A man in wellington boots smiled down at Eve, trowel in hand. He had white hair, a bushy moustache, and a lot of vegetables. ‘Dig for Britain!’ the poster merrily advised. ‘Get an Allotment’. Eve had taken a right turn at the top of the hallway, following in Watt’s footsteps, and now found herself in a strange crescent-shaped corridor which looked out onto a courtyard. She glanced around, but couldn’t see anyone. The doors to the nearby row of offices were all closed. Eve stood quietly, listening. Nothing.
‘Eve!’
She turned to see Helena rushing towards her.
‘There you are! I came to find you. Are you okay? Did you get lost?’
‘Did you see a police officer? Woman? Shortish?’ Eve asked.
‘No,’ said Helena. ‘Why?’
‘I just…’ What did Eve think she would do if she found Watt? Say, hello, senior-sounding police officer. I just surreptitiously overheard your conversation, and wondered if you’d be so kind as to let slip the very much classified way in which you’re turning people Purple. But if she could at least see her, try and work out who she was…
‘I thought she might be able to help with something,’ said Eve.
‘Is this a diversion from seeing Magnus?’
‘Have you seen him?’
‘No, not yet. The backstage usher started being very particular about checking our CIV passes on some database.’
‘I guess there are government ministers there, so they’re going to be extra careful.’
‘They’d already checked them!’ said Helena, irked. ‘Anyway, I thought with all that we should probably go in together, so wanted to find you.’
‘Thanks,’ said Eve, linking arms with her as they retraced their steps, returning to the trail of arrows.
‘You alright?’
Eve nodded. ‘You? I’ve not seen you two like this before.’
‘I’m so angry.’
‘A lot of people agree with it.’
‘That doesn’t make it right.’
‘I know, and – sorry, that wasn’t what I meant, that it does, it’s just… there seem to be a lot of usually intelligent, sensible people who think maybe it can work.’
‘But it’s so wrong. Judging people by a colour.’ Helena threw up her hands. ‘Frankly I’m astonished that anyone could support that. That my own husband could believe in something that’s so fundamentally awful. And damaging.’
‘Just to be devil’s advocate though… what if it works?’
‘It’s still wrong.’
‘But—’
‘It’s wrong. If they carry on doing this, it’s saying, it’s a perfectly acceptable thing to judge someone by their colour. Hell, it’s encouraging it. We’re colour-coding people so you can just look at them and make a snap decision. There has to be another way.’
‘Maybe Womble’s just thinking of it from a different angle, after being with the kids at school, wanting them to be discouraged from getting into trouble.’
‘Of course he’s seeing it differently. He’s never going to be judged at face value, just walking in the door somewhere, before he’s even opened his mouth.’
Eve wasn’t sure what to say.
‘You agree with it?’ Helena asked.
‘No. I don’t know. I don’t – but then I think of people not being able to get away with things, like the guy who hit my dad, and I wonder if maybe it could work.’
‘Because you’ll be able to look at someone and know whether they’re dangerous or not, whether you should trust them or not.’
‘I suppose so.’
‘How can that be right? How?’
‘It’s not right, it’s—’
‘It’s Theo Fletcher with some insane, offensive claptrap that he’s dressing up as two wrongs making a right.’
‘I know. I do know that, but then I’ll think, if it makes people change their behaviour…’ Eve’s justification trailed off. ‘I can see how frustrating it is for you, but Womble’s got good intentions. He’d never mean to upset you.’
‘I know, but siding with this scheme seems ignorant. Having the luxury of being able to look at it and be oblivious. I’m really trying not to let this whole insanity get to me, but – it feels impossible.’
‘There’s an Anti-Purple Scheme rally on Saturday. Do you want to go?’
‘I’d love to, I really would. I think that might make me feel quite a bit better, actually. But I’m working and I can’t get out of that now.’
‘Can’t Rory cover for you? You could ask him.’
‘He’s in too. If I didn’t have surgeries booked I’d try and take the day off.’
‘Speaking of Rory,’ said Eve, ‘I don’t want to be mean, but what’s with the time delay thing? Surely that’s tricky when he’s giving a diagnosis… Mrs Smith, I’m afraid to tell you that your dog…’ Eve held her breath, pursed her lips.
Helena tried not to laugh. ‘I think it’s just a nervous tic.’
Eve continued to say nothing.
‘You’re terrible!’ said Helena.
When they re-encountered Womble and Rory, the boys were deep in conversation with a backstage usher.
‘Everything alright?’ asked Helena.
‘Yep, just chatting,’ said Womble, looking a little guilty.
‘Shall we go in?’
‘Just so you know,’ said Womble, ‘apparently Magnus has left.’
‘Bugger,’ said Helena.
‘And so has Ed Fitzpatrick,’ Womble added, disappointed.
‘Is Gwen Thomas still there?’ asked Eve.
‘No, she’s gone,’ said the usher.
‘Blimey,’ said Eve. ‘Does it get that awkward afterwards?’
‘The wine delivery didn’t arrive,’ said the usher, ‘which may have something to do with their departures.’
A thought occurred to Eve.
‘I don’t suppose Inspector Watt is here?’ she asked.
‘Who?’ said the usher.
‘She’s a police officer.’
‘No. Haven’t had any police in here.’
‘Oh.’
‘So, it’s orange juice with Ella Breally?’ said Helena. ‘I think it’s time we went home.’
The last of the protesters were rolling up a banner as Helena drove past. Eve watched as they diligently packed everything away, obviously old hands at activist pursuits.
‘What a shame we didn’t get to see Magnus,’ said Helena. She reached over and gave Eve’s arm a squeeze.
‘He seems very…’ Rory paused.
Eve pursed her lips, and tried not to catch Helena’s eye.
‘Involved,’ said Rory, finally, ‘in the Purpleness. How do you know him?’
‘We met at university,’ said Helena. ‘And I have to say, he seems exactly the same now as he was back then.’
Helena began to tell the story, and while it partly made Eve feel like poking herself in both eyes, she figured it was at least a distraction from Womble and Helena’s plum contention. Plus, there was no escape: the Magnus chapters had already begun replaying in her head.
They’d met at a pub near their university, at a fundraising bash in the December of their final year. A tinny yellow-gold plastic ‘Merry Christmas’ hung across the bar, while the walls were decked with concertina’d paper bells and snowflakes, and worn-looking tinsel with kinks from where it had spent repeated years stuffed in a box in the cellar. Eve had tugged Helena’s sleeve and indicated towards a lad stood by the jukebox, a palm pressed against the window of its audio delights, considering his options whilst swigging from a bottle of German beer. His dirty-blond fringe would occasionally swing forward, obscuring his view until he swept it back using the hand in which he held the bottle, the other remaining fixed to the jukebox.
‘That’s him,’ Eve said. She had seen this guy posting flyers for the fundraiser around the student union and he was the reason she had impressed upon Helena that they come.
‘Hm,’ said Helena, noncommittally, biting on a crisp. Given the unlikely suspects Eve seemed to latch onto, and not always to be easily dissuaded from, even Helena was learning to hedge her bets.
Greg, it would transpire, had grown up not far from Eve, a fact which was about all they had in common. Though it would take her a while to realise this, and in the meantime she cultivated a crush, based on little more than looks, and lacking in lively conversation, or any other form of engagement, for that matter.
Not so with Greg’s friend Magnus, who was unassuming and perceptive, with a sharp sense of humour and a sweet sense of mischief. Eve had been hovering near the jukebox when Magnus appeared. Tallish, with short, scruffy brown hair, and wearing a ‘Bells Not Bombs’ t-shirt in reference to a military campaign the government had started the previous Christmas.
‘Are you choosing the playlist for the entire night?’ Magnus had teased Greg, approaching him with a bottle of beer.
Greg mumbled and again moved his fringe out of his eyes.
‘I thought you might need one of these.’
‘Thanks, man,’ said Greg, finally removing his hand from the jukebox, downing the remainder of his present drink, and turning to accept the new one.
A jangling tune began to play.
‘Oh, I love this,’ said Eve, technically to Doug and Helena, but hoping Greg would overhear.
Apparently not hearing her, but turning to the jukebox with a frown, Greg said, ‘What? I didn’t pick this.’
‘What did you pick? Something festive – a bit of Kit Barbary?’ Magnus grinned, referring to a crooner from some years back who’d had a string of yuletide hits.
Greg had groaned.
Eve took this comment and shoehorned an opportune moment into it.
‘If I’d known Kit was on the cards, I’d have worn my Christmas jumper!’ she said.
Helena, turning briefly from the Snowball Doug had bought her (she’d considered it sceptically as Doug had handed them over: ‘Two for one!’ he’d said. ‘I thought you girls might like them’), wore a rare look of surprise at Eve’s diving in without any wing-girl assistance.
‘A Christmas jumper!’ said Magnus. ‘Excellent. What’s on it?’
‘A disco robin and some fetching sprigs of holly,’ said Eve, ‘though possibly it’d be a bit small these days – I don’t think I’ve worn it since I was twelve.’
‘A disco robin?’ Magnus asked, twisting slightly and lifting an arm in the direction of a decorative reindeer as he moved into a disco-dancing finger-pointy stance.
‘Yup!’ Eve smiled. ‘And do you, or your friend,’ she turned to Greg, ‘have any Christmas jumpers hidden away in the cupboard?’
Greg had looked across to a gaggle of giggling girls who’d just arrived.
‘Do you have a Christmas jumper, Greg?’ Magnus nudged.
There was a pause and then…
‘No.’
At this Helena, her back to their conversation but all ears, repeated the look she’d given the unexpected Snowball.
Still waters, thought Eve.
Leaning forward, Magnus confided, ‘I had one. My aunt knitted it. A lovingly made, one of a kind number featuring Action Man’s head – ’ he indicated towards his chest, outlining a large oval – ‘wearing a scarf and a woolly hat – with snowmen on.’
‘No!’
‘Oh yes. It was a work of art.’
‘Your friends must have been… envious?’
‘I think so. I’m Magnus, by the way, and this is Greg.’
Greg nodded, his fringe swooping.
‘I’m Eve, and this is – ’ Eve swivelled round to her friends – ‘Helena, and Doug.’
Swivelling back, Eve asked, ‘And what do you two do?’
‘Ah, well now…’ said Magnus. ‘When not carefully considering the jukebox options, Greg is a smart, alluring soul who studies English lit with a side order of philosophy. He was in the habit of cycling everywhere, but a few days ago had a particularly riotous night out and has yet to remember where he left his bike.’
‘Thanks,’ said Greg, looking embarrassed.
‘Also, he has a pet spider plant.’
‘My sister gave that to me, so I have to try not to kill it,’ said Greg, with a smile (a nice smile, Eve thought; it had been worth the wait). He was about to say something else when there was a high-pitched squeal, apparently emanating from a microphone.
‘Hi everyone, thanks for coming,’ said a chap on the raised platform in one corner of the room that constituted a stage. ‘I’m Adrian, I run the student union, so some of you will have seen me around. I wanted to do a quick introduction, and thank you, to the bloke amongst us who’s made all this possible. He’s been so dedicated to these events for the last few years – well, they were his idea – and I don’t know how we’ll find someone so ace to fill his shoes next year. He’s a—’
‘Genius!’ someone shouted.
‘A prince amongst men!’ called someone else.
Adrian laughed. ‘Exactly. Actually, for a genius – studying physics, no less – who seems to know a ridiculous amount of things, he does a really princely job of not making anyone else feel stupid.’
‘He must be good, Ade, not making you feel stupid,’ a member of the crowd teased. ‘Aren’t you doing P.E.?’
There were some laughs and Adrian said, ‘Sports therapy! Anyway,’ he continued, ‘as well as these parties, he’s been doing an excellent job of monkeying around lighting gigs at the student union. I’m definitely going to miss having him here next year. Now, where are you Magnus?’
Greg patted Magnus on the back as he made his way across the room.
Taking the microphone from Adrian, Magnus said, ‘Thanks Ade, that was quite the introduction.’ With a smile he added, ‘If you see my eyes watering, it’s just that I’m… allergic to tinsel. It’s been really heartening doing these events, and seeing how enthusiastic everyone’s been, I’ve been a bit bowled over by that. Now, I know there are loads of things to be worrying about in the world – can you go to that bloke from your Thursday lecture’s party and finish your essay on time? Is there any bread in the cupboard that hasn’t got mould on it?’ Magnus grinned. ‘But you know, if those are our problems, then we’re lucky, and if we’ve got time to hop down the pub and have a beer or two with our friends, why not do that for a good cause? We’ve done this for the last couple of years, donating to a different local organisation, and this evening the cause is the county hospital’s sadly underfunded A&E unit. Some of the staff have joined us this evening – hands up those of you… don’t they look lovely? And now you know who to go to if you have a funny turn this evening.’ Magnus laughed as a piece of lime was pinged towards him. ‘Fair enough,’ he said, running a hand through his already mussed hair, leaving one clump standing on end like an antenna. ‘Oh, and actually that’s a good reminder – Gloria the charming landlady here has asked me to mention that there’s going to be an open mic night here from January. So if you fancy yourself as a budding songsmith or comedian, you know where to come. You’ll be relieved to know I won’t be entering and flinging any more terrible jokes at an unsuspecting audience! On that note, I’ll pipe down and let you get back to the task at hand. Thanks everyone for coming tonight – it really is great to see so many of you here. Now, please drink and be merry!’
There were some whistles and a round of applause.
Eve tried to clap without spilling any of her half-empty Snowball; Helena whistled, loudly. Magnus made his way back towards Greg, slowly, as people kept stopping him to chat or to congratulate him on a successful evening. Eve noticed an enviably handsome guy called Rick, or rather, Slick Rick, known around campus for, one, having done some modelling (he’d allegedly auditioned for a big jeans brand’s TV ad, but while the facts surrounding that were hazy, it was undisputed that he had appeared in the poster for a range of pork pies), and two – not unrelated – having a different girl in tow every week. Just now he scowled as the lass he’d been chatting to (or up) turned to catch Magnus’s attention.
Back in Eve’s circle, Doug leant across to Greg. ‘Have you been taking the post-war British literature class? I think I’ve seen you at the Monday lectures.’
‘Yeah, that’s right,’ said Greg. ‘There’s a way to start the week.’
Eve gave Helena a glance which said: that turned out nicely! Now they had an in with the attractive, if not so chatty, Greg.
The next morning, she commented to Helena, ‘That Greg’s an enigma, isn’t he?’
‘Not the word I’d use,’ Helena had replied.
And that had been the start of it.
Water splashed onto Bob’s Iron Maiden t-shirt as he rinsed out test tubes while humming an old heavy metal song. It seemed incongruous to be able to do such a thing as melodically as he was, Eve thought. She was perched on a stool in the first row of benches, the only time she could claim to have been at the front of the class in science. In her school years she’d sat at the back, daydreaming or doodling on her notebook. Bob wiped his hands on a cloth, then returned to his desk.
‘So, Womble says you’re working on the mysteries of the Purpleness,’ Bob said. He tapped his fingertips on the table. You could tell he was a drummer. Aside from the tribute-tastic turn, he and Womble had played in a band together for a while.
‘I’d like to understand how they’re doing it. I’m intrigued to know what the possibilities are.’
‘Mm, wouldn’t we all,’ Bob agreed. ‘And I’m pleased you asked, because I’ve been thinking a lot about that. I’ve studied quite a few interviews with Purple people, and I can’t find any clues. That may be because all output is being strictly controlled. The government are definitely being more cagey than usual with what information they release.’
‘Especially since the Landell Responsible Reporting legislation was passed,’ said Eve. ‘They’ve been saying less rather than more for a while now, certainly since before the Purpleness started.’
Bob nodded sagely. ‘So, basically, there’s very little to go on. But, a scientific sort could deduce some facts. An environmental infection seems unlikely, as specific individuals are targeted, rather than groups of people. And if there was something in the air, then other people might get accidentally Turned, and we’ve heard in many cases there were other people around who weren’t affected. Unless they were and were given an antidote and we just don’t know about it. But for now, let’s assume the Turning agent isn’t airborne. There doesn’t appear to be any direct physical contact with anyone – at least, not consistently – during which they could have been injected. And none have, as far as I’m aware, reported feeling anything that could have been an injection or its obvious side effects, such as broken skin or swelling at the point of entry, which you have to imagine there would be some cases of, given blood types, and allergies. It’s possible that the Turned people have consumed some fluids or food which could have been doctored. I’m not sure about that.’
From the corridor, there came a loud crash. Bob glanced in the direction of the noise, eyebrows gently raised.
‘Just a second,’ he said, moving from his desk towards the door. He leaned out into the corridor.
‘Drew.’
‘Sir.’ This from someone Eve couldn’t see.
‘Everything alright?’
‘As ever, sir.’
‘Great. I figured as much. Setting fire to bins, for example, has less impact after school when there’s no one here to see them.’
‘Right, sir. Like a tree falling in the woods. Nobody hears it scream.’
Drew came into view; he would have been a quintessential shaggy-haired teenager, shirt half-untucked, tie askew, had it not been for his hair being dyed bright blue. Behind him appeared another dishevelled boy.
‘Mo.’
‘Sir.’
‘Are you alright? Were you two fighting? Is that what I heard?’
‘I think they call it horsing around, sir,’ said Drew.
‘Mo, anything you’d like to add to that?’
‘No, sir.’
‘Off you go, then,’ said Bob, watching them meander away.
He closed the door, returned to his seat. ‘Sorry about that. Now, where were we?’
‘Well,’ said Eve. ‘We’d reached, if it’s not airborne or injected, but might be ingested – what could it be?’
‘Just the question!’ With a glint in his eye, Bob reached for a bag, from which he pulled a stapled set of papers. ‘I do have a theory,’ he said.
Eve tried not to smile.
‘Recently, a pharmaceutical company was about to launch a new tanning product. A new treatment that, with only one application, would tan you for an elongated amount of time – months, at least.’
‘Crikey,’ said Eve, thinking of the lithe, gilded girls who had been an epitome of beauty for as long as she could remember – athletic limbs stemming from bikinis on LP covers and in perfume ads, representing the elegantly exotic, glossily and gloriously implying life’s a beach (here was another type of tinted person that the papers loved to describe: bronzed beauty, sun-kissed stunner, golden goddess). Though those perfect pictures neglected the risks: skin cancer, a leathery hide later in life (like aging tennis stars, and idle souls who’d accumulated years on yachts and cruises), and, more recently, the orange glow of those cheaply emulating the look.
‘That’d be bound to be a money-spinner. What happened to it?’
‘It got withdrawn not long before it was due to be launched,’ said Bob. ‘You’d think it would be for health or safety reasons, or because they needed to do more testing or something. But there were no risks or complaints filed with the drug administration, it just vanished without trace.’
‘Maybe they hushed up the bad press?’
‘Perhaps. But usually, the failure of a massive new product would at least result in some big executive being fired, or the downturn in projected sales harming share prices. But I looked into that. This was going to be their most major product launch for over a decade, and not only is there not a ripple of negativity, their share prices have gone up.’
‘They could’ve created a better product?’
‘But if you’ve invested so much money in this one and it’s all set to go, and there could be negative rumblings if you pull it for no good reason, wouldn’t you launch it, and worry about more new products later? That way you’re going to be a market leader, and one seen to be constantly upping your game. Basically, the tanning market is like male baldness.’ He ran his hand through his own thick hair. ‘So providing there wasn’t a safety or recall issue, they’d have to have been in line to make a fortune.’
It was an interesting story, though Eve noticed they seemed to have veered rather off topic.
‘But what does this have to do with the Purpleness?’ she asked.
‘I think Crayne, the pharmaceutical company, sold the patent to the government.’
‘For tanning?’
‘For colouring people. Orange, purple, it’s all the same.’
Eve’s mouth gaped in a silent gasp as she grasped what he was saying.
‘I see… Wait, though… How was the tanning thing supposed to work? Usually it’s a cream or a spray or a pill, all things that you’d have to use knowingly, right?’
‘An excellent question. And that’s the beauty of it: this was to be a new, specially created system.’
Eve waited expectantly for Bob to reveal all. He was quiet.
‘What system?’ she asked.
‘To have such a long-lasting effect, logic would dictate that it must be something taken internally, so not a spray or a lotion. But I’m not sure, yet.’
‘You don’t know what the actual product is?’
‘It changes people’s pigment in a revolutionary way!’
‘But you don’t know how. It could be an injection, or a digestible liquid – a drink, maybe? – which wouldn’t fit with the Purple Turning scenario.’
‘Exactly. It’s a conundrum.’
‘If they’d run trials,’ Eve said, ‘would those results have been published anywhere?’
‘Not that we’d have access to, until it was made available for public consumption.’
‘So there’s no way of finding out how it works?’
Bob began tapping his index finger on the desk. ‘I haven’t been able to yet. But I have a hunch about it. I’m pretty sure this is what they’re doing.’
‘When was it supposed to go on sale?’
‘Three months ago.’
‘Do you have any documents about it?’
Bob handed Eve the stapled papers. She turned over the first couple of pages, which were copies of articles from a scientific journal – an announcement of the product being in the works, and another about its surprising withdrawal from anticipated release – eventually coming to the triumphant promotional statement.
Crayne Industries Launch Revolutionary Tanning Tool
Crayne Industries CEO Sherry Berger is thrilled to announce that the company’s ground-breaking tanning product InTan will soon be publicly available.
‘This is a revolutionary system, which is truly going to change the way the world tans,’ Sherry Berger declared. ‘While we’ve been aware for many years that traditional suntanning is very damaging to the skin, safe alternatives have been messy and provided short-lived effects. But now you can look beautifully bronzed easily, and for prolonged periods of time. All with one easy application of InTan. We couldn’t be more excited, and we know the world is going to feel the same way.’
She also unveiled that renowned model Carla De Lora has a new role, as product spokeswoman. ‘I just love InTan – it’s fabulous!’ Carla said. ‘Now I can have the perfect tan, all the time. I can’t wait for everyone to be able to share in this secret!’
Full details will be issued upon InTan’s launch on 12 April, when it will become available exclusively at Bell & Styles department store and branches of Gilded Tub Beauty Spa.
The countdown to extraordinary, long-lasting tanning has begun!
Eve glanced up from the page.
‘Tell me again what makes you think that this is connected to the Purple Scheme,’ she said.
Looking over from some beakers he’d been stacking, Bob said, ‘Intuition. It seems ridiculously coincidental that a very profitable product which dyes people for extended periods of time should become unavailable to the public, seemingly without hurting the company’s reputation or share price, shortly before a national campaign for dyeing people starts. It would’ve taken years for the government to develop and test such a thing – certainly longer than Fletcher’s been in power.’
‘Who else have you talked to about this?’
With an air of beleaguered acceptance, Bob said, ‘Let’s just say that not everyone is open to considering the more hidden possibilities, so I thought I’d hold off on mentioning this one, just ’til I have more to back it up.’
‘Right,’ said Eve. ‘Can we keep this between us for now, then? And we’ll swap any more information we can find?’
Bob perked up considerably. ‘Of course! People may dismiss my ideas, but I know when I’m on to something. They just don’t realise that it can take a fair bit of digging to get to the evidence. If these things were easy to prove everyone would know about them already.’
‘There is a chance, though, that other people might be aware of this too, and reach the conclusion you have, isn’t there?’
‘Possibly,’ said Bob, ‘but Crayne are covering their tracks.’
‘They are? How?’
‘Crayne is apparently in talks with another corporation, discussing a possible merger. They’ve put other product launches on hold too.’
Now you tell me, thought Eve.
‘So it could be that they’re just waiting to see what happens before they launch InTan and the other things?’
‘Nope,’ said Bob. ‘I mean, it could be. But I don’t think so. I’m pretty sure it’s more than that – it’s too much of a coincidence, isn’t it?’
‘Indeed,’ said Eve, not sure she believed his theory after all, but figuring it was the best lead – the only lead – she had so far.
‘Oh,’ said Eve, ‘I overheard something which… well, it does and it doesn’t give a clue.’ She pulled out her notebook, reading the lines she’d scribbled after hearing Watts’s phone call. ‘What does he mean, he thinks he’s lost it? Before or after a Turning? That kind of error could jeopardise the whole scheme. Tell him he needs to find it –no ifs or buts –and report to me tomorrow morning.’
‘Crumbs,’ said Bob.
‘I know. I should add that I shouldn’t have heard that, so…’
‘I will repeat nothing,’ said Bob, with a lip-zipping gesture. ‘Now then. Let’s find Womble and go for a pint.’
Eve picked up her bag and followed him out of the lab.
En route to the pub, Womble cleared his throat. ‘I hope neither of you mind, but I invited Rory along to join us.’
‘You two bonded at the debate, did you?’ said Eve.
‘I think so,’ said Womble. ‘We had a good chat, and… Well, it was interesting talking to him about the Purpleness. And Hels wants me to help him settle in, so that’s what I’m trying to do.’
There was some shouting a little further down the road; Bob squinted into the distance.
‘Drew Fisher,’ he said. ‘What’s he up to now, I wonder.’
‘He’s a loose cannon, that one,’ said Womble. ‘So you two had a constructive chat, did you?’
‘We did, right, comrade?’ said Bob.
‘Yes,’ said Eve, and to Womble: ‘Thank you for the investigative matchmaking.’ Then, looking up, she added, ‘Oh, look, chaps.’
Ahead stood Rory, holding a packet of cigarettes. He was framed by another red telephone box, in which a man appeared to be having a very boring conversation, his head bobbing up and down like a nodding dog.
Womble called to Rory, who looked surprised, and stuffed the cigarette packet in his pocket as they approached.
‘Having a sneaky fag, hey?’ said Womble.
Rory looked panicked, then dejected. ‘Since I…’ he began. There was a pause. Bob appeared momentarily concerned, but Eve now anticipated the delay. ‘It’s a bad habit, since I got divorced. I want to give up, but…’
‘Me too,’ said Bob, ‘I’m trying to stop. I’d rather the tobacco companies weren’t making a profit from me. Capitalist cretins.’
Eve and Womble exchanged a smile.
‘And who’s this?’ said Eve, crouching down to pat a pug whose lead Rory was holding.
‘This is Brewster,’ said Rory. ‘I’m looking after him for a couple of days.’
‘He’s adorable,’ said Eve.
‘I really want to…’
They all waited patiently.
‘Get another dog,’ said Rory, staring sadly at Brewster, who sat panting, bug-eyed.
‘Onwards to the pub?’ said Womble.
The four of them sat down at a table.
‘So, how was your day at the surgery?’ Eve asked Rory.
‘Ah, good, thanks,’ he replied. ‘I operated on a sheepdog. And a gerbil.’
‘A gerbil?’
‘Yes. Actually, I think you’ll like this story,’ said Rory, with warming confidence. ‘It wouldn’t move away from the fridge, and the owners couldn’t work out why. It turned out…’
Eve, Bob and Womble leaned forward.
‘It had swallowed a magnet! A fridge magnet! And so it couldn’t move away from the fridge.’ Rory mimed his neck jerking to one side, as though magnetised.
Eve laughed. ‘Poor thing,’ she said, ‘though that is an amazing story.’
‘It’s dreadful,’ said Bob.
‘Is the gerbil okay now?’ Eve asked.
‘It is. The operation was successful. The magnet is removed.’
‘I have to ask,’ said Eve. ‘Do you think they’d do an interview for Say Fantastique!? Because that’s what my partner Adio would describe as right up our gangplank.’
Rory laughed. ‘I’m sure they would. I can ask them.’
‘That’d be great, thank you.’
‘The debate was interesting, didn’t you think?’ said Womble.
‘Yes,’ said Rory. ‘Though it was a lot of big opinions in a small space! Food for thought, as they say.’
‘What do you make of it, then?’ Bob asked. ‘The Purpleness, that is.’
Eve was curious to know this; Rory had seemed borderline dumbstruck by much of what had happened at the debate, which had obscured his stance. And she was keen, as ever, to know how people felt about it, especially as she was still seeking a definitive opinion of her own.
‘I try not to talk about it,’ said Rory. ‘It seems to be such a…’ Another pause. ‘Hot potato.’
‘You agree with it, though, don’t you?’ said Womble, eager to be around someone on-side for a change.
‘I do, yes. I think. It’s controversial, but…’
Eve, Bob and Womble sipped their drinks, waiting.
‘Maybe it can work?’
‘Tell us what you make of it,’ Womble said to Bob.
‘I’m wary of it. It’s a shady government scheme to control us, using fear.’
Rory looked aghast. (Eve guessed he probably didn’t come into contact with many conspiracy theorists). ‘You’d rather the criminals control the streets?’
‘They don’t control the streets. That’s just what Fletcher – and possibly the criminals – would like everyone to believe.’
‘The thing is—’ Womble began.
Time for a break, thought Eve, who was, unexpectedly, approaching Purple overload. She stood up. ‘Anyone for some crisps?’
A pint glass appeared on the bar, brought to rest on a newspaper Eve was flicking through, its contents sloshing overboard, dampening the headlines.
‘Alright, sis.’
Eve looked up to see Simon – and Duncan – standing beside her. She contemplated the pint glass, and the soggy newsprint; Simon’s mildly mocking ‘gotcha’ smile implied he was still well aware of his ability to rile her.
‘Hello,’ said Duncan, giving Eve a hug. ‘It’s good to see you again.’
‘You, too,’ said Eve, feeling briefly flustered by another close encounter with his biceps.
A young woman behind the bar brought over the last glass of Eve’s order, and Eve handed her a twenty-pound note.
‘Want a hand with those?’ asked Duncan.
‘Sure,’ said Eve, less sure about Simon crossing paths with her companions.
‘Gents,’ she said, assigning the new round of drinks. ‘This is Duncan… and Simon, my brother.’
There were nods and hellos before Eve gathered with the new arrivals at one end of the table. Simon and Duncan sat on small stools, the boys’ jagged, crunched legs a row of right angles.
‘How’s Dad?’ Eve asked.
Simon opened a bag of pork scratchings, and tipped a few into his mouth.
Munching, he said, ‘Rine. Mum larking rafter him.’
Eve looked at Simon as he ate more scratchings, mouth open, the crackling jumbling around like the contents of a washing machine in a vegetarian’s nightmare.
‘And… how are you?’ she said, such familiar words suddenly feeling chalky and unusual when directed at Simon, politeness between them being an uncommon language.
‘Me?’ Simon said, suspicious.
‘Yes, you.’
‘Fine,’ he said. He prodded a finger into his mouth, poking about to retrieve a stray pork morsel, before wincing; Eve suspected that Duncan had kicked him under the table. ‘You? Still here, then?’ Simon said slowly, as though he’d been asked to speak in Mandarin.
Womble caught Eve’s eye, giving her a questioning thumbs up sign. She responded with a smile and a nod.
To Simon she said, ‘Still here, yep.’
Duncan smiled, looking between them, proudly, like a sports coach who’d insisted that two warring teammates would find they were actually very alike, if only they’d just try and get along.
‘Where are you working at the moment?’ said Eve.
‘I’m not,’ said Simon, waggling a hand in front of his face as a bee flew past.
‘Ah,’ said Eve.
The bee had alighted on the sterile flora of the flocked wallpaper; Simon lifted a beer mat, about to swat it.
Duncan deftly slipped the mat from Simon’s fingers.
‘Si!’ he said. ‘Leave the poor bee alone and drink your pint. Honestly! What’s it ever done to you?’
Simon mumbled sheepishly.
‘In all these years, you’d think some of my conservationist ways might have rubbed off on you…’
They both laughed.
Simon prodded Duncan with his elbow, nodding towards an attractive, unassuming young woman standing at the bar.
Duncan shook his head.
‘Mate… we’re having a drink with your sister!’
‘Don’t mind me. I don’t want to cramp you boys’ style.’
Eve could have anticipated her brother’s response to this – ‘That’d be a first’ – but as Simon opened his mouth to speak, Duncan silenced him with a good-behaviour-inducing parental stare.
Simon looked again at the woman. ‘She looks nice. I could tell her you’re a tree-hugger, that you lived in the forest, they love all that.’
Duncan rolled his eyes.
‘I’ve only got your best interests at heart,’ said Simon.
‘For which I’m eternally grateful,’ said Duncan.
Eve said, ‘You lived in a forest?’
‘Yes,’ said Duncan, wryly. ‘Did you hear about The Battle of Horton Forest?’
Eve said, ‘I did not.’
‘The council had agreed for part of it to be felled because some property people were offering to pay shedloads to build a big holiday park there. A “conservation retreat and spa” they called it. Conservation! What a nerve. So there was a big, drawn-out protest. I spent four days living in a tree.’
‘Blimey,’ said Eve. ‘And what happened?’
‘The police were pretty rough with the protesters, broke one guy’s arm. But the project got shelved. Debatable as to why. The councillor in charge, who just happened to be friends with the property developer, got fired. All in all, the powers that be didn’t come out of it very well.’
Eve was about to comment on how unquestioning she’d always been of authority; so uneventfully well-behaved, toeing the line – but then figured it might sound like a slight against Simon.
‘Bloody plods,’ Simon said.
Duncan murmured inconclusively.
‘I’m going to go to the Anti-Purple Scheme march tomorrow,’ he said. ‘Either of you want to come?’
‘Nah, not my thing,’ said Simon. ‘Besides, I’ve already got plans. I’m gonna be busy recovering from a hangover.’
‘Absolutely, I was planning on going,’ said Eve, considering it an optimum opportunity for research. ‘There are supposed to be some Purpled people going, aren’t there?’
‘You wanna gawp at them?’ said Simon.
‘I want to talk to them,’ said Eve.
‘What, about whether they’ve seen Jesus in a slice of toast or something?’
‘Ah, you do pay attention to what I do,’ said Eve.
‘See, he’s as endearing as a bear cub,’ said Duncan, playfully ruffling Simon’s hair. Peering towards Simon’s face, Duncan told Eve, ‘There’s definitely movement which might commonly be considered a smile.’
Hiding this, Simon puckered his lips and stood up. ‘Want another drink?’ he said, barely waiting for an answer before moving towards the bar.
Duncan smiled at Eve, unflustered by any twitchy Baxter behaviour.
‘So,’ he said, ‘the march should be interesting.’
Shouldn’t it just, thought Eve, who was also wondering how she could hatch a plan to investigate InTan.