One of the children turned and, seeing the woman, waved at her; the woman waved back. Eve couldn’t help herself.

  ‘Have you been on the march?’

  The woman nodded. ‘Yes,’ she said. ‘Marches are often quite heartening, I’d say. Democracy in action.’

  That voice! So familiar, and comforting.

  ‘You?’

  ‘I was there, only just left to… have a bit of a break. Were you there when the trouble started?’

  ‘No, what happened?’

  ‘Some groups of Purple people attacked the police.’

  ‘Was anyone hurt?’

  ‘I’m not sure. One of the policemen had paint sprayed in his eyes, so he can’t be in good shape.’

  ‘That’s awful. George and the Humane team must be so upset.’

  ‘They didn’t look too happy.’

  The woman let her newspaper rest on the table. ‘What do you think of it all?’ she asked.

  ‘I’m still figuring that out.’

  The woman’s expression changed; she appeared pleasantly sur
prised at this answer. Acknowledging Eve’s notebook, she said, ‘You’re a journalist?’

  Eve wasn’t sure if that made her want to laugh or cry.

  ‘I work for a news agency… well, we’re not so grand, more frolicky news, really. We supply cheery stuff, funny commentary on things, to newspapers and TV shows.’

  The woman appeared to be considering this.

  ‘We’ve been running it from New York. It’s called Say Fantastique!’

  ‘I knew you were going to say that!’ the woman said. ‘I love what you do there. And I love Pam Fox-Jones. My friends call me Pam!’ She laughed.

  Eve was truly gobsmacked. She’d been about to take a sip of tea and nearly dropped her cup. Do not cry, she told herself.

  ‘That’s more amazing than you know,’ she said. ‘You must get people saying this all the time, and it’s probably quite tedious, but I am such a fan of yours. Honestly, this is the biggest treat to meet you. Well, again, sort of, but that was years ago. When I tell Adio that I bumped into you today and that you love Pam, he won’t believe it.’ Eve took a breath. ‘Oh, and I’m Eve, by the way.’

  The woman extended her hand. ‘Annie,’ she said. ‘Lovely to meet you.’

  Annie Morris! It was just as well Duncan had stood her up and Magnus had been in the thick of Humane things or this would never have happened. Eve wasn’t sure how to contain her excitement. She took a bite of scone.

  ‘Pam’s brilliant. The cameramen are always teasing me that I’ve got a bottle of sherry under my desk, cheeky sods,’ Annie said. With impeccable timing she added, ‘When actually it’s a flask of gin.’

  Eve was having trouble swallowing her mouthful of scone. ‘Pam was Adio’s idea. He drew her as a doodle for my birthday card one year. When I was growing up I always wanted to be a newsreader, so he thought that would be a hoot. Then we used her for the site, and now she’s got a life of her own.’

  ‘And she’s got a purple beehive,’ said Annie, approvingly.