Come to Harm

four

“Listen,” said Fancy, hesitating in the doorway, “here’s what: will I take off my shoes?”

Keiko shook her head, laughing.

“Yeah, nice try,” Fancy said, pointing down at Keiko’s slippers. “And your face says different too.” She kicked off her sneakers without undoing the laces and left them out in the hallway.

“I’m sorry,” said Keiko. “I was determined to be… but it’s just… I know your feet are not dirty.”

“I know,” Fancy said. “Your hair looks dead clean too, but I wouldn’t stir my tea with your comb.” She was drifting about the hallway looking here and there with little quick darting glances, nudging open the living room door, poking her head into the bathroom.

“And it makes it nice and quiet for the people underneath,” said Keiko.

“Nah, that’s the stone floors,” Fancy said.

“Upstairs?”

“Oh, yeah.” Fancy jumped up and down three times, stamping her feet as hard as she could when she landed. The petals on a vase of chrysanthemums did not even shiver. “Stone floors, stone walls. Never hear your neighbours here, girl. You might as well be bricked up in a dungeon. And Mrs. Watson from the fruit shop only uses her upstairs for storage now since that weirdo niece stopped coming, so you haven’t really got neighbours. Not at night, anyway.”

“The peace will be very welcome,” Keiko said.

“And what do you think?” Fancy asked. “Of the flat. Of the…” She waved her hand around.

“It’s very spacious,” said Keiko. “Well equipped.”

“You hate it,” Fancy said. “I don’t blame you. I said we should go to Ikea and get everything new but they were all, ‘Oh, no, my granny left me that sideboard,’ and ‘we started out our married life with this bedroom suite. There’s nothing wrong with it.’ So tough luck and brown carpets.”

“They?” Keiko asked, leading Fancy into the kitchen. She wondered if it was the same they who wouldn’t listen to Mrs. Watson.

Fancy lifted the edge of the blue oilcloth to inspect the tabletop. “The Traders,” she said. “Or-you know, the other Traders. Because I am one. I’ve got the shop and Pet proposed me and Craig seconded me, and it’s his name on the lease over there so there was nothing any of them could do about it. Ha!”

“I wanted to ask about your shop,” Keiko said. She had opened a box of biscuits and got a plate out of a cabinet.

“Yeah, see, what that was, was I had to find a niche, right? And fill it. But there wasn’t one-just loads of bits of niches, so I’m filling them all.” Fancy plucked three grapes from the bunch that Keiko had set on the table and threw them up in the air one at a time, ducking her head to catch them. “I’ve got a dry cleaning franchise and a pet food franchise and-this is a bit cheeky, but Viola’s dad was married, see, and he was a rep for Canon and I managed to get a great deal on an old photocopier and a printer and a fax and all that. Well, they were free actually, but that’s all I’ve ever seen from the bugger, so I’m not beating myself up about it.”

“Who is Viola?” said Keiko.

“Oh yeah right, my kid,” said Fancy. “My daughter, you know.”

“I see,” said Keiko, then frowned. “But all those feathers and pink fur…”

“Yeah, see no, that was the nuns. The nuns were mad keen on sewing. We kept telling them that word-processing or spreadsheets or that would be tons more handy, but basically they had loads of sewing machines and they didn’t have no computers, so there it was. Anyway, it all started from people maybe bringing in stuff for dry-cleaning with like a button off or something. Or they might be getting stuff cleaned to pack it away because it didn’t fit anymore. And I would go, ‘Well, I could alter it instead.’ And so I was slogging away one night and it hit me! Fancy dress costumes!”

“Of course!”

“Because you don’t need expensive fabrics-you don’t really want them to last, because of getting beer and that all over. You just knock them together and then chuck them when they get disgusting. So, six months and a few gorilla suits later and I’d paid back the startup loan. And then the novelty cakes thing grew out of the party costumes, really. And because Pet’s a florist so she can always steer them my way.”

“That sounds very sensible,” said Keiko. “Who is Pet?”

“Petula McMaster,” said Fancy. “My foster mum. So all I want now is a name that says cake, cleaning, and fancy dress. Everybody’s got their own printer-scanners now so I’m only keeping that going till these machines peg out. And I’ve stopped the pet food, because pet food and cakes together was never going to be big. Craig McKendrick came up with ‘Fancy That,’ which is okay, but I don’t know.”

“McKendrick!” said Keiko, latching on to a familiar name like a drowning man to a buoy. “And Fancy is a nickname?”

“No, it’s short for Frances, but yeah, kind of. And anyway I should wait till I see what ends up being the main thing, because the aromatherapy might take over completely. So long as I can…”

“What is it?” said Keiko. Fancy had taken a deep breath and was letting it go slowly. “Are you all right?”

“God, I hope so,” said Fancy. “I’ve spent a fortune on it, so I’d better be.” She selected another grape, put it between pursed her lips and held it there for a second before sucking it in with a pop. “Anyway, didn’t mean to go on. Only I don’t often get the chance for a good old goss.”

“You are surely very busy with your business and your daughter,” said Keiko.

“Well yeah, there’s that, but I’m not exactly in demand for tea and cakes. But I’m not saying anything. You’ll make up your own mind.”

Keiko thought of Mr. McKendrick and wondered if that was all that lay behind it: a single parent, a fostered child. “It was lovely to listen to you,” she said. “You have a most easy to understand voice.”

“That’s cos I’m English, instead of Scottish,” said Fancy. “From Bedfordshire. Near London, you know? I came when I was nine.”

“To your foster mother,” said Keiko.

“That’s it,” said Fancy, giving Keiko a square look.

“Who must be wonderful if you stayed here, so far from home.”

“Well, I came back is more like it,” said Fancy. “Landed on her doorstep with a baby and all my stuff in black bin bags.” Fancy bit her lip. “I talk too much,” she said. “Talked your bloody ear off, haven’t I?”

“No,” Keiko said. “You are very kind.”

“Yeah, I’m some kind of angel, me,” Fancy said.

“I mean it,” said Keiko wondering what was wrong suddenly. “I need one person in this town I can understand.”

Fancy smiled again at that. “I’m here for keeps this time,” she said. “No matter what, I couldn’t take Vi away from her granny. And speaking of Vi, it’s chucking out time. Can I watch for her out the front?”

“Of course,” said Keiko. “But… no matter what?”

“Ha!” Fancy said. “I thought you understood me.”

They stood side by side in the bay window and looked down at the street.

“That’s Janice Kelly. I was at school with her. I bet she looks up. Yep, there you go. Hi, Janice.” Fancy waved to the young woman. and Keiko raised her hand shyly too. Janice Kelly gave Keiko a tight smile. In the distance a shrill bell sounded and almost immediately a faint bubbling chirp began, like far-off geese.

“She’s a friend of yours?” Keiko said.

“School’s out,” said Fancy, and pressed her cheek against the glass, craning up the street. Keiko pressed her face to the other pane. “Janice? She’s all right. They all are really, I suppose. Now, that-look quick-that’s Craig McKendrick, in the ironmongers.” A boy in a grey overall came out of the shop across the road, looked into the window for a moment, shook his head, and went back in.

“Mr. McKendrick’s grandson?” said Keiko.

“His nephew!” Fancy wagged her finger, laughing.

“Just like this morning,” Keiko said. “I thought the man called Malcolm was Mrs. Poole’s husband.”

“No!” Fancy turned towards her, eyes like eggs. “You didn’t say that, did you?” she asked, but then seeing Keiko’s brow crumple, she hurried on. “It doesn’t matter really. It’s just that Mr. Poole died not long ago.”

Keiko put her head in her hands, but Fancy spoke fiercely.

“No! It’s not your fault. Somebody should have told you.”

Down on the street, gaggles of little children were beginning to tumble past, weighed down by the enormous satchels sliding down their backs.

“Poor Malcolm, though,” said Fancy.

“He didn’t hear me,” said Keiko. “He wasn’t there.”

“Oh, so you haven’t met him? Maybe I should tell you…”

“I’ve seen him,” Keiko said. “He seems… very nice.” They glanced at one another, not smiling.

“Have you seen his brother?”

“Is he… like Malcolm?”

“God no, not hardly,” said Fancy. “Poor Malcolm.” She sighed and then pulled away from the window slightly. “Here she comes. Check the state of her hair.”

A thin girl, one of smallest ones, with hair the same bright brown as Fancy’s but springing out behind an elaborate hair band, was hopping down the street, the middle one of three, all hopping and holding hands tightly as they bunched and surged.

“They’re coming back to my place,” said Fancy. “I said they could do face-painting if they were good.” She let herself out of Keiko’s flat, bounded down the stairs to the street, and stood hopping in front of the three little girls, making them laugh.

Across the street, behind the net curtain in the flat above the hardware shop, Mr. McKendrick stood looking over towards the Pooles, watching.