re could be reprisals … I don’t like the way this thing’s going。’
‘Well； that’s politics； Miles；’ said Samantha； openly amused。 ‘Dirty business。’
Miles stalked out of the room； but she did not care； her thoughts had already returned to chiselled cheekbones； winged eyebrows and taut； tight abdominal muscles。 She could sing along with most of the songs now。 She would buy a band T…shirt to wear – and one for Libby too。 Jake would be undulating mere yards away from her。 It would be more fun than she had had in years。
Howard； meanwhile； was pacing up and down the closed delicatessen with his mobile phone clamped to his ear。 The blinds were down； the lights were on； and through the archway in the wall Shirley and Maureen were busy in the soon…to…be…opened café； unpacking china and glasses； talking in excited undertones and half listening to Howard’s almost monosyllabic contributions to his conversation。
‘Yes … mm； hmm … yes …’
‘Screaming at me；’ said Shirley。 ‘Screaming and swearing。 “Take it bloody down；” she said。 I said； “I’m taking it down； Dr Jawanda； and I’ll thank you not to swear at me。”’
‘I’d’ve left it up there for another couple of hours if she’d sworn at me；’ said Maureen。
Shirley smiled。 As it happened； she had chosen to go and make herself a cup of tea； leaving the anonymous post about Parminder up on the site for an extra forty…five minutes before removing it。 She and Maureen had already picked over the topic of the post until it was ragged and bare； there was plenty of scope for further dissection； but the immediate urge was sated。 Instead； Shirley looked ahead； greedily； to Parminder’s reaction to having her secret spilt in public。
‘It can’t have been her who did that post about Simon Price； after all；’ said Maureen。
‘No； obviously not；’ said Shirley； as she wiped over the pretty blue and white china that she had chosen； overruling Maureen’s preference for pink。 Sometimes； though not directly involved in the business； Shirley liked to remind Maureen that she still had huge influence； as Howard’s wife。
‘Yes；’ said Howard； on the telephone。 ‘But wouldn’t it be better to …？ Mm； hmm …’
‘So who do you think it is？’ asked Maureen。
‘I really don’t know；’ said Shirley； in a genteel voice； as though such knowledge or suspicions were beneath her。
‘Someone who knows the Prices and the Jawandas；’ said Maureen。
‘Obviously；’ said Shirley again。
Howard hung up at last。
‘Aubrey agrees；’ he told the two women； waddling through into the café。 He was clutching today’s edition of the Yarvil and District Gazette。 ‘Very weak piece。 Very weak indeed。’
It took the two women several seconds to recollect that they were supposed to be interested in the posthumous article by Barry Fairbrother in the local newspaper。 His ghost was so much more interesting。
‘Oh； yes； well； I thought it was very poor when I read it；’ said Shirley； hurriedly catching up。
‘The interview with Krystal Weedon was funny；’ guffawed Maureen。 ‘Making out she enjoyed art。 I suppose that’s what she calls graffiti…ing the desks。’
Howard laughed。 As an excuse to turn her back； Shirley picked up Andrew Price’s spare EpiPen from the counter； which Ruth had dropped into the delicatessen that morning。 Shirley had looked up EpiPens on her favourite medical website； and felt fully petent to explain how adrenalin worked。 Nobody asked； though； so she put the small white tube away in the cupboard and closed the door as noisily as she could to try and disrupt Maureen’s further witticisms。
The phone in Howard’s huge hand rang。
‘Yes； hello？ Oh； Miles； yes … yes； we know all about it … Mum saw it this morning …’ He laughed。 ‘Yes； she’s taken it down … I don’t know … I think it was posted yesterday … Oh； I wouldn’t say that … we’ve all known about Bends…Your…Ear for years …’
But Howard’s jocularity faded as Miles talked。 After a while he said； ‘Ah … yes； I see。 Yes。 No； I hadn’t considered it from … perhaps we should get someone to have a look at security …’
The sound of a car in the darkening square outside went virtually unremarked by the three in the delicatessen； but its driver noticed the enormous shadow of Howard Mollison moving behind the cream blinds。 Gavin put his foot down； eager to get to Mary。 She had sounded desperate on the telephone。
‘Who’s doing this？ Who’s doing it？ Who hates me this much？’
‘Nobody hates you；’ he had said。 ‘Who could hate you？ Stay there … I’m ing over。’
He parked outside the house； slammed the door and hurried up the footpath。 She opened the front door before he had even knocked。 Her eyes were puffy with tears again； and she was wearing a floor…length woollen dressing gown that dwarfed her。 It was not at all seductive； the very antithesis of Kay’s scarlet kimono； but its homeliness； its very shabbiness； represented a new level of intimacy。
Mary’s four children were all in the sitting room。 Mary gestured him through into the kitchen。
‘Do they know？’ he asked her。
‘Fergus does。 Somebody at school told him。 I’ve asked him not to tell the others。 Honestly； Gavin … I’m about at the end of my tether。 The spite—’
‘It isn’t true；’ he said； and then； his curiosity getting the better of him； ‘is it？’
‘No！’ she said； outraged。 ‘I mean … I don’t know … I don’t really know her。 But to make him talk like that … putting the words in his mouth … don’t they care what it’s like for me？’
She dissolved into tears again。 He felt that he shouldn’t hug her while she was wearing her dressing gown； and was glad that he had not； when eighteen…year…old Fergus entered the kitchen a moment later。
‘Hey； Gav。’
The boy looked tired； older than his years。 Gavin watched him put an arm around Mary and saw her lean her head against his shoulder； mopping her eyes on her baggy sleeve like a child。
‘I don’t think it was the same person；’ Fergus told them； without preamble。 ‘I’ve been looking at it again。 The style of the message is different。’
He had it on his mobile phone； and began to read aloud：
‘“Parish Councillor Dr Parminder Jawanda； who pretends to be so keen on looking after the poor and needy of the area； has always had a secret motive。 Until I died—”’
‘Fergus； don’t；’ said Mary； slumping down at the kitchen table。 ‘I can’t take it。 I honestly can’t。 And his article in the paper today too。’
As she covered her face with her hands and sobbed silently； Gavin noticed the Yarvil and District Gazette lying there。 He never read it。 Without asking or offering； he moved across to the cupboard to make her a drink。
‘Thanks； Gav；’ she said thickly； when he pushed the glass into her hand。
‘It might be Howard Mollison；’ suggested Gavin； sitting down beside her。 ‘From what Barry said about him。’
‘I don’t think so；’ said Mary； dabbing at her eyes。 ‘It’s so crude。 He never did anything like that when Barry was –’ she hiccuped ‘– alive。’ And then she snapped at her son； ‘Throw that paper away； Fergus。’
The boy looked confused and hurt。
‘It’s got Dad’s—’
‘Throw it away！’ said Mary； with an edge of hysteria in her voice。 ‘I can read it off the puter if I want to； the last thing he ever did – on our anniversary！’
Fergus took the newspaper off the table and stood for a moment watching his mother； who had buried her face in her hands again。 Then； with a glance at Gavin； he walked out of the room still holding the Gazette。
After a while； when Gavin judged that Fergus was not ing back； he put out a consoling hand and rubbed Mary’s arm。 They sat in silence for some time； and Gavin felt much happier with the newspaper gone from the table。
II
Parminder was not supposed to be working the next morning； but she had a meeting in Yarvil。 Once the children had left for school she moved methodically around the house； making sure that she had everything she needed； but when the telephone rang； she jumped so much that she dropped her bag。
‘Yes？’ she yelped； sounding almost frightened。 Tessa； on the other end of the line； was taken aback。
‘Minda； it’s me – are you all right？’
‘Yes – yes – the phone made me jump；’ said Parminder； looking at the kitchen floor now littered with keys； papers； loose change and tampons。 ‘What is it？’
‘Nothing really；’ said Tessa。 ‘Just calling for a chat。 See how you are。’
The subject of the anonymous post hung between them like some jeering monster； dangling from the line。 Parminder had barely allowed Tessa to talk about it during yesterday’s call。 She had shouted； ‘It’s a lie； a filthy lie； and don’t tell me Howard Mollison didn’t do it！’
Tessa had not dared pursue the subject。
‘I can’t talk；’ said Parminder。 ‘I’ve got a meeting in Yarvil。 A case review for a little boy on the at…risk register。’
‘Oh； right。 Sorry。 Maybe later？’
‘Yes；’ said Parminder。 ‘Great。 Goodbye。’
She scooped up the contents of her bag and hurried from the house； running back from the garden gate to check that she had closed the front door properly。
Every so often； as she drove； she realized that she had no recollection of travelling the last mile； and told herself fiercely to concentrate。 But the malicious words of the anonymous post kept ing back to her。 She already knew them by heart。
Parish Councillor Dr Parminder Jawanda； who pretends to be so keen on looking after the poor and needy of the area； has always had a secret motive。 Until I died； she was in love with me； which she could barely hide whenever she laid eyes on me； and she would vote however I told her to； whenever there was a council meeting。 Now that I am gone； she will be useless as a councillor； because she has lost her brain。
She had first seen it the previous morning； when she opened up the council website to check the minutes of the last meeting。 The shock had been almost physical； her breathing had bee very fast and shallow； as it had been during the most excruciating parts of childbirth； when she had tried to lift herself over the pain； to disengage from the agonizing present。
Everyone would know by now。 There was nowhere to hide。
The oddest thoughts kept ing to he