Purple People

by Kate Bulpitt

  ‘Hello,’ said Magnus. He handed her a bottle of wine. It was wrapped in tissue paper which was fanned fancily around the neck.

  To Eve, taking wine to dinner still had a new, slightly grown up thrill to it. ‘Why, thank you,’ she said.

  ‘Evening, Annie,’ said Magnus, towards the television, where Annie Morris, resplendent in a peach blouse, wished everyone a pleasant rest of their weekend before handing over to the weather centre. The outlook was sunny.

  ‘I’ll just take this to the kitchen,’ said Eve, expecting to have a moment to hop up and down in front of Womble and Helena, a bouncing ode to excitement, but Magnus hovered in the doorway behind her.

  Helena had been laughing, enjoying the merry idiocy of the dance she and Womble were attempting, and now, seeing Womble’s face as Magnus caught them mid-step, she tipped back her head as a further ripple of giggles engulfed her.

  ‘Magnus, hi,’ said Womble, now standing stock still, stalled by their visitor’s sudden appearance.

  ‘Hi Womble, hi Helena,’ Magnus grinned.

  ‘Um, dinner is going to be a bit late,’ said Womble.

  ‘No problem,’ said Magnus, though his stomach grumbled.

  ‘Poor Magnus!’ said Helena. ‘Arriving ready to eat and we’re being awful hosts and starving him.’

  ‘Let’s open the wine,’ said Eve, unwrapping the tissue. She turned to Magnus. ‘It’s still warm out, isn’t it – we could sit by the garden.’

  With an apologetic smile, Womble held up a party-sized bag of crisps. Eve took them and she and Magnus wandered back through the living room towards the patio doors, sitting on the step that led out towards a shaggy haze of grass and an accompanying tangle of bedding plants.

  ‘Thank you for the wine,’ said Eve, taking control of the corkscrew and hoping she wouldn’t make a hash of opening the bottle in front of Magnus.

  ‘You’re welcome… though you might want to wait until after you’ve tasted it.’

  ‘So, welcome back,’ she said.

  ‘Thanks, and cheers,’ Magnus chimed his glass against hers in a toast. ‘Thank you for coming to the show the other night.’

  Eve took a sip, and nodded appreciatively (not that her wine-tasting skills were any more advanced than her bottle-selecting abilities). ‘Oh, of course. It was a treat to see you. It’s been quite a while since that Molotov Marmalade gig, though I have enjoyed the postcards.’

  ‘Good.’

  ‘The Milton Keynes one was pretty special.’

  ‘Like the place itself.’

  ‘Don’t you get wobbly, having to be clambering about so high with all the lights? Do you have helper sprites for that?’

  Magnus laughed. ‘I don’t notice, really. And for the time being, I am the sprite.’

  ‘“For the time being…” I see, you have your empire in mind.’

  ‘Absolutely. No sprites, no comment.’ Magnus lifted his wine glass.

  ‘So what’s next?’

  ‘I’ve had offers to do a couple of bands’ tours, which could be good. I’d get to do some more travelling.’

  ‘You want to go further than Milton Keynes?’

  ‘Absurd, eh? And, I don’t know… I’ve had some ideas for things further down the line – a fundraising enterprise for charities that deserve more support – so if I can get experience on bigger music tours, prove myself there, that might—’

  ‘Open some doors?’

  ‘Exactly. We’ll see. Might be too ambitious and come to nothing.’

  ‘So you might bob away on tour again?’

  ‘Probably not immediately. It’d be nice to stay in one place for a bit, for a change. Anyway, enough about me. How was your week at The Globe?’

  ‘Terrifying, and fascinating. They’re such characters… and the stories! They know everything. The scandalous stuff, anyway. It boggles the mind.’

  Eve bit her lip, then leant over and whispered in Magnus’s ear.

  ‘No!’

  Eve nodded. ‘Who’d have thought, right?’

  Magnus took a sip of wine. ‘I have to say, I didn’t imagine you at a tabloid.’

  ‘Me neither! Sometimes I think I could hide in a cupboard. And other times, that I could do it, be all gung-ho, if I believed in it. But really, it’s all one big ruse. Telling elaborate stories, just because you can.’

  ‘It does seem questionable.’

  Eve nodded, bashful, thinking he disapproved of what she was doing, of her accepting a tainted opportunity.

  ‘I know that mostly it’s not the real news, or a sensible explanation of the real news. Everyone knows that. It’s football-thing this, or telly-star that. Or if it’s, say, some MP scandal, they’ll over-egg it, being all theatrical about the gory details, obviously. But then sometimes it’s interesting seeing what they pick to ramp up into a front page, or how they turn on the outrage. And it can seem a bit chicken and egg – do they condition people into feeling so outraged about something, or is it that they pick things which are sure-fire—’

  ‘Crowd-pleasers?’

  Eve smiled. ‘Exactly – to begin with at least. But occasionally I suppose they’re right, they’re reflecting what people feel, when there’s some really terrible thing happening – remember that young boy and the dog, and then the little neighbour down the road? – and everyone else is being quite matter of fact. The proper news people will say ‘Such and such happened’. And the tabloid people will say ‘HOW COULD THIS HAPPEN?’ It’s surreal, and cartoony, and a lot of the time not very helpful, but it is… digestible.’

  ‘Eve, are you saying you’re going to the dark side?’ Magnus teased.

  ‘It’s definitely the last place I’d have expected to be, but… being recommended got me in the door, and I couldn’t pass it up. I figured, in at the deep end – that it’ll prepare me for anything, and I’ll learn a lot there, if I don’t pass out from fright first. They are intimidating, and fearless. It can feel a bit like the Wild West sometimes – these larger than life editors, gun-slinging gossip. It’s a real – get swept up in it, or…’ She faltered, looking uncertain. ‘I don’t know. I wonder if you can be there and avoid the dark side? Though surprisingly, as a comical bonus, for once my dad is really proud.’

  ‘That you’re hob-nobbing in the big leagues?’

  Eve shook her head. ‘That he thinks I might be hob-nobbing with glamour girls, more like.’ She looked down, watching an ant making its way across a patio slab, briefly losing sight of it as it marched nimbly under her leg.

  ‘Did he say that?’

  ‘Not quite.’

  The ant disappeared down a crack between the slabs. Eve turned to Magnus, who was looking at her, thoughtfully. Her hand was resting on the step, beside her wine glass. Magnus put his hand over hers and gave it a squeeze. A tingle of electricity fizzed from her fingertips up her arm – an unexpected shock given that she hadn’t assumed he might like her (wasn’t she too hen-witted, too trifling?). It addled her brain and she couldn’t think what to say.

  His hand still touching hers, Magnus said, ‘How goes the grand plan?’

  The glass, now rested on her knee, felt light in Eve’s hand. She looked at him, at a small graze on his arm, at the soft, touchable cotton of his t-shirt… he could conquer the world, she thought. Maybe she could conquer the world with him.

  ‘I’m not quite sure. I guess at the moment I just want to learn – this Globe thing is a bit crazy, and not what I’d planned, but it’s good to get experience of all angles, isn’t it? Grabbing opportunities, and all that. Then I was thinking if I could maybe get behind the scenes in a newsroom somewhere – you know, probably regional stuff – and work my way up, get to do some reporting.’

  ‘If you’re already at The Globe, anything must be possible. And naturally, where there’s a will…’

  ‘Here’s hoping.’

  Eve raised a hand to shield her eyes against the setting sun, currently poised, picture-perfect, on the peak of a neighbour’s shed roof.


  ‘Look at that sky,’ said Magnus. ‘Beautiful.’

  ‘Right you two,’ called Helena from the kitchen, ‘dinner’s ready.’

  Eve was about to stand when Magnus said, ‘Wait,’ and reached into his jacket pocket, pulling out a camera. As he held it up, Eve leant away, out of frame.

  ‘What are you doing?’

  ‘Moving so you can get the sunset.’

  ‘With you in it, dummy.’

  Eve groaned and held a hand in front of her face.

  ‘Kids!’ Helena called. ‘Dinner!’

  ‘Quick!’ said Magnus. ‘The light is great.’

  Hand down, and after a couple of clicks, with a face not gurning into camera-shy contortions, Eve looked towards the camera – snap, snap, snap – before self-consciously glancing away. She wanted to say something, but she wasn’t sure what.

  ‘I—’

  Eve could hear cutlery clattering through the kitchen window.

  ‘Yes?’ Magnus leant forward, the way he always did, ready to really listen to whatever you wanted to say.

  ‘Dinner time,’ Eve said.

  They picked up their glasses and went inside.

  *

  Eve still had the copy of the photo he’d given her. Mostly she didn’t dare to look at it, but now she stared at her younger self, glowing in the sugar-pink and sherbet-orange sunlight, smiling while glancing just out of frame. She found it ironic that the photo she had was one where she was looking away from the camera, away from Magnus, a memento of the sorcerous moments before she turned away completely. And before the time when, their moment on the cusp just about to pass, with Eve feeling scared and meaning, but not managing, to call, she found herself in a lechy clinch with an idiot from the Globe’s newsdesk, at a party attended by (what were the chances?) Magnus and a band he’d lit. It hadn’t been what it looked like – Eve could imagine what it had looked like – but (as if she didn’t already need to explain herself) mustn’t Magnus just have thought she’d gone to the dark side after all?

  Eve tucked the photo in the back of a notebook, out of sight, but not out of mind.

  *

  Eve was scouring the Portal, searching for crumbs about Crayne, when the doorbell rang. A wave of nerves rose and crashed in her belly. On jelly legs, she headed towards the door, briefly glancing at her reflection in the hallway mirror and running a hand through her hair. Butterflies.

  There he was.

  ‘Eve!’ Magnus gave a broad smile.

  ‘Hello!’

  ‘You look exactly the same,’ he said.

  ‘As on Monday?’

  He laughed.

  They exchanged a brief glance, which seemed to Eve to say, well, here we are, unexpectedly. She was thinking: should they hug, if she was awkward now would that set the tone, had she put too much lipstick on?

  Magnus’s expression clouded. Eve was about to panic when she saw he was focused on her arm.

  ‘Is that… ?’

  ‘From my friendly warning this morning? Yup.’

  I think we’ve missed the hug moment, she thought.

  Magnus shook his head. ‘Mind-boggling, isn’t it?’

  ‘It’s an adventure,’ said Eve.

  ‘Speaking of that,’ said Magnus, turning to indicate towards his car, ‘your carriage awaits.’

  *

  They made small talk, condensing more than a decade into easy, breezy kernels of drive-time chat: updates and anecdotes about what they’d done, where they’d been, how they first heard about the Purpleness. It felt comfortable, convivial… lovely, actually. Though Eve was aware of what wasn’t being said; past times and near misses hiding in the glove compartment, behind the sun visor, under the seats.

  ‘When do you go back, then?’ Magnus asked.

  ‘Hard to say,’ said Eve. ‘It depends on all this Purple stuff.’

  ‘That’s what’s kept you here?’

  ‘Mostly.’

  ‘It’s funny that we should bump into each other then, you being here so rarely and then we meet because of the Purpling. What’s it been – fifteen years?’

  ‘Mm,’ said Eve.

  ‘The infrequently seen Eve Baxter, eh.’

  ‘What can I say,’ she said. ‘I’m just like a comet.’

  Magnus slowed down as they reached a set of traffic lights, and checked his watch. ‘We’re a bit early. She’ll be back at four.’

  ‘Who?’ Was he taking her to meet his wife?

  ‘You’ll see. How about a pitstop – are you hungry?’

  Eve’s stomach had been rumbling, but she’d put it down to nerves.

  Magnus pulled up at a Chef Jeff’s diner. A family wandered across the forecourt towards their car, one of the children skipping and waving a lolly. Eve remembered she and Simon getting those at one of these diners once; there had been a bowl of them hidden under the counter, and they’d been given them as they left. Simon had dropped his on the ground – he’d already licked it so it got coated in car park grit – and then tried, unsuccessfully, to force Eve to swap it for hers. Linda had gone back to the restaurant and procured a replacement.

  They walked towards the entrance. A poster in the window set an exclamation-fuelled challenge: ‘TRY THE CHEF JEFF’S BREAKFAST BUSTER!!! A hearty way to start your day!’

  ‘What is this, Magnus Jones? Become accustomed to all the fancier things now, have you?’

  Magnus laughed again.

  They took seats in one of the cream and yellow coloured booths. The walls were painted a peachy tangerine, and on them were framed posters of Chef Jeff, who always seemed tickled by something – rounded cheeks and eyes crinkled with laughter.

  A television set was mounted above the bar. A news bulletin was in progress, currently showing Theo Fletcher at a newly opened hospital; the staff looked pleased as punch, and the prime minister paid close attention as they showed him machines that could deliver the latest medical wizardry.

  Magnus glanced at the TV with mock exasperation.

  ‘Not your favourite person,’ said Eve.

  ‘Hardly,’ said Magnus. ‘Though it’s incredible to witness just what he can get away with. Do a few good things and the Great British public are putty in your hands.’

  Eve nodded. ‘He has done some good things though. And if you think what it was like before…’

  ‘That’s what he’s counting on everyone thinking.’

  ‘But aside from the Purpleness?’

  ‘Before that I liked him. But the Purpleness is unforgivable.’

  You should talk to Helena, Eve thought, almost saying so, but knowing that might lead to having to explain her own conflicted feelings about the scheme.

  ‘So, where are we going?’

  ‘It’s a surprise. I think you’re going to like it.’

  Back to a doorstep fifteen years ago? Eve thought. If only.

  A waitress came over and they placed their orders.

  ‘A salad?’ said Eve.

  ‘I’m not that hungry, I’ve been scoffing all morning.’

  ‘Don’t tell me you’re on a model diet, now you’re a pin up?’

  ‘I’m nothing of the sort, cheeky. We stopped so you could eat. And so we could talk.’

  Eve swallowed.

  ‘Tell me more about this theory,’ said Magnus.

  Eve pondered for a moment, mulling over how best to present it.

  ‘Well… as I said, I’ve been trying to look into how the Turning is occurring, and I was really hitting a brick wall. But then, with what happened this morning, it seems that what I thought could easily be just a fanciful conspiracy theory is definitely more than that.’

  ‘A conspiracy theory, eh? Try me.’

  Having already made a fool of herself in front of him once in the last couple of days, Eve considered how she could best avoid doing that again.

  Magnus took a sip of coffee, looking at her expectantly.

  ‘Well, you may well think this is bonkers. I thought it was bonkers, but
… possible. Possibly.’

  ‘Go on.’

  Eve regaled him with Bob’s InTan speculation.

  Her explanation almost complete, Magnus looked thoughtful.

  ‘Was it unsafe?’ he asked.

  ‘Nope. Bob couldn’t find a record of any questions or complaints about its safety, and not only was there no trace of any negativity about it, suddenly the company’s share price went up.’

  ‘Interesting.’

  ‘Exactly. Our research into how InTan worked wasn’t going anywhere. There’s no information on the Portal, so I went to try and get some information from some folk there – friends of a friend – which similarly went nowhere. Then today the dodgy guy threatens me and says I need to stop looking into the Purpleness, and makes a reference, I’m pretty sure, to Crayne.’

  ‘Very interesting,’ said Magnus, ‘and I think our mission this afternoon is going to prove fruitful.’

  ‘Good!’ said Eve. ‘And also curious.’

  The waitress brought over their food.

  Eve acknowledged the salad with a smile.

  ‘Button it, Baxter,’ said Magnus.

  ‘Did I say a word?’

  As Magnus loaded a fork with lettuce, he started to laugh.

  ‘So,’ he said. ‘How are Womble and Helena? I always liked them.’

  ‘They’re very well,’ Eve said. ‘Helena’s a vet, and Womble’s a music teacher.’

  ‘They’ve been together a long time.’

  ‘Yes,’ said Eve, picturing the four of them having dinner, all those years ago.

  At this point she should have been polite and asked about his wife, his children, but she wasn’t sure she’d keep her tortured twitches in check. Yes, there were rivers of water under this bridge, and her expectations for this encounter were no higher than managing not to humiliate herself – and maybe, if she was honest, catching a glimpse of their old rapport, if only to prove it had ever existed, and not been just a highly rose-tinted, retrospective figment of her imagination. But still.