The Casual Vacancy

‘You won. Comfortably. Pretty much two to one over Wall.’

Miles grinned at the kitchen door.

‘OK,’ he said, keeping his voice as steady as he could. ‘Good to know.’

‘Hang on,’ said Howard. ‘Mum wants a word.’

‘Well done, darling,’ said Shirley gleefully. ‘Absolutely wonderful news. I knew you’d do it.’

‘Thanks, Mum,’ said Miles.

Those two words told Samantha everything, but she had resolved not to be scornful or sarcastic. Her band T-shirt was packed; she had had her hair done and she had bought new heels. She could hardly wait to leave.

‘Parish Councillor Mollison then, is it?’ she said, when he had hung up.

‘That’s right,’ he said a little warily.

‘Congratulations,’ she said. ‘It’s going to be a real celebration tonight, then. I’m sorry I’m missing it, actually,’ she lied, out of excitement at her imminent escape. Touched, Miles leaned forward and squeezed her hand.

Libby appeared in the kitchen in tears. She was clutching her mobile in her hand.

‘What?’ said Samantha, startled.

‘Please will you call Harriet’s mum?’

‘Why?’

‘Please will you?’

‘But why, Libby?’

‘Because she wants to talk to you, because,’ Libby wiped her eyes and nose on the back of her hand, ‘Harriet and I’ve had a big row. Please will you call her?’

Samantha took the telephone through to the sitting room. She had only the haziest idea who this woman was. Since the girls had started at boarding school she had virtually no contact with their friends’ parents.

‘I’m so desperately sorry to do this,’ said Harriet’s mother. ‘I told Harriet I’d speak to you, because I’ve been telling her it’s not that Libby doesn’t want her to go… you know how close they are, and I hate seeing them like this…’

Samantha checked her watch. They needed to leave in ten minutes at the latest.

‘Harriet’s got it into her head that Libby had a spare ticket, but didn’t want to take her. I’ve told her it’s not true – you’re taking the ticket because you don’t want Libby going alone, aren’t you?’

‘Well, naturally,’ said Samantha, ‘she can’t go alone.’

‘I knew it,’ said the other woman. She sounded strangely triumphant. ‘And I absolutely understand your protectiveness, and I would never suggest it if I didn’t think it would save you an awful lot of bother. It’s just that the girls are so close – and Harriet’s absolutely wild about this silly group – and I think, from what Libby’s just told Harriet on the phone, that Libby’s really desperate for her to go too. I totally understand why you want to keep an eye on Libby, but the thing is, my sister’s taking her two girls, so there would be an adult there with them. I could drive Libby and Harriet up together this afternoon, we’d meet up with the others outside the stadium and we could all stay overnight at my sister’s place. I absolutely guarantee that my sister or I will be with Libby at all times.’

‘Oh… that’s so kind. But my friend,’ said Samantha, with a strange ringing in her ears, ‘is expecting us, you see…’

‘But if you still wanted to go and visit your friend… all I’m saying is there’s really no need for you to attend, is there, if somebody else is with the girls?… And Harriet’s absolutely desperate – really desperate – I wasn’t going to get involved, but now it’s putting a strain on their friendship…’

Then, on a less gushing note, ‘We’d buy the ticket from you, of course.’

There was nowhere to go, nowhere to hide.

‘Oh,’ said Samantha. ‘Yes. I just thought it might be nice to go with her—’

‘They’d much prefer to be with each other,’ said Harriet’s mother firmly. ‘And you won’t have to crouch down and hide among all the little teenyboppers, ha ha – it’s all right for my sister, she’s only five foot two.’

III

To Gavin’s disappointment, it seemed that he would have to attend Howard Mollison’s birthday party after all. If Mary, a client of the firm and the widow of his best friend, had asked him to stay for dinner, he would have considered himself more than justified in skipping it… but Mary had not asked him to stay. She had family visiting, and she had been oddly flustered when he had turned up.

She doesn’t want them to know, he thought, taking comfort in her self- consciousness as she ushered him towards the door.

He drove back to the Smithy, replaying his conversation with Kay in his mind.

I thought he was your best friend. He’s only been dead a few weeks!

Yeah, and I was looking after her for Barry, he retorted in his head, which is what he’d have wanted. Neither of us expected this to happen. Barry’s dead. It can’t hurt him now.

Alone in the Smithy he looked out a clean suit for the party, because the invitation said ‘formal’, and tried to imagine gossipy little Pagford relishing the story of Gavin and Mary.

So what? he thought, staggered by his own bravery. Is she supposed to be alone for ever? It happens. I was looking after her.

And in spite of his reluctance to attend a party that was sure to be dull and exhausting, he was buoyed inside by a little bubble of excitement and happiness.

Up in Hilltop House, Andrew Price was styling his hair with his mother’s blow-drier. He had never looked forward to a disco or a party as much as he had longed for tonight. He, Gaia and Sukhvinder were being paid by Howard to serve food and drinks at the party. Howard had hired him a uniform for the occasion: a white shirt, black trousers and a bow tie. He would be working alongside Gaia, not as potboy but as a waiter.

But there was more to his anticipation than this. Gaia had split up with the legendary Marco de Luca. He had found her crying about it in the back yard of the Copper Kettle that afternoon, when he had gone outside for a smoke.

‘His loss,’ Andrew had said, trying to keep the delight out of his voice.

And she had sniffed and said, ‘Cheers, Andy.’

‘You little poofter,’ said Simon, when Andrew finally turned off the drier. He had been waiting to say it for several minutes, standing on the dark landing, staring through the gap in the door, which was ajar, watching Andrew preen himself in the mirror. Andrew jumped, then laughed. His good humour discomposed Simon.

‘Look at you,’ he jeered, as Andrew passed him on the landing in his shirt and bow tie. ‘With your dicky- bow. You look a twat.’

And you’re unemployed, and I did it to you, dickhead.

Andrew’s feelings about what he had done to his father changed almost hourly. Sometimes the guilt would bear down on him, tainting everything, but then it would melt away, leaving him glorying in his secret triumph. Tonight, the thought of it gave extra heat to the excitement burning beneath Andrew’s thin white shirt, an additional tingle to the goose-flesh caused by the rush of evening air as he sped, on Simon’s racing bike, down the hill into town. He was excited, full of hope. Gaia was available and vulnerable. Her father lived in Reading.

Shirley Mollison was standing in a party dress outside the church hall when he cycled up, tying giant gold helium balloons in the shapes of fives and sixes to the railings.

‘Hello, Andrew,’ she trilled. ‘Bike away from the entrance, please.’

He wheeled it along to the corner, passing a brand-new, racing green BMW convertible parked feet away. He walked around the car on his way inside, taking in the luxurious inner fittings.

‘And here’s Andy!’

Andrew saw at once that his boss’s good humour and excitement were equal to his own. Howard was