Purple People

by Kate Bulpitt

  ‘I said I’d call, and I didn’t. And you didn’t – and why would you have done, after that night. And when I finally called, all that time later…’

  Magnus nodded. He rested his hands on either side of him on the wall, and his wedding ring glinted in the fading sunlight.

  Eve took a sip of wine. ‘So, that’s my ridiculous story. You’ll be pleased to know that I learned my lesson, and in every subsequent endeavour have managed to do too much rather than too little, not wanting to have anything else to kick myself about. Though I’ve managed to pick a succession of wrong ’uns,’ she said, with a laugh.

  ‘And now?’

  ‘Ah, best not to ask.’

  ‘I don’t know what to say…’

  ‘There’s nothing to say.’

  There were more roars from the barbecue.

  ‘I’m glad we got to meet up, today,’ he said.

  Eve nodded, wondering if in fact tomorrow she was going to feel better or worse.

  They sat quietly for a moment, the scent from the barbecue filling the air; the smoke trying to cloud the momentary lull in conversation.

  ‘I should probably go,’ said Magnus, ‘say goodnight to the kids.’

  Eve felt her chest tighten.

  ‘Of course. I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have said anything. I knew I shouldn’t say any of this, I’m so sorry.’

  ‘Don’t be sorry. Please, don’t be.’ He smiled. ‘I mean, if you can’t clear the air every fifteen years… And it solves the mystery. I did wonder what had happened.’

  He gave her a hug.

  ‘Don’t fret about this – promise?’

  ‘Mm,’ said Eve.

  ‘Let me know how you get on with the Purpleness?’

  ‘Sure.’

  They went into the house. A moment later Magnus was walking down the garden path towards his car, and Eve watched as he drove away.

  *

  Eve refilled her glass of wine, went upstairs, and got into bed. She was still fully dressed but wanted to hide away from the world for a bit. If there was a sliver of light to be found in today’s encounter, it was that the much-magnified rapport had not been a figment of her imagination. But she didn’t forgive herself for failing with Magnus, however fleeting whatever could’ve been might’ve been. Now’s not the time for flagellation, she told herself; just try and focus on InTan.

  Eventually her agonising was interrupted by the sounds of Womble and Helena arriving home. Eve went downstairs.

  ‘Evie!’ said Helena, seeing her red-eyed. ‘Whatever’s wrong?’

  ‘And what happened to your arm?’

  Eve gave the most upbeat, condensed version of her day that she could muster.

  ‘He shouldn’t be allowed to get away with that,’ said Womble. ‘We should take you to the police.’

  ‘I’m fine,’ said Eve. ‘Plus he’s no doubt connected to the police. But thank you. And anyway, how are you two doing?’ she said. ‘How was dinner?’

  ‘We had a good time, didn’t we?’ said Womble, looking optimistically towards Helena.

  ‘We did,’ she said.

  ‘Nightcap?’ said Womble.

  Eve nodded.

  ‘I might turn in, if you two don’t mind?’ Helena said.

  Womble leant over and kissed her goodnight.

  Eve followed Helena upstairs.

  Helena lightly touched the skin below the bruises on Eve’s arm. ‘Are you sure you’re alright?’

  ‘Yep. Thanks.’

  ‘Not just the bruise…’

  ‘It’s nonsense, really. Poor Magnus, he must think I’m a lunatic. I think I’m a lunatic.’

  ‘You’re not a lunatic.’

  ‘And I haven’t even told Bob about InTan! I’ve been so caught up in feeling sorry for myself. But much more importantly, how’s everything with you two?’

  ‘We’re trying,’ said Helena. ‘The Purpleness is still unresolved, but… I don’t know. It’s exhausting.’

  ‘Where there’s a will…’

  ‘I know, but,’ Helena sighed, and waggled her finger, indicating going around in circles.

  When Eve, now clad in her pyjamas, went back downstairs, Womble was in the lounge, headphones on, playing records; his body bobbed to the music, his form of meditation. He looked up, sensing her arrival, and pointed to a pair of whisky-doused tumblers.

  Eve sat down across from him, took a sip of whisky. She closed her eyes. When she opened them – maybe twenty minutes had passed – she saw Womble stop bobbing and remove his headphones.

  ‘You okay?’ he said.

  ‘Yup. You?’

  ‘I think so.’

  Womble knelt beside the record player, switching it off, before picking up the record sleeve.

  Eve said, ‘If you think of the me you first met, and think of me now, would you think I’ve let myself down?’

  ‘What?’

  ‘Would you think I’ve… not reached my potential. That I had potential, or ambition, but I’ve… failed?’

  Womble’s eyebrows manoeuvred into a deep frown. In one hand was the LP he’d been playing, held aloft, suspended in surprise.

  ‘What would make you think that?’ He sighed. ‘This is the Magnus effect again, isn’t it?’

  Eve rubbed her nose. ‘That was a starting point. But it’s not just that, of course not. It’s been great spending time with you and Helena, but I’ve no idea what I’ve achieved, coming here. I feel as though I’m just making everything worse, going backwards. Not just Magnus, but my dad, Duncan, Finn… And I’ve been thinking, in some dopey, deluded way, that I’m going to find out something significant about the Purpleness – but what? Me and Bunsen Burner Bob against the world? It’s bonkers. I always really believed I was going to achieve something, and now I think that’s just not true.’

  ‘Don’t be daft! Look at you, you’re a founder of a very successful company, living in New York…’

  ‘I write about dogs on buses. I wrote a whole piece not that long ago about the wacky and unusual snowmen that people have built.’

  ‘I loved those snowmen.’

  Womble laughed, put the record down carefully beside him on the floor.

  ‘I’m ridiculous and I always get it wrong.’ Eve paused, sniffed, her nose was about to run and she didn’t have a tissue. ‘What if I’ve wasted my life?’

  ‘Oh, Eve,’ Womble said, putting his arms around her.

  ‘Careful,’ she said, ‘I might leave snot on your shirt.’

  Womble laughed again, which reverberated through their hug.

  ‘You’re not that old, Grandma,’ he said. ‘You’ve got plenty ahead of you. And everything will seem better in the morning.’

  Eve wasn’t entirely convinced about that.

  Chapter Nineteen

  There was a loud buzzing noise. The telephone. As Eve woke, the previous day’s events began to reload in her brain. She groggily opened her eyes, twisting her head to look at her arm. The bruise was there, now a darker, more violent violet. She looked over at the neon numbers of her bedside clock; it was already nearly lunchtime.

  Eve was padding downstairs when the answer machine kicked in.

  ‘Hi, this is a message for Eve. It’s Deb. We’ve got some ISON footage you might like to take a look at, if you’re passing. We’re here all the time, as usual!’

  Having reached the kitchen, Eve picked up the receiver, but Debs had already hung up. She tried to call back but the number was engaged.

  Curious, she thought, as well as, I’d best spring into action, then. Her stomach rumbled, and she decided: but first, toast.

  Womble had left the radio on, and the news was in full flow.

  ‘Dozens of students in Japan, including one Briton, have been hospitalised after taking an animal tranquillising drug. Said to be the result of “recreational misadventure”, there have been no such cases reported in the UK, but manufacturer AnimolPharm have announced that, as a precaution, they will recall all recent batches for furt
her testing… Shadow MPs have demanded an enquiry after reports that the attacker in an attempted rape case was Turned, yet not taken into custody until he arrived at a police station to turn himself in. Meanwhile in other Purple news, the prime minister is said to be considering designated seating areas on public transport, with additional ISON monitoring, for those who’ve been Turned, plus a reduction in benefits for any Turned person who usually receives them. That was the news at one o’clock – your next bulletin is in an hour.’

  It just gets madder and madder, Eve thought, reaching for a jar of marmalade and wondering what it could be that Debs wanted to show her.

  *

  As she left, Eve collected up the morning’s mail from the doormat, and was surprised to find a postcard addressed to her. It was from her mum.

  *

  Hi Eve,

  Just a quick note about a couple of things.

  Glad to hear you and Simon have been spending time together! I always wanted you two to get along.

  Your dad’s doing well – such a good recovery. We thought we’d have a little family gathering – and we have an announcement!

  Hope you’re having fun.

  Love,

  Mum

  xx

  *

  That’ll be news that surprises no one, thought Eve, wondering, doubtfully, if it might be different this time. She tucked the postcard into her pocket and headed out the door.

  *

  There was a ripple of warm air, which caused the leaves to shimmy on the trees, and the shifty fox, paw aloft, swayed ever so slightly.

  ‘Afternoon,’ said Debs, clutching a glass and a tea towel.

  Frankie was seated at the bar, drinking orange juice.

  ‘Hiya, Eve,’ he said.

  Debs put down the glass and retrieved the portable ISON unit.

  ‘Simon thought you might like to see this.’

  ‘Simon?’

  ‘Yes. He knew of someone being Turned here, and said you’d probably like to see what the ISONs caught.’

  Eve looked at Frankie.

  ‘Officially, I’m not here,’ he said. Then winked. ‘But Simon and your dad were in last night, and Simon came over to Deb, said he knew this bloke, and would we let you see the footage.’

  ‘But you don’t want me looking into this. What’s changed?’

  ‘He doesn’t agree with it.’

  ‘Deb!’

  ‘Well. He doesn’t. Of course, he doesn’t want to get into any grief, and he doesn’t want you getting any grief, but…’

  ‘It seems to be getting a bit out of hand. Turning people for minor offences that usually wouldn’t even warrant a caution. And the segregation thing Fletcher’s started talking about…’ Frankie shook his head. ‘I don’t know if you’ve carried on with your investigation…’ From the look he gave her, Eve could tell he guessed she had. ‘Or if you managed to dig anything up…’

  ‘Not much,’ said Eve, thinking, what if it had been Frankie who’d tipped someone off that she was looking into it? What if this change of heart was a bluff? Here was a chap who’d grown up in a staunchly pro-law-enforcement household, and followed in his dad’s footsteps, so would he really be willing to spill any beans – although she’d instinctively trusted him enough to ask him, hadn’t she?

  ‘Is there anything you can tell me?’

  Frankie shifted on his bar stool. ‘Here’s a weird thing. Not everyone – police officers, that is – knows what’s going on. A few from our station were sent on a course, it wasn’t specified what for, before the initiative was announced. When they came back, they were vague about the training, casually dismissive about it, saying things like, you know how it is, they showed us a new way to fill in forms, ha ha. After the initiative became public, they had mostly patrol shifts, but wouldn’t come into the station before or after, which was odd. I mean, usually you’d at least come in to change into your uniform, you wouldn’t leave home in it.’

  ‘But if they were out and about Turning people, they’d be in plain clothes, wouldn’t they?’

  ‘Exactly, you’d surmise that. Now, when they’re at the station, they’ll be in the office, never out on the front desk.’

  ‘Do they go into the interviews with Turned people who come in?’

  ‘Never.’

  ‘Strange. Unless that’s in case they risk being recognised. Though people would expect it to be police officers doing the Turning, wouldn’t they, so hardly a surprise. What do they say about it? Do they talk about doing the Turning?’

  ‘Nope, they say nothing.’

  ‘Does your dad know anything?’

  ‘He’s heard rumours that apparently those who’ve had the training aren’t allowed to discuss any operational details even with each other.’

  ‘So one officer who was doing the Turning wouldn’t be able to say anything to another officer who was doing it?’

  Frankie gave a nod. ‘All tied up in confidentiality agreements, he heard.’

  ‘So, if not all of you are doing the Turning, and those who are probably doing it aren’t talking about it, do you know how they’re doing it?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘That’s ridiculous! They must tell you.’

  ‘They haven’t.’

  Could that really be true, Eve wondered?

  ‘Nor your dad?’

  ‘No. He’s fuming. After all my years of dedication to the force…’

  ‘It’s barmy,’ said Debs. ‘And don’t even get him started on officers being made to keep secrets from each other. He’s livid, isn’t he?’

  ‘Yep. They say it’s for security purposes, and our own safety. That if no one knows everything then we and the scheme are all more secure.’

  ‘Okay,’ said Eve. ‘So if the officers probably doing the Turning aren’t interviewing the folk who’ve been Turned, how do the officers doing the interviews know what to say?’

  ‘There’s footage of every incident.’

  ‘ISON footage?’

  ‘No, it’s at the wrong angle to be that. Looks more as though it was filmed by a bystander. Perhaps wall-mounted with remote access, though that would mean they’d need a lot of cameras, plus views would be restricted, and stilted.’

  ‘Does any of it show anyone being Turned?’

  ‘No. At least not that we get to see. And from doing the interviews, there’s a pretty uniform lag between any incident and when the Turning starts to occur. At least six hours, usually.’

  Debs was busy scrolling through footage on the portable ISON screen.

  ‘Here we are,’ she said. ‘This is the guy Simon said has been Turned.’ She pointed to a man wearing a tracksuit with a stripe down each side.

  ‘What did he do?’

  ‘Head-butted a guy in the garden, broke his nose, apparently.’

  ‘And Simon knows him?’

  ‘I suppose so. He knew about him being Turned.’

  ‘Curiouser and curiouser,’ Eve murmured. ‘Did you see it happen, the fight?’

  ‘No. I don’t really remember seeing the guy,’ Debs said, looking at the screen with frowning concentration, like someone scanning mugshots, waiting for a face they recognised.

  On the edge of the screen, a small dog wandered into view.

  ‘Wait,’ Debs said, ‘that must have been the night that dog ate a chocolate pudding. Yappy little thing, it was. The owner was hyperventilating about it eating chocolate. But then a bloke stepped in, said he was a vet. He took it outside, and thankfully somehow got the dog to…’ Debs mimed the dog retching.

  ‘A vet?’

  ‘Mm.’

  ‘Would you remember what he looked like?’

  ‘I don’t know. Possibly.’

  Eve zipped forward, skimming the action – punters going back and forth to the bar, their faces to camera as they walked away, their speed dictated by how many drinks they were carrying and how refreshed they already were. A pair of women, arms linked, laughed and clinked glasses as they tottered b
ack to their table, the sequins on their tops glinting against the lights; a sweet couple sneaked glances at one another as they waited to order, hands entwined; a man studiously balanced four drinks, before turning doubtfully to the bar and moving away again a moment later, now loaded with just three. And then, a familiar face. Eve squinted at the screen, wanting to be certain. She was pretty sure it was… Rory.

  ‘Was this him?’

  Debs looked at the paused footage. ‘It could be,’ she said, pulling an indecisive, apologetic face. ‘I really don’t remember, I’m sorry. I was paying more attention to the owner, who was having a meltdown. Do you know this man, then? Would it help if it was him?’

  ‘Yes, I think so,’ said Eve. To Frankie, she said, ‘One more thing. Have you noticed any new bits of kit at the station? Needles or anything that could be used for Turning?’

  ‘I haven’t, no. Though they emptied an old stationery cupboard recently, put a new door on it, and now it’s like Fort Knox, so there’s obviously something in there…’

  ‘You don’t have access to it?’

  ‘Chance’d be a fine thing. What do you think, are you making sense of any of this?’

  Cogs whirring, but playing it cool, Eve said, ‘I don’t know. I’ll mull it over, see if lightning strikes.’

  Eve stepped outside, taking a seat on a bench and raising her face to the sun, thinking. After so many blazing hot days, the breeze was a welcome treat, and at this precise moment, hopefully fanning her overactive brain. She pictured a one-armed bandit, wheels spinning, then slowing, one by one: Ding! Cherries. Ding! More cherries. There was now just a single reel still whirling, but she was pretty sure who’d be able to help bring that final bunch of cherries into view.

  Eve looked at her watch. Hopefully she could get to the surgery not long after it had closed. On her way to the bus stop, she hovered by a pay phone. Should she, shouldn’t she? Eve lifted the receiver and dialled Duncan’s number.