story of Bhai Kanhaiya, the Sikh hero who had administered to the needs of those wounded in combat, whether friend or foe. When asked why he gave aid indiscriminately, Bhai Kanhaiya had replied that the light of God shone from every soul, and that he had been unable to distinguish between them.
The light of God shone from every soul.
She had called Krystal Weedon stupid and implied that she was low.
Barry would never have said it.
She was ashamed.)
‘…when there was a great-grandmother who seemed to provide some back-up in care, but—’
‘She died,’ said Parminder, rushing to say it before anyone else could. ‘Emphysema and stroke.’
‘Yeah,’ said Kay, still looking at her notes. ‘So we go back to Terri. She came out of care herself. Has she ever attended parenting classes?’
‘We offer them, but she’s never been in a fit state to attend,’ said the woman from the nursery.
‘If she agreed to take them and actually turned up, it would be a massive step forward,’ said Kay.
‘If they close us down,’ sighed Nina from Bellchapel, addressing Parminder, ‘I suppose she’ll have to come to you for her methadone.’
‘I’m concerned that she wouldn’t,’ said Kay, before Parminder could answer.
‘What do you mean?’ asked Parminder angrily.
The other women stared at her.
‘Just that catching buses and remembering appointments isn’t Terri’s forte,’ said Kay. ‘She only has to walk up the road to Bellchapel.’
‘Oh,’ said Parminder, mortified. ‘Yes. Sorry. Yes, you’re probably right.’
(She had thought that Kay was making a reference to the complaint about Catherine Weedon’s death; that she did not think Terri Weedon would trust her.
Concentrate on what they’re saying. What’s wrong with you?)
‘So, big picture,’ said the supervisor, looking down at her notes. ‘We’ve got neglectful parenting interspersed with some adequate care.’ She sighed, but there was more exasperation than sadness in the sound. ‘The immediate crisis is over — she’s stopped using — Robbie’s back in nursery, where we can keep a proper eye on him — and there’s no immediate concern for his safety. As Kay says, he stays on the at-risk register… I certainly think we’ll need another meeting in four weeks…’
It was another forty minutes before the meeting broke up. Kay walked Parminder back down to the car park.
‘It was very good of you to come in person; most GPs send through a report.’
‘It was my morning off,’ said Parminder. She meant it as an explanation for her attendance, because she hated sitting at home alone with nothing to do, but Kay seemed to think that she was asking for more praise and gave it.
At Parminder’s car, Kay said, ‘You’re the parish councillor, aren’t you? Did Colin pass you the figures on Bellchapel I gave him?’
‘Yes, he did,’ said Parminder. ‘It would be good to have a talk about that some time. It’s on the agenda for the next meeting.’
But when Kay had given her her number, and left, with renewed thanks, Parminder’s thoughts reverted to Barry, the Ghost and the Mollisons. She was driving through the Fields when the simple thought that she had tried to bury, to drown out, slipped past her lowered defences at last.
Perhaps I did love him.
III
Andrew had spent hours deciding which clothes he ought to wear for his first day’s work at the Copper Kettle. His final choice was draped over the back of the chair in his bedroom. A particularly angry acne pustule had chosen to bring itself to a shiny tight peak on his left cheek, and Andrew had gone so far as to experiment with Ruth’s foundation, which he had sneaked out of her dressing-table drawer.
He was laying the kitchen table on Friday evening, his mind full of Gaia and the seven solid hours of close proximity to her that were within touching distance, when his father returned from work in a state that Andrew had never seen before. Simon seemed subdued, almost disorientated.
‘Where’s your mother?’
Ruth came bustling out of the walk-in pantry.
‘Hello Si-Pie! How — what’s wrong?’
‘They’ve made me redundant.’
Ruth clapped her hands to her face in horror, then dashed to her husband, threw her arms around his neck and drew him close.
‘Why?’ she whispered.
‘That message,’ said Simon. ‘On that fucking website. They pulled in Jim and Tommy too. It was take redundancy or we’ll sack you. And it’s a shitty deal. It’s not even what they gave Brian Grant.’
Andrew stood perfectly still, calcifying slowly into a monument of guilt.