a series of photographs showing a footballer’s wife in all the different outfits she had worn over the previous five days. Studying the young woman’s long thin legs, Tessa wondered how different her life would have been if she had had legs like that. She could not help but suspect that it would have been almost entirely different. Tessa’s legs were thick, shapeless and short; she would have hidden them perpetually in boots, only it was difficult to find many that would zip up over her calves. She remembered telling a sturdy little girl in guidance that looks did not matter, that personality was much more important. What rubbish we tell children, thought Tessa, turning the page of her magazine.
An out-of-sight door opened with a bang. Somebody was shouting in a cracked voice.
‘You’re makin’ me bloody worse. This in’t right. I’ve come to you for help. It’s your job — it’s your—’
Tessa and the receptionist locked eyes, then turned towards the sound of the shouting. Tessa heard Parminder’s voice, its Brummie accent still discernible after all these years in Pagford.
‘Mrs Weedon, you’re still smoking, which affects the dose I have to prescribe you. If you’d give up your cigarettes — smokers metabolize Theophylline more quickly, so the cigarettes are not only worsening your emphysema, but actually affecting the ability of the drug to—’
‘Don’ you shout at me! I’ve ’ad enough of you! I’ll report you! You’ve gave me the wrong fuckin’ pills! I wanna see someone else! I wanna see Dr Crawford!’
The old lady appeared around the wall, wobbling, wheezing, her face scarlet.
‘She’ll be the death of me, that Paki cow! Don’ you go near ’er!’ she shouted at Tessa. ‘She’ll fuckin’ kill yer with her drugs, the Paki bitch!’
She tottered towards the exit, spindle-shanked, unsteady on her slippered feet, her breath rattling, swearing as loudly as her beleaguered lungs would permit. The door swung shut behind her. The receptionist exchanged another look with Tessa. They heard Parminder’s surgery door close again.
It was five minutes before Parminder reappeared. The receptionist stared ostentatiously at her screen.
‘Mrs Wall,’ said Parminder, with another tight non-smile.
‘What was that about?’ Tessa asked, when she had taken a seat at the end of Parminder’s desk.
‘Mrs Weedon’s new pills are upsetting her stomach,’ said Parminder calmly. ‘So we’re doing your bloods today, aren’t we?’
‘Yes,’ said Tessa, both intimidated and hurt by Parminder’s cold professional demeanour. ‘How are you doing, Minda?’
‘Me?’ said Parminder. ‘I’m fine. Why?’
‘Well… Barry… I know what he meant to you and what you meant to him.’
Tears welled in Parminder’s eyes and she tried to blink them away, but too late; Tessa had seen them.
‘Minda,’ she said, laying her plump hand on Parminder’s thin one, but Parminder whipped it away as if Tessa had stung her; then, betrayed by her own reflex, she began to cry in earnest, unable to hide in the tiny room, though she had turned her back as nearly as she could in her swivel chair.
‘I felt sick when I realized I hadn’t phoned you,’ Tessa said, over Parminder’s furious attempts to quell her own sobs. ‘I wanted to curl up and die. I meant to call,’ she lied, ‘but we hadn’t slept, we spent almost the whole night at the hospital, then we had to go straight out to work. Colin broke down at assembly when he announced it, then he caused a bloody awful scene with Krystal Weedon in front of everyone. And then Stuart decided to play truant. And Mary’s falling apart… but I’m so sorry, Minda, I should’ve called.’
‘…iculous,’ said Parminder thickly, her face hidden behind a tissue she had pulled out from her sleeve. ‘… Mary… most important…’
‘You would have been one of the very first people Barry called,’ said Tessa sadly, and, to her horror, she burst into tears too.
‘Minda, I’m so sorry,’ she sobbed, ‘but I was having to deal with Colin and all the rest of them.’
‘Don’t be silly,’ said Parminder, gulping as she dabbed at her thin face. ‘We’re being silly.’
No, we’re not. Oh, let go for once, Parminder…
But the doctor squared her thin shoulders, blew her nose and sat up straight again.
‘Did Vikram tell you?’ asked Tessa timidly, tweaking a handful of tissues from the box on Parminder’s desk.
‘No,’ said Parminder. ‘Howard Mollison. In the deli.’
‘Oh God, Minda, I’m so sorry.’
‘Don’t be silly. It’s fine.’
Crying had made Parminder feel slightly better; friendlier towards Tessa, who was wiping her own plain, kind face. This was a relief, for now that Barry was