swiftly repositioned elbow brushing against a breast; a side-step to ensure bodily contact; a leg accidentally entangled, so that the child’s groin made contact with his flesh.
‘Colin,’ said Tessa.
But he had started to cry again, great sobs shaking his big, ungainly body, and when she put her arms around him and pressed her face to his her own tears wet his skin.
A few miles away, in Hilltop House, Simon Price was sitting at a brand-new family computer in the sitting room. Watching Andrew cycle away to his weekend job with Howard Mollison, and the reflection that he had been forced to pay full market price for this computer, made him feel irritable and additionally hard done by. Simon had not looked at the Parish Council website once since the night that he had thrown out the stolen PC, but it occurred to him, by an association of ideas, to check whether the message that had cost him his job was still on the site and thus viewable by potential employers.
It was not. Simon did not know that he owed this to his wife, because Ruth was scared of admitting that she had telephoned Shirley, even to request the removal of the post. Slightly cheered by its absence, Simon looked for the post about Parminder, but that was gone too.
He was about to close the site, when he saw the newest post, which was entitled Fantasies of a Deputy Headmaster.
He read it through twice and then, alone in the sitting room, he began to laugh. It was a savage triumphant laugh. He had never taken to that big, bobbing man with his massive forehead. It was good to know that he, Simon, had got off very lightly indeed by comparison.
Ruth came into the room, smiling timidly; she was glad to hear Simon laughing, because he had been in a dreadful mood since losing his job.
‘What’s funny?’
‘You know Fats’ old man? Wall, the deputy headmaster? He’s only a bloody paedo.’
Ruth’s smile slipped. She hurried forward to read the post.
‘I’m going to shower,’ said Simon, in high good humour.
Ruth waited until he had left the room before trying to call her friend Shirley, and alert her to this new scandal, but the Mollisons’ telephone was engaged.
Shirley had, at last, reached Howard at the delicatessen. She was still in her dressing gown; he was pacing up and down the little back room, behind the counter.
‘…been trying to get you for ages—’
‘Mo was using the phone. What did it say? Slowly.’
Shirley read the message about Colin, enunciating like a newsreader. She had not reached the end, when he cut across her.
‘Did you copy this down or something?’
‘Sorry?’ she said.
‘Are you reading it off the screen? Is it still on there? Have you taken it off?’
‘I’m dealing with it now,’ lied Shirley, unnerved. ‘I thought you’d like to—’
‘Get it off there now! God above, Shirley, this is getting out of hand — we can’t have stuff like that on there!’
‘I just thought you ought to—’
‘Make sure you’ve got rid of it, and we’ll talk about it when I get home!’ Howard shouted.
Shirley was furious: they never raised their voices to each other.
VI
The next Parish Council meeting, the first since Barry had died, would be crucial in the ongoing battle over the Fields. Howard had refused to postpone the votes on the future of Bellchapel Addiction Clinic, or the town’s wish to transfer jurisdiction of the estate to Yarvil.
Parminder therefore suggested that she, Colin and Kay ought to meet up the evening before the meeting to discuss strategy.
‘Pagford can’t unilaterally decide to alter the parish boundary, can it?’ asked Kay.
‘No,’ said Parminder patiently (Kay could not help being a newcomer), ‘but the District Council has asked for Pagford’s opinion, and Howard’s determined to make sure it’s his opinion that gets passed on.’
They were holding their meeting in the Walls’ sitting room, because Tessa had put subtle pressure on Colin to invite the other two where she could listen in. Tessa handed around glasses of wine, put a large bowl of crisps on the coffee table, then sat back in silence, while the other three talked.
She was exhausted and angry. The anonymous post about Colin had brought on one of his most debilitating attacks of acute anxiety, so severe that he had been unable to go to school. Parminder knew how ill he was — she had signed him off work — yet she invited him to participate in this pre-meeting, not caring, it seemed, what fresh effusions