‘Kinda stuff?’ asked Terri, prising Robbie off her leg and holding his hand instead.
‘Coupla bags o’ stuff,’ said Obbo. ‘Really help me out, Ter.’
‘’Ow long for?’
‘Few days. Bring it round this evenin’. Will yeh?’
Terri thought of Krystal, and what she would say if she knew.
‘Yeah, go on then,’ said Terri.
She remembered something else, and pulled Tessa’s watch out of her pocket. ‘Gonna sell this, whaddaya reckon?’
‘Not bad,’ said Obbo, weighing it in his hand. ‘I’ll give yeh twenty for it. Bring it over tonight?’
Terri had thought the watch might be worth more, but she did not like to challenge him.
‘Yeah, all righ’ then.’
She took a few steps towards the supermarket entrance, hand in hand with Robbie, but then turned abruptly.
‘I ain’ usin’ though,’ she said. ‘So don’ bring…’
‘Still on the mixture?’ he said, grinning at her through his thick glasses. ‘Bellchapel’s done for, mind. All in the paper.’
‘Yeah,’ she said miserably, and she tugged Robbie towards the entrance of the supermarket. ‘I know.’
I ain’t going to Pagford, she thought, as she picked biscuits off the shelf. I ain’t going there.
She was almost inured to constant criticism and assessment, to the sideways glance of passers-by, to abuse from the neighbours, but she was not going to go all the way to that smug little town to get double helpings; to travel back in time, once a week, to the place where Nana Cath had said she would keep her, but let her go. She would have to pass that pretty little school that had sent horrible letters home about Krystal, saying that her clothes were too small and too dirty, that her behaviour was unacceptable. She was afraid of long-forgotten relatives emerging from Hope Street, as they squabbled over Nana Cath’s house, and of what Cheryl would say, if she knew that Terri had entered into voluntary dealings with the Paki bitch who had killed Nana Cath. Another mark against her, in the family that despised her.
‘They ain’t making me go to fuckin’ Pagford,’ Terri muttered aloud, pulling Robbie towards the checkout.
II
‘Brace yourself,’ teased Howard Mollison at midday on Saturday. ‘Mum’s about to post the results on the website. Want to wait and see it made public or shall I tell you now?’
Miles turned away instinctively from Samantha, who was sitting opposite him at the island in the middle of the kitchen. They were having a last coffee before she and Libby set off for the station and the concert in London. With the handset pressed tightly to his ear, he said, ‘Go on.’
‘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