Murray’s small window looked out at the lane and the yard wall, taking in just a corner of the Pooles’ slaughterhouse, and he knew that even if he moved right up and put his face against the glass, he couldn’t see into Keiko’s kitchen. Instead he had to content himself with looking out at the sliver of view they shared and straining his ear to catch some sound of the four of them, perhaps sitting there in the steamy warmth with the window thrown open, laughing and drinking.
In fact, Malcolm was in the kitchen alone. Keiko and Fancy were setting the big table in the bay window. Craig picked up a completed questionnaire and started leafing through before Keiko could stop him.
“Okay, okay,” he said when he saw her face turn pale. “But what a temptation. Who all did it?”
Keiko ignored him.
“If you want a gossip,” said Fancy, “how about why Janette Campbell would be so pissed off that Murray’s showing Keiko how to lift weights.”
Keiko stared at her. That had been a confidence shared between friends: two confidences, in fact. Fancy must know that.
“Search me,” said Craig, throwing himself into an armchair and turning to face the doorway as they all heard the sound of Malcolm coming out of the kitchen. “You got any clue?”
Malcolm surveyed the narrow armchairs before moving towards the sofa and settling himself. Fancy took the other chair and Keiko perched up at the far end of the sofa from Malcolm, both heels hard on the carpet, bracing herself against the gradient that threatened to throw her down against him.
“Mrs. Campbell?” said Malcolm. “I can’t think. Unless… Did you mention Byers’s place? This is going back years, mind, but she can be bit funny about Willie Byers.”
“Who can blame her?” said Fancy. “ ‘A bit funny’ is the only way to be. Why, though?”
Malcolm rubbed his chin for a moment before he went on. “As far as I know, she took quite a fancy to him when he first came. It wasn’t long after her divorce. And one Halloween everybody was out on the Green and Willie Byers was still at work-everybody could see him-and Janette Campbell decided she’d go and drag him out to join the party. She’d had a bit to drink, by this time.” Malcolm laughed and shook his head.
Janette Campbell had had exactly four glasses of the gluey white wine that was laid out on a trestle table under the streetlamp. Four glasses on top of the large gin it had taken to get her out of her house for the first time since Mr. Campbell had left her. She wasn’t drunk. And Mr. Byers, who was new in town, was sitting in his office with the desk lamp on, sideways to the bonfire, never so much as glancing up at it.
“He’s a strange character, right enough,” said Mr. McKendrick. “I mean, there’s others haven’t come tonight and that’s fair enough, it’s not everyone’s cup of tea…”
“But that’s just thumbing your nose, isn’t it,” said Mr. Poole. “Sitting there like that.”
“Maybe he’s shy,” said Janette Campbell. “Maybe he just needs a bit of encouragement.” From someone who knows what it feels like to be alone, was what she meant. She set off across the dark green towards the desk light.
“Fiver says he won’t come, Janette,” shouted Kenny Imperiolo after her. She ignored him. She hadn’t drunk enough to have to concentrate on walking, but she shouldn’t risk trying to look over her shoulder with everyone watching. Outside the shop she arranged a smile on her face and knocked. Byers raised his head from his papers and squinted out into the dark. She waved. Away across the Green everyone could see her hand silhouetted against the brightness. And then the light clicked off and Janette stood facing the suddenly black glass and the reflection of her own startled face in it. She heard a cackle of laughter, swiftly smothered, from behind her, and her eyes filled with tears.
“Old misery guts,” someone shouted.
“Come away and leave him to stew, Janette,” called a woman’s voice. Mrs. Campbell walked as quick as she could without breaking into a run, round the corner and towards home. She stumbled once and had to put out a hand to steady herself and, although she was out of view, still the shock and the shame of nearly falling started the tears for real and she blundered on faster, sobbing, until she heard a low voice calling her name. She thought perhaps it was him, come out the back way, but when she turned gulping, streaked with mascara, it was Mrs. Poole she saw hurrying towards her with her arms outstretched.
“Don’t go!” Mrs. Poole called. “Oh, come on back and see the bonfire. Come on.” She put her head on one side and beckoned.
“You go back if you want to, Grace,” said Mrs. Campbell, shaky and louder than she meant to. “You go back to all your friends and your two lovely children and your husband and James McKendrick hanging around just in case. And I hope it chokes you.”
“I don’t know what she said to Mum or what Mum said to her,” Malcolm finished, “but she’s never been in our shop since and Mum gets her hair done at Curly World now.”
Craig laughed unkindly, long hooting laughs, and looked at Fancy to share it, but Fancy winced and shook her head.
“Poor Mrs. Campbell,” said Keiko. “It’s no wonder then. If it were me I would still be blushing.”
“Hey,” said Craig, “I know what! What’s the most embarrassing thing that’s ever happened to you?” Everyone groaned. “Oh, come on. I’ll start.”
“Not now,” said Fancy. “Not in the cold light of day on one sherry.”
Keiko was jolted out of her musing.“Of course,” she said. “Who would like another drink?”
“Oh, come on,” said Craig again. “I’ll start it. What’s the most embarrassed you’ve ever been?”
“Malcolm, would you like a glass of wine?” asked Keiko. Malcolm turned to face her just as she began to rise, and the brief lifting of his bulk at one end of the sofa caused the springs under Keiko to drop away at the very moment she transferred her weight to her feet and she fell towards him. She put her hands out to stop herself then pulled back, scared of hurting him, and ended up rolling in his lap, helpless as an upturned beetle, while his arms flailed. Then, as she tried once more to gain purchase, one knee connected with some soft part of him around his middle and he gasped, making a sound like the first punch into a bowl of risen dough. Keiko caught her breath and stopped wriggling, letting Malcolm clamp one hand around each of her upper arms and lift her up and back, onto her feet. They looked into each other’s faces for less than a second, then Keiko shot out of the room. She heard Craig trying to speak.
“So Malcolm, what’s the most emba-” he managed to get out before he collapsed into silent, wheezing laughter.
Keiko was staggering around the kitchen, doubled up, trying to catch a breath, holding her lenses in with the sides of her fingers, when Fancy scurried in, hand clamped over her mouth, and slammed the door behind her. They gave way as quietly as they could-there was no use trying to fight it completely.
“Is he laughing?” asked Keiko finally, in a ragged whisper. Fancy shook her head and wiped her eyes. Keiko cleared her throat. “He smells like rosemary,” she said, and they both straightened up with deep sighs.
“We have to go back in,” Fancy said.
Keiko raked her hair back into place. “I’ll take the glasses, you bring the wine.” She picked up two glasses in each hand and marched towards the living room. Malcolm was halfway along the corridor towards her.
“Did I hurt you?” she asked. He shook his head. Behind him she could see Craig still sprawled in his chair with his slim legs stretched out in front of him.
“Funniest thing I’ve ever seen in my life,” he called to them.
Keiko stepped out of his eye-line and fleetingly tried to hug Malcolm, stretching her arms across his front, the wine glasses clinking. For just a second she laid the side of her face against his chest and breathed in the scent of rosemary again. Malcolm raised his hands, perhaps to hug her back, but she stepped away and was into the living room before he could stop her.