The Casual Vacancy

forcefulness, slightly stooped, his head bowed.
    ‘Aubrey!’ called Howard joyfully, and for the first time he moved forward to greet the newcomer. ‘How are you? How’s Julia? Did you get my invitation?’
    ‘Sorry, I don’t—’
    ‘To my sixty-fifth? Here – Saturday – day after the election.’
    ‘Oh, yes, yes. Howard, there’s a young woman outside – she says she’s from the
Yarvil and District Gazette
. Alison something?’
    ‘Oh,’ said Howard. ‘Strange. I’ve just sent her my article, you know, the one answering Fairbrother’s … Maybe it’s something to do … I’ll go and see.’
    He waddled away, full of vague misgivings. Parminder Jawanda entered as he approached the door; scowling as usual, she walked straight past without greeting him, and for once Howard did not ask ‘how’s Parminder?’.
    Out on the pavement he found a young blonde woman, stocky and square, with an aura of impermeable cheerfulness that Howard recognized immediately as determination of his own brand. She was holding a notebook and looking up at the Sweetlove initials carved over the double doors.
    ‘Hello, hello,’ said Howard, his breathing a little laboured. ‘Alison, is it? Howard Mollison. Have you come all this way to tell me I can’t write for toffee?’
    She beamed, and shook the hand he proffered.
    ‘Oh, no, we like the article,’ she assured him. ‘I thought, as things are getting so interesting, I’d come and sit in on the meeting. You don’t mind? Press are allowed, I think. I’ve looked up all the regulations.’
    She was moving towards the door as she spoke.
    ‘Yes, yes, press are allowed,’ said Howard, following her and pausing courteously at the entrance to let her through first. ‘Unless we have to deal with anything
in camera
, that is.’
    She glanced back at him, and he could make out her teeth, even in the fading light.
    ‘Like all those anonymous accusations on your message board? From the Ghost of Barry Fairbrother?’
    ‘Oh dear,’ wheezed Howard, smiling back at her. ‘
They’re
not news, surely? A couple of silly comments on the internet?’
    ‘Has it only been a couple? Somebody told me the bulk of them had been taken off the site.’
    ‘No, no, somebody’s got that wrong,’ said Howard. ‘There have only been two or three, to my knowledge. Nasty nonsense. Personally,’ he said, improvising on the spot, ‘I think it’s some kid.’
    ‘A kid?’
    ‘You know. Teenager having fun.’
    ‘Would teenagers target Parish councillors?’ she asked, still smiling. ‘I heard, actually, that one of the victims has lost his job. Possibly as a result of the allegations made against him on your site.’
    ‘News to me,’ said Howard untruthfully. Shirley had seen Ruth at the hospital the previous day and reported back to him.
    ‘I see on the agenda,’ said Alison, as the pair of them entered the brightly lit hall, ‘that you’ll be discussing Bellchapel. You and Mr Fairbrother made good points on both sides of the argument in your articles … we had quite a few letters to the paper after we printed Mr Fairbrother’s piece. My editor liked that. Anything that makes people write letters …’
    ‘Yes, I saw those,’ said Howard. ‘Nobody seemed to have much good to say about the clinic, did they?’
    The councillors at the table were watching the pair of them. Alison Jenkins returned their gaze, still smiling imperturbably.
    ‘Let me get you a chair,’ said Howard, puffing slightly as he lifted one down from a nearby stack and settling Alison some twelve feet from the table.
    ‘Thank you.’ She pulled it six feet forward.
    ‘Ladies and gentlemen,’ called Howard, ‘we’ve got a press gallery here tonight. Miss Alison Jenkins of the
Yarvil and District Gazette
.’
    A few of them seemed interested and gratified by Alison’s appearance, but most looked suspicious. Howard stumped back to the head of the table, where Aubrey and Shirley were questioning him with their eyes.
    ‘Barry Fairbrother’s Ghost,’ he told them in an undertone, as he lowered himself gingerly into the plastic chair (one of them had collapsed under him two meetings ago). ‘And Bellchapel. And there’s Tony!’ he shouted, making Aubrey jump. ‘Come on in, Tony … we’ll give Henry and Sheila another couple of minutes, shall we?’
    The murmur of talk around the table was slightly more subdued than usual. Alison Jenkins was already writing in her notebook. Howard thought