by Lynn Watson
Eleanor was still in full flow, and Fran tuned herself back in.
‘He needs to go into a home, I’m afraid to say. He can’t look after himself any more, if he ever could. He’s buying piles of new stuff and second-hand rubbish all the time, and that parasite of a tramp, Tom Harrison, is still hanging around. Cerise saw him on the corner the other day, where our road turns into Main Street. We’re worried he’s going to turn up on the doorstep one of these days.’
‘What would you like me to do? Talk to George and Cerise?’
‘Yes, but first can you phone round the local care homes, find out if they’ve got a vacancy and go and look at them; see if they’ll take George and be prepared to manage him? Don’t tell them too much about what he’s like or they won’t have him.’
Fran had long ago stopped doing what she was instructed to do by her mother. ‘No, it has to be the other way round. I have to talk to George first, and Cerise, to see what they want and what ideas they may have.’
Eleanor gave another of her disapproving sniffs. ‘You know George’s barmy ideas. He’s not in the least sensible, never has been, and I don’t think you’d like to live with him either, if you’re honest about it.’
‘Well, if you want me involved, that’s how I’m going to do it. I saw George go out and so I’m going to go round to the café now and see if he’s there.’
She knew the café well, as in her day the ‘in kids’ had congregated there on wet afternoons after school to flirt and chat with their friends. It looked rundown now, a victim of the mushrooming growth in coffee bars, chichi tea rooms and smart pubs with all-day food. She could see Uncle George through the front window, sitting with another man, presumably Tom Harrison. George didn’t recognise her until she was right beside him.
‘Hello, Uncle George. I was passing the café and I saw you in here.’
‘Francesca, that’s a nice surprise! Have you been here long?’
She laughed. ‘I talked to you over lunch at the house. Don’t you remember?’
The other man had been watching the exchange, seeing how it was going to unfold. He was shabbily dressed, as she had imagined, but no more so than George himself. Things were going downhill, it was true. The man added another heaped spoonful of sugar to his tea and continued stirring as he spoke.
‘I’m not being funny or anything, but is this your girlfriend, George? You never told me about no girlfriend, you cheeky old sod.’
George looked nonplussed.
‘No, I’m his niece, if you want to know.’ Then, turning to George: ‘Let’s go back home now, Uncle George. Cerise will have dinner ready soon.’
‘Ooh-er, listen to her! It’s frigging din-dins time, Uncle George!’
The man had most of his front teeth missing. He was rough and unpleasant; her mother was right about that too. George was struggling to stand up and Fran reached out her hand to steady him as she spoke.
‘Come on, then. I suppose you’ve already paid for the tea and scones for both you and Tom?’
He nodded miserably and they left without saying goodbye to his companion. On the way back to the house, she asked if he was giving money to Tom or if Tom was demanding money off him, but George did his familiar trick of feigning deafness and refused to answer.
Dinner was uneventful because George said he felt unwell and wanted to go to bed. Cerise was in her usual good spirits and Eleanor was more relaxed without George around. Fran told them about her encounter with Tom and the three of them discussed possible tactics to discourage him or scare him off. Even Cerise was happy with the idea, compassionate as she was, because nobody was going to get away with being mean to her brother.
When she stayed overnight now, Fran slept on the sofa bed in Cerise’s study, although Eleanor had a spare bedroom on the first floor. Fran’s childhood bedroom on the top floor, in George’s flat, was packed high with objects and equipment, to the point that neither the furniture nor the floor was visible. The downstairs sleeping arrangement worked better for her anyway, because she liked to spend the late evening with Cerise over a brandy or glass of wine.
She had brought a small sample of the Junoco chocolates with her, thinking she might offer them to Cerise. She was the obvious choice, although it would also be interesting, in different ways, to see the effects of tapping into George’s or Eleanor’s imagination. Fran was wavering over whether to tell Cerise about the magic formula in advance. She definitely ought to, but here was a tempting opportunity to test whether it would work without the taster having any prior expectations. Cerise was an ideal candidate because she was open-minded and unconventional, whereas George had an untamed imagination to start off with and Eleanor was narrow-minded, judgemental and neurotic.
Cerise was delighted to accept the first chocolate with her Cointreau, so much so that she immediately overplayed the experiment by taking the second one while Fran was in the kitchen refilling her glass of wine. Fran was only mildly concerned about this, as Daniela had said the timing and sequence didn’t matter, although it might diminish the efficacy of the truffles. She had planned not to take any herself tonight, so she could keep a good watch on Cerise, but after the second glass of wine she changed her mind and decided to go ahead anyway.
They spent half an hour discussing the problem of George’s suspect friendship with Tom. Cerise felt George got something positive from it, but agreed he was being exploited and it would only get worse if Tom continued hanging around. She was considering approaching Tom herself, but Fran cautioned against it, having experienced his vicious attitude at first hand. They then moved on to lighter topics, with Cerise telling her about the various summer music events she had attended and her plans to bake her traditional chocolate cake for the WI stall at the country fete. When they eventually went to bed, Fran left her door slightly ajar, so she would hear any movement or sounds from Cerise.
At dawn, she woke to a Junoco dream, identifiable by its nearness to the surface of her consciousness and her certainty that she was awake and on the sofa bed. She was in a futuristic scene with a city skyline as backdrop and countless people moving in all directions across rocky ground, some quick and purposeful, others slow and seemingly aimless. They were constantly bumping against each other, creating fiery red and blue sparks and bright white flashes. It became apparent that each person was a nerve cell, making up billions of neurons, and the geodesic dome overhead was the top of a vast, universal brain. All this was routine and unremarkable, and Fran was in the midst of the action, unable to avoid colliding with strangers. She looked for someone she knew, but the faces were vaguely drawn and indistinguishable.
She rose to the surface gently, as always with Junoco dreams; more like snorkelling than diving. She could hear Cerise flapping down the hall in her slippers and eliciting a shrill vocalisation from Pansy the parrot, despite the drawn curtain around the cage. Fran lay still for two or three minutes before getting up and creeping out to follow Cerise.
As she approached the sitting room, she heard the piano lid being opened and the stool scraping on the floor as it was repositioned. Looking round the edge of the door into the lighted room, she registered Cerise’s set profile and something odd in her pose and the tilt of her head as she raised her hands, fingers poised, and started to play a classical piece. It took a few seconds for Fran to realise that Cerise was actually asleep and unaware of her presence. She entered the room on tiptoe and sat on the arm of a chair, marvelling at the way Cerise played so perfectly from memory, especially as she had never seen her at the piano before. It was George who played ragtime tunes and what they called his ‘crooners and divas repertoire’, which they all sang along to at their increasingly rare music evenings.
After fifteen minutes, during which time Cerise performed several pieces in quick succession, she stopped playing and carefully closed the lid. Fran watched and followed as she walked back to her bedroom. Fran returned to the sofa bed and took out the sketch pad she had brought with her. She drew a lioness an
d a half-grown cub at the edge of a watering hole, with the protruding eyes and log head of a crocodile visible above the water, too close for comfort.
Waking from a final light sleep after 7.30, she heard Cerise heading to the kitchen to make their morning tea and followed her again. As they sat down at the table, she told Cerise what she had witnessed and how beautifully she had played. Cerise was incredulous and said she hadn’t played anything on the piano, apart from the occasional Christmas tune and Happy Birthday, for a good twenty years.
‘You were sleepwalking, Cerise. I’ve heard about people doing extraordinary things in their sleep, even driving cars or going fishing, so it does happen.’
Cerise was frowning with concentration and looking into the distance. ‘I did used to sleepwalk, ages ago when I was little. My father once found me in the orchard. I was picking the apples and putting them in a bucket.’
‘There you are, then! It was amazing, the quality of your performance.’
She promised herself she would tell Cerise more about Junoco, but not yet. Cerise was so thrilled that Fran feared it would spoil it for her if she knew what had brought it on. Cerise had disappeared to fetch Pansy from her cage, and she returned now with the parrot on her shoulder.
‘I was just thinking, maybe it was those delicious chocolates you gave me last night. They were ever so rich.’
‘You may be right. These are the truffles that I’m going to be selling in my new job, so you’d better watch out, world!’
Cerise laughed and encouraged Pansy down to her wrist so she could look closely into her strangely pale eyes.
‘Now listen, Pansy. Say, “Box of chocs, box of chocs.”’
***
She had booked a table for lunch at the hotel where she had introduced Ned to Daniela two weeks earlier. Marcus wanted to meet well away from both his office and home, as he suspected Kirsty was still on his tail and he was trying to throw her off the scent. While she waited, Fran looked around the large room and wondered how many others were taking advantage of the anonymous surroundings, maybe embarking on an affair or negotiating a shady deal. On the surface, it seemed ordinary and respectable, but she was becoming more attuned to the parallel, blurred worlds of the legitimate and the illicit. She also recognised that being single and living alone gave her extra exposure and insight, as she didn’t have to account to anyone else and could spend her time like this, sitting quietly in a public place, observing or exchanging a smile, listening in to a snatch of conversation or perhaps initiating one, if she felt inclined.
She had read an article recently on how to pick up a man in ten different European cities. For Paris, the advice went something like this: Wear black. Find an outside table. Order an expensive wine. Wait. She tried to remember what it had recommended for any other city, London for instance, or Berlin, but Paris was the only one that had stuck.
‘Hi, Fran, so sorry I’m late. My meeting dragged on.’ Marcus sat down, a little ruffled as usual and fiddling to neaten up his wayward dreads.
Once they had ordered lunch, she asked if the situation with Kirsty had calmed down, as they had only met in passing since that time he had taken refuge with her. He groaned and made a ‘so-so’ face.
‘She didn’t try to get back in, as I said I’d meet her to hand over her bag. She thought she could get round me again – weakness of men and all that – but I stood my ground this time and told her I’d changed the locks and that was it. There were lots of tears, accusations and apologies, but we parted on more or less reasonable terms and I haven’t heard anything since. She said she was going to travel again, visit her relatives in Jamaica, but I imagine she needs to earn money first. I’m still worried, frankly, because she’s volatile and deluded. She believes I promised her a rose garden.’
At that point, their meals arrived and Fran moved them on to the topic they had come to discuss: the legality of the Junoco enterprise. Marcus had made notes on his tablet, which he set up on the table between them.
‘I talked to that colleague I mentioned, the one who works on ageing and dementia, so he has links into some of the broader issues. The first thing is that all governments and political parties want to keep off the subject of illegal drugs and substance abuse, because there are too many grey areas and even where it’s not a grey area, the police and border control can’t keep up with what’s happening and simply don’t have the resources, skills or technology to make a real impression. It’s an incredibly fast-moving target, with the growth in the online black market and the use of mobile phones to arrange deals and handovers. And the big picture is that terrorism took over from traditional organised crime as enemy number one many years ago.’
‘Good grief! It sounds a bit more exciting than I imagined, working in ageing and dementia!’
Marcus smiled briefly but stayed on his serious track, intent on conveying the information he had in front of him. ‘The point is that drugs regulation is disease-centred, but in practice people take drugs for a whole host of reasons, apart from treating or trying to cure an illness. With any drug that affects the brain, there’s always interest in whether it can improve intelligence, memory or mental performance, even if it’s only officially available on prescription to treat a particular condition, such as attention deficit disorder or narcolepsy. The mind-enhancing drugs you’re interested in, nootropics they’re called, are in various categories. This is confusing, so keep listening. Nootropics can be illegal to sell or possess for any non-prescribed purpose, they can be illegal to sell or supply but not illegal to buy or possess, or they may have no legal status as they haven’t been officially tested or regulated. Your Junoco chocolate is in the last category: it’s unregulated and with no legal status. In summary, it’s a morass.’
‘Doesn’t the Psychoactive Substances Act set out what’s legal and illegal?’
‘Okay, it’s here in my notes. The Act is designed to ban legal highs. They were being sold in so-called head shops as plant food or bath salts and often had labels saying Not for human consumption, but believe it or not there was – and is – a market for them because they’re much cheaper and easier to get hold of than traditional hard drugs and there are more than enough self-destructive or gullible people who will take anything to get out of their heads. Now they buy them in more underhand ways on the street or over the internet.
‘There are two problems in drafting an effective law. Firstly, the chemical mix can be easily tweaked, so there’s a continual stream of new and unregulated substances that manage to bypass the legislation. And secondly, plenty of our foods and drinks are also psychoactive, in the sense of mind-altering, but are socially approved of and regularly used in the mainstream – caffeine, alcohol, cocoa, blueberries and so on.’
Fran was startled at his listing of cocoa and blueberries next to each other, as she had been careful not to reveal more about the secret ingredient than was permitted. It was logical, however, and didn’t signify anything. The point to take away was that Junoco wouldn’t be classed as illegal because the secret ingredient was berry seeds, not a synthetic and ‘tweakable’ drug. Wild berries could be highly poisonous, but that was a different issue and anyway, surely they would know by now if there was any danger of poisoning by Junoco? She returned to what Marcus was saying; he had really done his homework on this.
‘And to add to the confusion, there’s a separate online market in counterfeit food and drink, wine for example, where they put all kinds of stuff in it but people are willing to take the risk to get it at a lower price, or else they think they’re buying the genuine product, even if the label is on upside down or the words are spelt wrongly.’
‘God, this is a revelation to me, Marcus. I never imagined it was so widespread. But hey, talking of food, yours is going cold. You’ve told me everything I want to know for now, but I may be cheeky and come back with more questions later on, if that’s okay?’
They chatted about other things and she was enjoying her fancy chocolate ice cream when
Marcus looked at her fixedly for several seconds, as if weighing up how or whether to proceed. She felt suddenly self-conscious and shifted in her seat. He was very attractive, but patently too young and much too close to home.
‘Hey, what is it, Marcus? Have I got chocolate all round my mouth?’
‘No, sorry, I was just thinking. There was something else my colleague referred to that may interest you, but I can only give a broad outline as I don’t know the status of it or any details. It might be irrelevant.’
‘Go on then and let’s see. I’m intrigued.’
He said that the government was funding a new research project, as part of a programme in schools called Bright Minds. The aim was to foster more creative thinking in children by assessing the effectiveness of different approaches, including brain-training exercises, intensive music lessons, mindfulness and the use of ‘natural brain supplements, vitamins and nutrients’. His colleague had implied that there might be more to it, a hidden element.
‘He just mentioned the brain supplements part in a conspiratorial kind of way. That’s what I picked up on. He didn’t offer any evidence, so it may be nothing.’
‘A hidden element – do you mean something suspicious?’
‘Yes, possibly; I don’t know. He hinted that it could be a drug, presumably a cognitive drug of some kind, to boost creativity.’
‘And that might be the main purpose of the research, are you saying?’
‘No, I’m not saying that; I don’t want to set any hares running. I’ll keep my ear to the ground and see if anything develops out of it, but please don’t talk to anyone else, will you? It could get me into a whole heap of trouble.’
‘I won’t, I promise – and the same applies to my Junoco story, okay?’
It was astounding. In the space of a few months she had gone from being asked to look after a stranger’s belongings for five minutes to being trusted with a coveted secret formula and now being in on a confidential government experiment. Her mother might not be the least interested in what she was up to, thankfully, but Judi would surely have been impressed.
