“I’ll do it,” Keiko said, “if you have the manual. You’re trying to make a leaflet with two folds, yes?”
Fancy fished inside the front door of the copier and held out a booklet, looking dubious. “I’ll put the kettle on,” she said. “I want fifty, by the way, if you work it out.”
When Keiko took the fifty copies through to the kitchen, Fancy hugged her, squashing the sheets of warm paper between their bodies, then sat down at the table, divided the pile into two and started folding. Keiko sat down on the other side of the table and got to work too.
“Did you read it?” said Fancy. “What d’you think?”
“I didn’t, in case it was confidential,” Keiko said. She took a drink of her tea and read the front page of the leaflet she had just finished folding: Do you spend your days at a desk, on your feet, up a ladder, or under a car? Use the voucher on the back of this brochure and spend a night in the hands of an expert. Keiko turned the page. Aromatherapeutic techniques to soothe and refresh the tired bodies of busy people-neck, shoulder, back, leg, and feet treatments available individually or in combination.
“It sounds lovely,” she said. “I would like relaxing neck and shoulders, please, since I only sit at a desk typing.”
“You can have a freebie when I’m finished with the course. And Sandra Dessing can stick it.”
“Vinegar Tits?” said Keiko. “How is it her business?” She managed to get that much out before she gave up trying to keep her face straight and started laughing along with Fancy. “You know that’s what Murray called her. I, of course,” she clasped her hands under her chin and gazed upwards, “don’t even know what that means.”
Fancy finished folding and kissed the top of the bundle. “So,” she said, “Murray Poole.” She smirked at Keiko.
“So, Craig McKendrick,” Keiko replied.
Fancy spluttered a mouthful of tea. “I thought Japanese people were meant to be dead polite.”
“Can I ask a question then?” said Keiko. “Since I’m busted already.” Fancy nodded. “What do you know about Murray’s girlfriend?”
“Nothing,” said Fancy, looking away. “I never met her.”
“Oh! It wasn’t a serious relationship then?”
“Can’t have been,” said Fancy.
“Only Malcolm said that Murray wasn’t over her.” Fancy was still staring at the cluttered sideboard. “Can I ask another question?”
“Absolutely,” said Fancy, turning back to her.
“Why did Mrs. Watson’s niece leave?”
“What? Dina?” said Fancy. “She didn’t. Well, she stopped coming, I suppose. She never lived here.”
“But the other girl lived here,” said Keiko. “Tash. Did you live at Mrs. McMaster’s house together?”
“Look,” said Fancy. “What is this?”
“I don’t know,” Keiko said. “A puzzle. I’m trying to make sense of things Murray said to me.”
“Ha!” said Fancy. “Good luck then.”
“Can I ask one more question?” Fancy nodded. “What did Mr. Poole die of?”
Fancy blinked so slowly that it seemed she did not understand the words. “Nothing contagious,” she said finally. “You’re not worried about the flat, are you? He hadn’t lived there since the boys were at primary school, anyway, when they all lived above the shop together. You’re not worried, are you?”
“No, not about that,” said Keiko. “Just… there was no kind of mystery about him dying, was there? No kind of question or anything?”
Now Fancy turned her head slowly to one side while still staring hard, as though she would be able to get a clearer view of Keiko from the corner of her eye. It made Keiko think of dolls’ eyes or a mannequins’, and she shifted uneasily.
“What the hell has Murray been saying?” Fancy asked, but she went on before Keiko had a chance to answer. “No, of course not. I suppose it was a heart attack.”
“You mean you don’t actually know?”
“I’m trying to think if anyone said for deffo,” said Fancy, screwing up her face in concentration. “I think we just assumed. He was that kind of age, you know, and… Well, that kind of shape. I didn’t get all the gory details,” Fancy groaned. “God, speaking of which”- she fanned out the pile of red leaflets-“I really hope this works out, and I’m pretty sure it’s not gonna.”
“What’s wrong?” said Keiko.
“It’s costing a fortune, for a start,” Fancy began. “And it’s dead, dead hard, but mostly what’s wrong is it’s bloody traumatic and I’ll be a basket case before I’m qualified.” She shuddered. “It’s the anatomy module.”
“Cadavers?”
“God Almighty, no!” Fancy shrieked. “Practically, though. There’s physiology and we had to watch these totally disgusting films all about the muscle groups and that.” Her face was beginning to blanch, the skin around her eyes fading to pale yellow and her lips turning blue. She gulped and went on. “Then the practical work… we have to practice finding all the different muscles and tendons in each other, and you can really feel the gristle and stringy bits moving about.” She stopped and bent suddenly at the waist as though hit in the back of the neck with a sandbag.
Keiko chewed her lip in silence. After a moment or two, with her head still between her knees, Fancy went on.
“And the worst of is that after I’ve been to the class all I can think about whenever I’m moving around is all these, all these… bits. It does my head in. I have to go and lie flat. Once I had to go to the sick room in the college, cos I could hear all the strings in my hips clicking when I was walking to the bus stop and I fainted.”
“Isn’t that going to be a problem when you’re doing the treatments?” asked Keiko, struggling to keep the hoots of laughter tucked down inside.
“Just a bit,” said Fancy, sitting up. She sighed. “As if Old Vinegar Tits Dessing isn’t bad enough.”
“You can practice on me,” said Keiko. “I don’t mind if you faint.”
“You’re a pal,” said Fancy. She was fiddling with one of the leaflets. “Sorry I got weird about Tash. We weren’t here at the same time, to answer your question. She came after me and she was gone before I got back. Usual story-hit sixteen and legged it.”
“But she didn’t return.”
“Not so far,” Fancy said, folding the leaflet into a fan. “She wasn’t happy here. Didn’t fit in.”
“How do you know?” said Keiko. “If you and she didn’t overlap. Oh! Of course, Mrs. McMaster.”
“You’re kidding,” said Fancy. “Pet never speaks her name. Nah, just gossip. I know she had a fella,” she paused, “a boyfriend, I mean, and a job-which was more than I ever got, but she didn’t settle. Piled on a ton of weight before she left and that’s usually misery, innit? Mind you, it was Etta McLuskie who said that and she’s a total body fascist, so who knows?” Despite the price of the red paper and the extra toner, Fancy screwed the leaflet up into a ball, threw it up in the air, and flicked it into the wastebasket with a jerk of her head.
“No more questions,” Keiko said. “I’m sorry I upset you.”
“Me?” said Fancy, wide-eyed. “Why would any of that upset me?”
It was only three o’clock when she stepped out onto the street to go home, but the light, already milky, was about to begin its long fade and the town was hushed, balanced on the moment before the children were let out of school. They would be lining up right now waiting for the bell to release them like breath on a seed-head. Keiko smiled to herself and Murray, coming towards her, couldn’t tell whether the soft light and quiet brought the smile or the smile softened the light and stilled the air around her. He was beckoning her across the road towards him when she noticed him at last.