The Casual Vacancy

way beyond the scope of her managerial and technical skills. She was already stretched to the limits of her abilities, and she was determined to cling to the post of administrator.
    ‘If Miles is elected—’ Shirley began, but Maureen interrupted, in her deep voice. ‘Let’s hope it hasn’t hurt him, this nasty stuff. Let’s hope there isn’t a backlash against him.’
    ‘People will know Miles had nothing to do with it,’ said Shirley coolly.
    ‘Will they, though?’ said Maureen, and Shirley simply hated her. How dare she sit in Shirley’s lounge and contradict her? And what was worse, Howard was nodding his agreement with Maureen.
    ‘That’s my worry,’ he said, ‘and we need Miles more than ever now. Get some cohesion back on the council. After Bends-Your-Ear said what she said – after all the uproar – we didn’t even take the vote on Bellchapel. We need Miles.’
    Shirley had already walked out of the room in silent protest at Howard’s siding with Maureen. She busied herself with the teacups in the kitchen, silently fuming, wondering why she did not set out only two cups to give Maureen the hint that she so richly deserved.
    Shirley continued to feel nothing but defiant admiration for the Ghost. His accusations had exposed the truth about people whom she disliked and despised, people who were destructive and wrong-headed. She was sure that the electorate of Pagford would see things her way and vote for Miles, rather than that disgusting man, Colin Wall.
    ‘When shall we go and vote?’ Shirley asked Howard, re-entering the room with the tinkling tea tray, and pointedly ignoring Maureen (for it was their son whose name they would tick on the ballot).
    But to her intense irritation, Howard suggested that all three of them go after closing time.
    Miles Mollison was quite as concerned as his father that the unprecedented ill-humour surrounding next day’s vote would affect his electoral chances. That very morning he had entered the newsagent’s behind the Square and caught a snatch of conversation between the woman behind the till and her elderly customer.
    ‘… Mollison’s always thought he was king of Pagford,’ the old man was saying, oblivious to the wooden expression on the shopkeeper’s face. ‘I liked Barry Fairbrother. Tragedy, that was. Tragedy. The Mollison boy did our wills and I thought he was very pleased with himself.’
    Miles had lost his nerve at that and slipped back out of the shop, his face glowing like a schoolboy’s. He wondered whether the well-spoken old man was the originator of that anonymous letter. Miles’ comfortable belief in his own likeability was shaken, and he kept trying to imagine how it would feel if nobody voted for him the following day.
    As he undressed for bed that night, he watched his silent wife’s reflection in the dressing-table mirror. For days, Samantha had been nothing but sarcastic if he mentioned the election. He could have done with some support, some comfort, this evening. He also felt randy. It had been a long time. Thinking back, he supposed that it had been the night before Barry Fairbrother dropped dead. She had been a little bit drunk. It often took a little bit of drink, these days.
    ‘How was work?’ he asked, watching her undo her bra in the mirror.
    Samantha did not answer immediately. She rubbed the deep red grooves in the flesh beneath her arms left by the tight bra, then said, without looking at Miles, ‘I’ve been meaning to talk to you about that, actually.’
    She hated having to say it. She had been trying to avoid doing so for several weeks.
    ‘Roy thinks I ought to close the shop. It’s not doing well.’
    Exactly how badly the shop was doing would be a shock to Miles. It had been a shock to her, when her accountant had laid out the position in the baldest terms. She had both known and not known. It was strange how your brain could know what your heart refused to accept.
    ‘Oh,’ said Miles. ‘But you’d keep the website?’
    ‘Yeah,’ she said. ‘We’d keep the website.’
    ‘Well, that’s good,’ said Miles encouragingly. He waited for almost a minute, out of respect for the death of her shop. Then he said, ‘I don’t suppose you saw the
Gazette
today?’
    She reached over for the nightdress on her pillow and he had a satisfying glimpse of her breasts. Sex would definitely help relax him.
    ‘It’s a real shame, Sam,’ he said, crawling across the bed behind her,and waiting to put his arms