Purple People

by Kate Bulpitt

  Despite Frankie and Annie’s warnings, quite honestly Eve had considered herself to be too small fry to really rattle anyone further up the chain. It was almost a compliment to be considered a threat, though more likely there were some pen-pushing government types who enjoyed the occasional opportunity to flex their muscles (how nice for Beige to get out of the office, she thought, with fleeting bravado; he looks like the sort who often loses a fight with the snack vending machine, trying to release a Wagon Wheel he’s just paid for that’s stuck, still behind the glass, torturing him).

  This raised some quite serious questions, though, such as: who had ratted on her? There were limited suspects. Perhaps Finn had to confess the true reason for his second Purpling to his police commissioner uncle? Could a less-than-impressed Carla De Lora have let something slip about a pale lass investigating InTan? Maybe Mina or François from Crayne Industries had shared Eve’s curiosity with the corporation’s big cheeses? Would the nurses at the hospital have spoken to anyone? Might Frankie have felt he had to protect the police force’s Purple work? Surely Annie, Eve’s idol, wouldn’t have said anything?

  Eve was feeling tetchy, now. The Purpleness is all snakes and no ladders, she thought. She’d been surprised at herself, though, having always considered that her dad was right – that she would hide in a cupboard at the first sign of danger. And surely this type of encounter could only ever have one outcome?

  A hardened resolve.

  *

  Eve turned the tap, her hand shaking as she held the kettle beneath the gushing water. Never mind a calming cuppa, I need a large brandy, she thought.

  As soon as his office opened, she was going to call Magnus, but first…

  ‘Hello?’

  ‘Ad, it’s me. I didn’t mean to wake you.’

  ‘Hi, doll. You alright? You sound a bit… breathy. Are you practising dirty phone calls?’

  ‘I’ve just been threatened by some bloke in disconcertingly unassuming trousers.’

  ‘Bugger. Are you okay?’

  ‘I think so. Just a bit shaken.’

  ‘You’re not hurt?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Good, that’s a relief. And obviously an equally important question: what sort of trousers?’

  Eve gave a gasp of a laugh. ‘Beige slacks.’

  Adio let out a low whistle. ‘This sounds serious. What happened?’

  Eve elaborated.

  ‘I have to say, when you said Annie had told you to be careful, I thought that seemed a trifle melodramatic.’

  ‘Me too. But we must be on to something if they’re so riled up, don’t you think? Even though I can’t see how anything fits together.’

  ‘The pieces of the puzzle we have again are… ?’

  ‘InTan, even though we don’t know how it’s administered. Womble being approached – so, civilians potentially doing the Turning. And… that’s it. I keep trying to think through all the things I’ve read and heard, to see if there’s some clue that I’m just not picking up on – something that seems tiny and irrelevant but actually is going to be the thing that cracks it. But I just can’t see it.’

  Outside, a car blaring an old Eddie and the Hot Rods tune drove past; Sven started barking.

  ‘Dogs!’ said Eve.

  ‘Say what, doll?’

  ‘Dogs. I wonder…’

  ‘Wonder what?’

  ‘Though I don’t know how that would fit in. Maybe it doesn’t, maybe I’m delirious. A rush of blood to the head and all that.’

  Eve was quiet for a moment, thinking.

  ‘Spill it sister, the suspense is killing me.’

  ‘Well, in a lot of the cases of people being Turned, they’ve mentioned there being a dog nearby. Duncan said there was one, outside a shop near where the fight happened. There was a man with two dogs going past when Finn was Turned. And a guy who was talking to Humane at the rally… I’m sure even the cabbie said something about a dog.’

  ‘Not unusual.’

  ‘I know.’ Eve sighed.

  ‘I mean,’ said Adio, ‘what could it mean?’’

  ‘Probably nothing. It must be delirium after all.’

  Eve’s arm was aching; she examined the bruising, already darkening to a ring of green-tinged plum.

  ‘Do you think I should back off?’

  ‘Do you?’

  ‘I don’t know. I was feeling all invincible, but that might have been the shock of it, I suppose, the adrenaline. You’re right that it seemed preposterous that the warnings were justified, that anyone would really do anything – whoever “they” officially are. But what might they do, what would be next?’

  ‘Hard to say. You’d have to suppose at this point they’re just trying to frighten you.’

  ‘Maybe they’d Turn me? What could they officially charge me with?’

  ‘No doubt they can do some sneaky twisting of the Landell legislation.’

  ‘But we haven’t actually reported anything.’

  ‘Common sense and fair trials don’t seem to be immediately to the fore at the moment though, do they?’

  ‘The news folk we admire wouldn’t back down.’

  ‘I know, but you don’t have to go for the most daring option. It’s alright to be sensible, doll.’

  ‘We both know I’m no daredevil. But just imagine – imagine – if we could crack this.’

  ‘If you could crack it. I’m presently at home, in my pants.’

  Eve smiled, then looked again at her mottled arm. ‘If I knew what they would do if they got hold of me again, if I could picture it, whatever it was going to be, I’d be more terrified. Not that I’m not at all terrified, but…’

  ‘Do what you think’s best. Go for it if you want to, but don’t feel you’ve got anything to prove. We’ve got an empire of sorts, however jovial and cat-packed it is. You don’t need to put yourself in harm’s way. You don’t have to solve the puzzle.’

  ‘I know.’

  ‘I’m here when you need me.’

  ‘In your pants.’

  ‘Always,’ Adio said, and laughed.

  *

  What a morning, Eve thought. What a tangled web. What an avalanche of insanity. And now it was time to ring Magnus. Eve looked at her cup of tea, then poured herself a whisky. She took several gulps before again picking up the phone.

  ‘Lit, good morning.’

  ‘Magnus Jones, please.’

  ‘Can I ask who’s calling?’

  A deep breath.

  ‘Um, yes. Eve Baxter.’

  ‘Hold the line.’

  Eve inspected her arm, thinking of how it would feel being Turned, seeing this first island of colour appearing on your skin.

  ‘Eve?’

  She almost dropped the phone.

  ‘Magnus!’

  ‘Hi.’

  ‘Hello. Did you get – I hope you saw my message.’

  ‘Yes. Everything’s been so hectic, sorry, but I’ve been meaning to call. I told the office to patch you through if you rang.’

  ‘I’m so sorry about the other day. I didn’t—’

  ‘Don’t worry! I thought it might be Carla being a bit – well, temperamental. Obviously I figured you for an unlikely harasser, then when I saw your message…’

  This is such a strange conversation to be having, Eve thought. After all this time, the topic – before anything else, even the pleasantries – was Eve’s unlikely encounter with the world’s number one shampoo saleswoman, and some bonkers espionage. It wasn’t quite the apology she had imagined she’d be making, either.

  ‘There’s a bit of an update,’ said Eve, ‘which best guess says must be related. I was – not quite attacked, but approached in a pretty, I suppose threatening isn’t over-egging it, way—’

  ‘What? Are you alright?’

  ‘Yep. I was a bit spooked, but also, I think it means—’

  ‘You’re on to something. Where are you?’

  ‘In Belton, at Womble and Helena’s.’

&nb
sp; ‘Oh! I saw Helena recently, at Question Time—’

  ‘I know. I was there, too.’

  ‘You were?’

  ‘Yes. Bit of a story, sort of. Anyway…’

  ‘I see.’ Was Eve imagining it, or did he sound slightly dejected? ‘Well, I shouldn’t be here too much longer, I can swing over and get you and then – well, there’s somewhere I thought we should go.’

  ‘Oh.’ A bar? A restaurant? ‘Is it not easier for me to meet you?’

  ‘It’s a bit out of the way.’

  ‘Well, if you’re sure.’

  ‘I’ll be there in a couple of hours.’

  ‘Okay. Super.’

  ‘Oh, and Eve?’

  ‘Yes?’

  ‘How are you?’

  That warmth. That smile.

  ‘I’m very well, Magnus. How are you?’

  He chuckled. ‘Marvellous, thank you. Now sit tight and try and keep out of mischief.’

  ‘Will do.’

  Eve took another gulp of whisky.

  *

  After the fundraiser, Eve and Magnus had continued to cross paths – two social circles happily colliding, like the centre of a Venn diagram, she liked to think (this thought occurred to her after a few conversations with Magnus; ‘He’s so unassuming, but his braininess seems to rub off on you,’ she told Helena, who responded, ‘What, like dog hair?’).

  With Doug as go-between, Eve had invited Magnus and Greg to her household’s Christmas party. Greg arrived slightly tipsy (‘He’s celebrating finding his bike,’ Magnus winked), which to Eve’s disappointment, didn’t grease the wheels of conversation between them. She did, however, enjoy an exchange with Magnus. Firstly they’d found themselves discussing famous fictional rodents.

  ‘What about the ones that spread the plague?’ said Eve.

  ‘Ah.’ Magnus smiled. ‘Apart from not being fictional, were any of them well known?’

  ‘There was Reg.’

  Magnus’s face creased in amusement. ‘Reg?’

  ‘Yep. He was the one who led the charge.’ Eve cleared her throat. ‘Right boys, I’ve got a map, so let’s go. She giggled, adopted another, squeakier, voice. But Reg, aren’t we a bit, um, contagious?’ Back to the first, gruffer, voice. ‘Pipe down, me lad, apparently them streets are paved with gold.’

  Magnus, now midway through a mince pie, snorted with laughter, before starting to cough.

  ‘Oh no!’ said Eve. ‘You’re not choking, are you? Shall I thwack you on the back?’

  Magnus shook his head, and took a long glug of beer. He swallowed. ‘All good,’ he said. ‘Though I still don’t think Reg qualifies.’

  ‘Poor Reg,’ said Eve, nibbling on her own mince pie. ‘I wonder what we’ll all be doing this time next year. Somewhere out in the world, working.’

  ‘What do you want to be when you grow up?’ said Magnus.

  ‘The dream would be…’ Eve wrinkled her nose, embarrassed.

  Magnus leant forward, intrigued.

  ‘I don’t know…’

  ‘Oh, you do. Try me.’

  Eve elaborated as to her newsreading, Annie Morris-esque plan.

  ‘That’s amazing!’

  ‘You think so? It’s daft really. I mean, how many people get to do that?’

  ‘Some people. And why shouldn’t you be one of them? You can’t give up before you’ve even had a crack at it.’

  ‘What about you? What are you going to do next year?’

  ‘I’m not quite sure. Something less ordinary, I hope,’ Magnus said.

  ‘You’re going to go to the moon or something, aren’t you?’

  Magnus laughed. ‘Ah, I don’t think so. I do wonder what it’d be like to visit the planets though. Just imagine. To fall through the clouds covering Jupiter…’ He paused and held his arms up above his head. ‘I sometimes think about it, falling feet first, and you’re up to your waist in cloud,’ he laughed, ‘you can’t see your legs, and you’re waiting to see what your feet will touch.’

  ‘What will they touch?’

  ‘I don’t know if anyone’s really sure. There’s miles and miles of cloud, and then it gets too hot for anything to survive finding out.’

  ‘You’d be a bit crispy then.’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Your mum probably wouldn’t be very pleased.’

  ‘True.’ Magnus lifted an imaginary phone receiver to his ear. ‘Hi, Mum. Er, I know you said to be careful, but I’m a bit…deep-fried… Here’s another space fact I love – sorry, just punch me if I’m getting boring – on Mercury, one day lasts two earth years!’

  ‘Crikey,’ said Eve. ‘Not a good day to be the only one in the office.’ She took a bite of mince pie. ‘I bet space novices ask you this all the time, but do you think there’s life on other planets?’

  ‘It’d be amazing to think so, wouldn’t it? And pretty arrogant to assume we’re all there is—’ Magnus was interrupted by a loud crash.

  This was caused by a very drunk Womble, who in the process of re-enacting a scene from a Svengalis video, had jumped down the stairs and lay crumpled on the floor.

  ‘Good job you raised that money for A&E,’ said Eve.

  *

  A week later, with a hobbling Womble in tow (his Svengalis stunt having earned him a fractured ankle), Eve attended a Magnus-lit (but unfortunately Greg-free) gig at the student union.

  ‘The blue lights were excellent,’ Womble told Magnus as they had a drink after the show. ‘Very icy.’

  ‘Amazing what you can do with a few Quality Street wrappers,’ said Magnus, with a laugh.

  ‘What a lovely chap he is, and quite properly brilliant,’ said Eve, as Magnus went to greet some other friends.

  ‘Top bloke,’ agreed Womble, wincing as a guy nearby nearly trod on his good foot.

  ‘If he was single, we’d have to set him up with someone.’

  ‘What’s his girlfriend’s name – Chloe?’

  ‘Yep. Studying at Edinburgh, dad’s a human rights lawyer.’

  ‘Impressive,’ said Womble.

  ‘Isn’t he,’ said Eve, though still pointlessly attached to Greg, or an idea of Greg.

  *

  A few days after the end of their final term, Eve and Magnus had met on a pedestrian crossing in the centre of town. While waiting for the traffic to stop, they’d waved hellos from opposite sides of the road, and, uncertain as to which side to convene on, laughed as they both started to cross, then stopped, then started, while the driver of a blue Vauxhall Astra looked increasingly unimpressed.

  ‘Wait there!’ Magnus had said, striding across the crossing with an appreciative nod to the Astra driver.

  ‘Hi, Eve Baxter,’ he said with a smile, upon reaching Eve.

  ‘Hi, Magnus Jones.’ Eve smiled back.

  ‘How goes your week?’

  ‘Um, uneventful.’

  ‘Can’t complain about that I suppose. But perhaps a little festiveness wouldn’t go amiss?’

  ‘Possibly. Do you have any suggestions?’

  ‘I’m lighting a gig tomorrow, which should be fun. Though the band are quite unpredictable, so we’ll see how that goes. Molotov Marmalade, have you heard of them?’

  ‘Is the singer the guy who wears a boiler suit to lectures?’

  ‘That’s the one. I was going to call you – come along if you fancy it. Though you might not. Most of the gang’ll be there, so the company should be good, even if the music’s questionable. Bit of a last hurrah before everyone disperses.’

  ‘You and Chloe are going off travelling again, aren’t you?’

  ‘Ah, no. Well, she is, but now she’s going with one of her dad’s law protégés.’

  ‘Oh,’ said Eve. ‘Yikes. Sorry.’

  Magnus shrugged. ‘I’ve been asked to go on tour with a theatre company – they do rather anarchic Shakespearean productions—’

  ‘Not the Never Mind The Bard folk? They’ve won some awards lately, haven’t they?’

  ‘Yep, that’s them.
I’ll be doing their lighting, so that should take my mind off things and keep me occupied for a while, be a change of scene. Though I’m not quite sure what I’m letting myself in for… To be or not to be, in bondage trousers.’

  ‘Fun for all the family,’ said Eve.

  ‘Quite,’ said Magnus, with a laugh.

  *

  The Molotov Marmalade night had been suitably raucous. The boiler-suited frontman had almost electrocuted himself after biting into the microphone cable, but survived and proceeded to partake of a stash of absinthe found behind the bar; Greg also tried some, though a little too much, and was later found being sick in the quadrangle. Eve had bought Magnus a good luck card featuring a googly-eyed black cat (inside she inscribed, Fare thee well), and a pack of large safety pins.

  The next morning, hung over, Helena had told Eve, ‘Greg was in a bad way last night – was it me or did he actually look green? I’m glad you gave up on that, I don’t think he was a match for you at all.’

  ‘You’re right,’ said Eve from behind a cupboard door, as she gathered sauces for the bacon sandwiches Womble was making. ‘Have you seen the ketchup?’

  ‘I don’t know why you’re not on Magnus’s trail now he’s single. You two always seem to get on so well.’

  Almost knocking her head on the door, Eve reappeared brandishing the condiments, mouth agape. The notion had hit her like the surprise ending in a whodunit. She pictured a jackpot whirring into place: when he called she could hear him smile. Ding! A bunch of cherries. They had long conversations, which could involve anything from dire political developments to Danger Mouse. Ding! Another bunch of cherries. When he looked at her, she felt he really saw her, saw her with those eyes that twinkled and – Ding! Cherries. Ding! Ding! Ding!

  Seeing her reaction, Womble said, ‘That’s good timing. Now that he’s just gone on tour, with a group of theatrical punks.’

  *

  Back in the kitchen, a year later. Womble and Helena were playing music, loudly, but Eve could still hear Helena giggling and saying, ‘You can’t dance to this’, as Womble tried to convince her that there was a way to coherently cut a rug to the Svengalis’ latest offering (that morning they’d been having a conversation about former flames. ‘First love?’ Doug had asked. ‘Helena,’ said Womble. ‘Smooth!’ said Helena, adding, ‘I thought I was second.’ ‘I’m not sure,’ said Eve, wondering if it was – sort of, not quite requitedly – Magnus). Eve was on her way through the living room to answer the front door. She glanced in the hallway mirror, pursing together her lipsticked lips and running a hand through her hair. Butterflies.