“That’s Katie’s wee sister,” said Viola. “She can’t really reach it yet. Yeah, we’re walking backwards this morning cos we fell out on the way home on Friday. So, you know, we’re rewinding.”
“What?” said Keiko.
“You should try it,” Viola said. “You and Mum. Rewind and it never happened. That’s what we do.”
“If only,” said Fancy. “Brush your teeth,” she called in a half-hearted voice as Viola bounded out of the door.
“Look who’s talking,” Viola said, coming back and standing in the doorway with her hands on her skinny hips. “Your breath stinks like cheese this morning, Mum. That’s why I’m not kissing you. I’ll give you two kisses tonight.” She threw a final pitying look at Keiko and left.
Keiko put her head down on the table with a groan.
“I can’t stand having a hangover when Vi’s here,” said Fancy. Keiko giggled. “Right,” said Fancy, louder and firmer, “what are we looking at? One puke, but you’re up and walking and you’re dressed-”
“Not really,” said Keiko sitting up and leaning back in her chair, “I’ve still got my nightie on underneath.”
“Well, near as damn it. So… I think hot shower, port and brandy, and some breakfast. Trust me.” She glanced over her shoulder to check the position of the fridge and took a couple of backwards steps towards it, then stopped and put her hand out to steady herself. “Not good,” she said, swallowing hard. “Don’t try it.”
Under the hot water, Keiko felt streaming off her not only the sweaty horrors of last night, but six weeks’ film of bathtub; it lifted and washed away, globules of suet rising to her skin and thudding out of her pores. She squeezed another dollop of Fancy’s gel onto the scratchier side of a washing mitt and scoured herself without mercy.
Back in the kitchen, Fancy handed her a glass. Keiko swirled the resinous mixture around, breathing through her mouth so that she couldn’t smell it. She couldn’t remember ever tasting port or brandy before.
“Honest,” said Fancy. “Down in one, trust me.” Keiko glanced at the sink; it was piled with dishes, so if this didn’t work she would need to make the bathroom. She pulled her chair back from the table in readiness, swigged, gasped, then swallowed hard with her hand clamped over her mouth.
“Hold on, hold on,” said Fancy and, as the fumes cleared and the good taste of toothpaste flooded back, Keiko felt a kind of calm settle over her insides like a thick blanket, like an x-ray blanket, and she breathed.
“Thank you,” she said. “Everyone says to trust them, trust them, and I’m beginning to think it’s not always such a good idea, but this time-thank you.”
“Who’s everyone?” said Fancy, putting a plate down on the table. It was, Keiko saw to her relief, just a sandwich. She began to fold back one corner of the top slice to peek inside but, since Fancy was watching her, she made herself lift the whole thing towards her mouth.
“That’ll finish you off,” Fancy said, “Careful though, the sausages are red hot and the egg’s runny.” She prodded a sausage out of a frying pan onto a fork, nipping the end with one precise bite, so that it flapped back on a hinge of skin and steamed. Keiko shut her eyes and bit.
“So who’s everyone?” Fancy asked again a few minutes later. “Who says you should trust them? Apart from me and I’m right, because I’ve just cured you, haven’t I?”
Keiko nodded. “The Pooles,” she said, “Well, Murray. I don’t know. I had nightmares and I’m confused.” Fancy waited. Keiko thought back over the previous day and then shook her head. “Murray came round late yesterday and he was upset, but I have no idea why.”
“Look,” said Fancy. “Last night was stupid. I’m sure Murray was upset.”
“Last night?” said Keiko. “It was lunch. What happened at night-time?”
“Nothing,” said Fancy. “Nothing at all. Nothing of any importance anyway.”
“But why would Murray suddenly be angry with me? He was friendlier than ever-more than friendly-when he arrived.”
“Good for you,” said Fancy. “I’m glad to hear it. So… he was probably jealous. Don’t knock it, Keeks. It beats the other thing.”
“Jealous of Malcolm?”
“Who knows? Maybe he was jealous of Craig.”
“But Craig was there for-”
Fancy quelled her with a stare. “God knows what Craig was there for,” she said. “God knows what Murray was doing not being there. God knows what poor Malcolm thought he was doing. It was just an awkward situation and we all drank too much and nobody’ll mention it again and no harm done. We won’t see Craig again till the Christmas holidays now anyway,” she said. “With any luck.”
“I should forget about everything and concentrate on work,” said Keiko.
“Get lost. I’m the one who should forget, since there’s nothing to remember,” said Fancy. “What you should do is get Murray out on a proper date-not in Painchton, with no home-cooking and absolutely no pink cocktails.”
“He said he wanted to get away,” said Keiko, this memory suddenly lurching forward in her.
“There you go then.”
“No, he said he wanted to get away and he wanted me to get away and this was a bad place for both of us.”
“Are you sure?” said Fancy.
“Not really,” said Keiko. “That might have been in one of the nightmares. Did I ask Craig about his cousin’s weight? Or is that another one?”
“Definitely a dream,” said Fancy. “How did you even know Craig had a cousin?”
“She’s one of the missing girls,” Keiko said without thinking. It was only the silence that followed which made her, too late, wonder whether it was wise.
“What?” said Fancy finally. “What are you talking about?” She had finished the sausages in the pan and now she wiped her lips with a square of kitchen paper.
“It probably doesn’t seem that way to you,” said Keiko. “But I heard about them all one after the other. Dina from next door and Nicole from across the road and Tash from round the corner.”
“What are you on about?” said Fancy. She held the sausage pan under the tap and let it fill with water. “What’s leaving got to do with being fat or skinny? Are you sure you’re not still drunk?”
“You gave me port and brandy,” said Keiko, “so it’s not my fault if I am.” She wiped her mouth. “I think I must have talked to Murray about the missing girls. I know I said something… and that would explain why he talked about getting away.”
“I wish you’d stop saying ‘missing girls’ like that,” Fancy said. “People move around. Look at you-you’re thousands of miles from home.”
“But Murray doesn’t want to go somewhere,” Keiko said. “He just wants to leave here.”
Fancy was scrubbing at the sausage pan so hard that her whole body shook. Keiko waited, and eventually she banged the pan down and turned round again.
“What?” she said. “What do you want me to say?” Her voice was clear and much louder than it need to be, but she did not meet Keiko’s eyes. Then she sighed. “Look,” she said, more calmly, “there’s any number of reasons Murray might want to leave, you know.” Keiko waited. “His dad died.”
“But parents die,” Keiko said. “I know I sound harsh, but it’s not like a child dying. It’s sad but not a tragedy.”
“And his mum made him give up doing what he loves and work in a bloody butcher’s shop that he hates. Why would he not want to get away? Why would he not want to take you with him? Be flattered-I would be.”
So Keiko went home, her brisk return matching Painchton’s Monday-morning tempo, shop doors propped wide to let the floors dry, open vans parked with their lights flashing. Only the petrol station sat as bare and dusty as Sunday night, with its window stickers faded out to three shades of beige, and the stout padlock on Murray’s workshop door the one flash of brightness about the place.