I can gather, and he keeps telling me not to worry about fees. Oh God, Tessa, if they don't pay out ...'
'Gavin will sort it out for you,' said Tessa. 'I'm sure he will.'
It would have been nice, thought Tessa, stiff and thirsty on the sofa, if she and Colin could have had Mary round to the house, to give her a change of scene and make sure she was eating, but there was one insuperable barrier: Mary found Colin difficult, a strain. This uncomfortable and hitherto concealed fact had emerged slowly in the wake of Barry's death, like flotsam revealed by the ebbing tide. It could not have been plainer that Mary wanted only Tessa; she shied away from suggestions that Colin might help with anything, and avoided talking to him too long on the telephone. They had met so often as a foursome for years, and Mary's antipathy had never surfaced: Barry's good humour must have cloaked it.
Tessa had to manage the new state of affairs with great delicacy. She had successfully persuaded Colin that Mary was happiest in the company of other women. The funeral had been her one failure, because Colin had ambushed Mary as they all left St Michael's and tried to explain, through racking sobs, that he was going to stand for Barry's seat on the council, to carry on Barry's work, to make sure Barry prevailed posthumously. Tessa had seen Mary's shocked and offended expression, and pulled him away.
Once or twice since, Colin had stated his intention of going over to show Mary all his election materials, to ask whether Barry would have approved of them; even voiced an intention of seeking guidance from Mary as to how Barry would have handled the process of canvassing for votes. In the end Tessa had told him firmly that he must not badger Mary about the Parish Council. He became huffy at this, but it was better, Tessa thought, that he should be angry with her, rather than adding to Mary's distress, or provoking her into a rebuff, as had happened over the viewing of Barry's body.
'The Mollisons, though!' said Colin, re-entering the room with a cup of tea. He had not offered Tessa one; he was often selfish in these little ways, too busy with his own worries to notice. 'Of all the people for her to have dinner with! They were against everything Barry stood for!'
'That's a bit melodramatic, Col,' said Tessa. 'Anyway, Mary was never as interested in the Fields as Barry.'
But Colin's only understanding of love was of limitless loyalty, boundless tolerance: Mary had fallen, irreparably, in his estimation.
Part Two Chapter IX
IX
'And where are you going?' asked Simon, planting himself squarely in the middle of the tiny hall.
The front door was open, and the glass porch behind him, full of shoes and coats, was blinding in the bright Saturday morning sun, turning Simon into a silhouette. His shadow rippled up the stairs, just touching the one on which Andrew stood.
'Into town with Fats.'
'Homework all finished, is it?'
'Yeah.'
It was a lie; but Simon would not bother to check.
'Ruth? Ruth!'
She appeared at the kitchen door, wearing an apron, flushed, with her hands covered in flour.
'What?'
'Do we need anything from town?'
'What? No, I don't think so.'
'Taking my bike, are you?' demanded Simon of Andrew.
'Yeah, I was going to - '
'Leaving it at Fats' house?'
'Yeah.'
'What time do we want him back?' Simon asked, turning to Ruth again.
'Oh, I don't know, Si,' said Ruth impatiently. The furthest she ever went in irritation with her husband was on occasions when Simon, though basically in a good mood, started laying down the law for the fun of it. Andrew and Fats often went into town together, on the vague understanding that Andrew would return before it became dark.
'Five o'clock, then,' said Simon arbitrarily. 'Any later and you're grounded.'
'Fine,' Andrew replied.
He kept his right hand in his jacket pocket, clenched over a tightly folded wad of paper, intensely aware of it, like a ticking grenade. The fear of losing this piece of paper, on which was inscribed a line of meticulously written code, and a number of crossed-out, reworked and heavily edited sentences, had been plaguing him for a week. He had been keeping it on him at all times, and sleeping with it inside his pillowcase.
Simon barely moved aside, so that Andrew had to edge past him into the porch, his fingers clamped over the paper. He was terrified that Simon would demand that he turn out his