The Casual Vacancy

putting on the pyjamas he had warmed on the radiator. He had already drawn the sitting-room curtains, turned on the side lamps and lit the wood-burner, so that he could come down and stretch out on the sofa to watch the news.
    Ruth knew that she would have to tell him. Not doing so, letting him find out for himself, was simply not an option; she would have been incapable of keeping it to herself. She felt terrified and guilty, though she did not know why.
    She heard him jogging down the stairs and then he appeared at the door in his blue brushed-cotton pyjamas.
    ‘Si,’ she whispered.
    ‘What’s the matter?’ he said, immediately irritated. He knew that something had happened; that his luxurious programme of sofa, fire and news was about to be disarranged.
    She pointed at the computer monitor, one hand pressed foolishly over her mouth, like a little girl. Her terror infected him. He strode to the PC and scowled down at the screen. He was not a quick reader. He read every word, every line, painstakingly, carefully.
    When he had finished, he remained quite still, passing for review, in his mind, all the likely grasses. He thought of the gum-chewing forklift driver, whom he had left stranded in the Fields when they had picked up the new computer. He thought of Jim and Tommy, who did the cash-in-hand jobs on the sly with him. Someone fromwork must have talked. Rage and fear collided inside him and set off a combustive reaction.
    He strode to the foot of the stairs and shouted, ‘You two! Get down here NOW!’
    Ruth still had her hand over her mouth. He had a sadistic urge to slap her hand away, to tell her to fucking pull herself together, it was he who was in the shit.
    Andrew entered the room first with Paul behind him. Andrew saw the arms of Pagford Parish Council onscreen, and his mother with her hand over her mouth. Walking barefoot across the old carpet, he had the sensation that he was plummeting through the air in a broken lift.
    ‘Someone,’ said Simon, glaring at his sons, ‘has talked about things I’ve mentioned inside this house.’
    Paul had brought his chemistry exercise book downstairs with him; he was holding it like a hymnal. Andrew kept his gaze fixed on his father, trying to project an expression of mingled confusion and curiosity.
    ‘Who’s told other people we’ve got a stolen computer?’ asked Simon.
    ‘I haven’t,’ said Andrew.
    Paul stared at his father blankly, trying to process the question. Andrew willed his brother to speak. Why did he have to be so slow?
    ‘Well?’ Simon snarled at Paul.
    ‘I don’t think I—’
    ‘You don’t
think
? You don’t
think
you told anyone?’
    ‘No, I don’t think I told any—’
    ‘Oh, this is interesting,’ said Simon, pacing up and down in front of Paul. ‘This is interesting.’
    With a slap he sent Paul’s exercise book flying out of his hands.
    ‘Try and think, dipshit,’ he growled. ‘Try and fucking think. Did you tell anyone we’ve got a stolen computer?’
    ‘Not stolen,’ said Paul. ‘I never told anyone – I don’t think I told anyone we had a new one, even.’
    ‘I see,’ said Simon. ‘So the news got out by magic then, did it?’
    He was pointing at the computer monitor.
    ‘
Someone’s
fucking talked!’ he yelled, ‘because it’s on the fucking
internet
! And I’ll be fucking lucky not – to – lose – my – job!’
    On each of the five last words he thumped Paul on the head with his fist. Paul cowered and ducked; black liquid trickled from his left nostril; he suffered nosebleeds several times a week.
    ‘And what about
you
?’ Simon roared at his wife, who was still frozen beside the computer, her eyes wide behind her glasses, her hand clamped like a yashmak over her mouth. ‘Have
you
been fucking gossiping?’
    Ruth ungagged herself.
    ‘No, Si,’ she whispered, ‘I mean, the only person I told we had a new computer was Shirley – and she’d never—’
    You stupid woman, you stupid fucking woman, what did you have to tell him that for?
    ‘You did what?’ asked Simon quietly.
    ‘I told Shirley,’ whimpered Ruth. ‘I didn’t say it was stolen, though, Si. I only said you were bringing it home—’
    ‘Well, that’s fucking it then, isn’t it?’ roared Simon; his voice became a scream. ‘Her fucking son’s standing for election, of course she wants to get the fucking goods on me!’
    ‘But she’s the one who told me, Si, just now, she wouldn’t have—’
    He ran at her and