The Casual Vacancy

young arms and laughter, which was to have had some kind of catharsis tonight; her own thin waist encircled again, and the sharp taste of the new, the unexplored; her fantasy had lost wings, it was plummeting back to earth …
    I only wanted to look.
    ‘Looking good, Sammy.’
    ‘Cheers, Pat.’
    She had not met her sister-in-law for over a year.
    I like you more than anyone else in this family, Pat.
    Miles had caught up with her; he kissed his sister.
    ‘How are you? How’s Mel? Isn’t she here?’
    ‘No, she didn’t want to come,’ said Patricia. She was drinking champagne, but from her expression, it might have been vinegar. ‘The invitation said
Pat and guest are invited …
huge bloody row. One up to Mum.’
    ‘Oh, Pat, come on,’ said Miles, smiling.
    ‘Oh, Pat, fucking come on what, Miles?’
    A furious delight took hold of Samantha: a pretext to attack.
    ‘That’s a bloody rude way to invite your sister’s partner and you know it, Miles. Your mother could do with some lessons in manners, if you ask me.’
    He was fatter, surely, than he had been a year ago. She could see his neck bulging over the collar of his shirt. His breath went sour quickly. He had a little trick of bouncing on his toes that he had caught from his father. She experienced a surge of physical disgust and walked away to the end of the trestle table, where Andrew and Sukhvinder were busy filling and handing out glasses.
    ‘Have you got any gin?’ Samantha asked. ‘Give me a big one.’
    She barely recognized Andrew. He poured her a measure, trying not to look at her breasts, boundlessly exposed in the T-shirt, but it was like trying not to squint in direct sunlight.
    ‘Do you know them?’ Samantha asked, after downing half a glass of gin and tonic.
    A blush had risen before Andrew could marshal his thoughts. To his horror, she gave a reckless cackle, and said, ‘The band. I’m talking about the band.’
    ‘Yeah, I – yeah, I’ve heard of them. I don’t … not my kind of thing.’
    ‘Is that right?’ she said, throwing back the rest of her drink. ‘I’ll have another one of those, please.’
    She realized who he was: the mousy boy from the delicatessen. His uniform made him look older. Maybe a couple of weeks of lugging pallets up and down the cellar steps had built some muscle.
    ‘Oh, look,’ said Samantha, spotting a figure heading away from her into the growing crowd, ‘there’s Gavin. The second most boring man in Pagford. After my husband, obviously.’
    She strode off, pleased with herself, holding her new drink; the gin had hit her where she most needed it, anaesthetizing and stimulating at the same time, and as she walked she thought:
he liked my tits; let’s see what he thinks of my arse.
    Gavin saw Samantha coming and tried to deflect her by joiningsomebody else’s conversation, anybody’s; the nearest person was Howard and he insinuated himself hastily into the group around his host.
    ‘I took a risk,’ Howard was saying to three other men; he was waving a cigar, and a little ash had dribbled down the front of his velvet jacket. ‘I took a risk and I put in the graft. Simple as that. No magic formula. Nobody handed me – oh, here’s Sammy. Who are those young men, Samantha?’
    While four elderly men stared at the pop group stretched across her breasts, Samantha turned to Gavin.
    ‘Hi,’ she said, leaning in and forcing him to kiss her. ‘Kay not here?’
    ‘No,’ said Gavin shortly.
    ‘Talking about business, Sammy,’ said Howard happily, and Samantha thought of her shop, failed and finished. ‘I was a self-starter,’ he informed the group, reprising what was clearly an established theme. ‘That’s all there is to it. That’s all you need. I was a self-starter.’
    Massive and globular, he was like a miniature velvety sun, radiating satisfaction and contentment. His tones were already rounded and mellowed by the brandy in his hand. ‘I was ready to take a risk – could’ve lost everything.’
    ‘Well, your mum could have lost everything,’ Samantha corrected him. ‘Didn’t Hilda mortgage her house to put up half the deposit on the shop?’
    She saw the tiny flicker in Howard’s eyes, but his smile remained constant.
    ‘All credit to my mother, then,’ he said, ‘for working and scrimping and saving, and giving her son a start. I multiply what I was given, and I give back to the family – pay for your girls to go to St Anne’s – what goes round, comes round, eh,