“And what can I do for you now?” he asked her.
“It’s about… mail,” Keiko said. “What to do with mail that’s not for me. If any arrives.” For some reason, she didn’t want to give this man what might be a love letter. She had, without thinking, put the envelope behind her back.
“It shouldn’t,” Malcolm said. “Wee place like this. The postie knows where everyone is and when they move and where they move to. It’s not like Tokyo.” Then he moved forward again, just a pace. “You’re… you’re okay up there, are you? Finding everything? Don’t need anything? Groceries or what have you?”
“Need?” said Keiko, stopping at the door. “I’ll never use up what’s there. I’d end up like an elephant.”
Then feeling her face change colour, she bobbed a little bow and left him.
Mrs. Watson was in the window of her shop and rapped on the glass as she caught sight of Keiko. She held up a cauliflower and mouthed something.
“What?” said Keiko, putting just her head round the door.
“Just in,” said Mrs. Watson. “Do you know how to make cheese sauce?”
“I’m going out tonight,” said Keiko. “To a banquet.”
Mrs. Watson hit herself gently on the head with the cauliflower, leaving a few sprinkles of its curds among her sandy hair.
“Of course you are,” she said. “So am I too. Cheerio just now and I’ll see you th-”
Keiko was halfway out the door and couldn’t be sure, but she thought Mrs. Watson’s voice had dried suddenly. She looked back in through the window. The little woman was standing quite still, staring at Keiko, at her hand, at the envelope she was holding, and her face had fallen out of its crinkled smile. She swallowed and, as if her strength had suddenly been sapped, the cauliflower dropped out of her hand and rolled away.
“What is wrong?” Keiko said, coming right inside. “Are you ill, Mrs. Watson? Do you need to sit down?”
“You’ve only just got here,” Mrs. Watson whispered. She shook her head. “You’ve only been here a day.” Then she hoisted a smile back onto her face and wiped her hands together. “Never mind me,” she said. “I’ve not got the sense God gave geese.”
“Geese?” asked Keiko.
Mrs. Watson laughed. “See? That’s what I’m saying. Never mind me.”
Keiko went slowly up to her flat again. She had put her hand against the glass door when she leaned in. How had she been holding the letter? Could Mrs. Watson have seen what it said on the front? Could she see for you?
Inside again, standing on the makeshift genkan, Keiko turned the envelope over and over in her hands. It was so dry from the heat the glue would give way if she flexed it, more than likely, and then… Stop it, she told herself. She was here for one reason and one reason alone. Of course, she was very grateful to the people of Painchton, for the flat, and she would thank them tonight and acknowledge them in her thesis when it was done, but their feelings and their expressions-their leftover mail, for heaven’s sake!-were nothing to her.
She laid the envelope down on the shelf and walked away.
six
The dining room upstairs in the Covenanters’ Arms was filled with what looked to Keiko like people in uniform. Or at least the men were in uniform-dark blazers with gold buttons and badges on their lapels. The ladies were costumed like a chorus-pleats and ruffles in just three colours: a muted pale purple, a soft turquoise, and a very faint peach. They smelled sweet when they wrapped their arms around her, their necks powdery and floral, their faces creamy and rich as they transferred lipstick and foundation to hers. The men did not kiss her but tucked her shoulders under one armpit and shook her back and forward. Until Mr. McKendrick broke in.
“Now here’s someone you need to meet,” he said, taking her hand in one of his and stroking it with his other. Keiko followed his eyes and saw the young man from the ironmongers standing in the doorway, a glass of beer in one hand. He caught her eye and walked over.
“Craig McKendrick,” Keiko said. “Fancy Clarke told me who you were.”
“That’s the idea,” said Craig McKendrick. “Get into the Painchton spirit from the off.” He took a deep drink from his beer glass and looked around the room at the rest of the company.
“Where is Fancy?” said Keiko, looking around too. Apart from herself and Craig, no one else too young for turquoise ruffles was here.
Mr. McKendrick cleared his throat.
“I don’t suppose evenings out are a regular feature, what with having to pay a babysitter,” said a thin woman in pleated peach satin, walking up to join them. She wore a heavy chain over her shoulders, reaching to her waist where it met in a buckle the size of a tea plate. It must be worth a fortune if it’s real gold, Keiko thought, but she could not translate this into anything sayable, so contented herself with trying to look impressed.
“Go and sit down, Mrs. Mac,” said Craig, “Take the weight off your neck.”
The woman narrowed her eyes at him then turned to Keiko. “I’m Mrs. Andrew McLuskie, my dear, the Provost, and on behalf of the whole of the burgh I’d like to-”
“Traders’ Association,” said Mr. McKendrick.
“I am the Provost of the-”
“A courtesy title, Etta.”
“-ancient and royal Burgh of Painch-”
“Plenty time for all that later,” said Mr. McKendrick. “We’re here to eat.”
The room was set up as if for a summit meeting: one large U-shaped table whose two arms ended about ten feet apart in front of the fireplace. Mr. McKendrick ushered Keiko into a seat at one of these ends, gestured to Craig to sit beside her, pushed her chair in, shook out her napkin, and then settled himself at the end of the other arm. Mrs. McLuskie and Mrs. Poole-Keiko hadn’t noticed her before-faced each other at his left and right sides. The other place next to Keiko was empty, and she could see Mr. McKendrick twisting around, scanning the room, until the door opened again. He raised his arm to the figure in the doorway and motioned to the empty seat with a flick of his hand.
Keiko felt a tug of familiarity as he came towards her. He was a boy of Craig’s age, she guessed-a young man really-slight and dark, dressed in a nylon sweater that zipped up under the chin and clung like a diving suit to his stringy figure. She heard her mother saying, Tchah! Only good for the stock pot. The young man inclined his head towards her as he sat, showing a widow’s peak in his slicked-back hair.
“Go on then, pal,” said Craig to the boy, pointing at Keiko. “Guess who this is.”
The boy pretended to scrutinize her, looking first at the half-eaten pastry straw in her hand and then closely at her mouth. Keiko tried to brush her napkin over her lips without blotting off her lipstick.
“I give up,” he said.
“Keiko, Murray. Murray, Keiko,” said Craig.
“Ah, Murray Poole,” said Keiko. “Now I’ve met the whole family!”
“You must be thrilled,” Murray Poole said. His voice was as soft as his brother’s, but sibilant rather than muffled. “So,” he said, “how are you finding it?”
Keiko shook her head slightly and leaned towards him.
“What do you think of Painchton?” he said, very slowly and rather loud.
“Extremely friendly,” said Keiko, just as loud and slow. Craig laughed and Murray smiled too after a moment, keeping his eyes on her as he leant back to let a waitress put a plate of soup in front of him.
“Not too far out?” he said.
Keiko thanked the waitress for her own plate and then turned back.
“Far out?” she said, thinking of California hippies and looking at Mr. and Mrs. Sangster seated directly behind Murray on the other wing of the table, waving their fingers at her as they caught her eye.