The Casual Vacancy

daughter made me do. I’ll have to go home and change my shirt before work.
With an almost light heart he grabbedthe tie and jacket he had hung over the hook on the back of the door, and unlocked it.
    Gaia pushed past, slammed the door behind her and rammed the lock home. Out on the tiny landing, which was thick with an unpleasant smell of burnt rubber, Gavin remembered the headboard banging against the wall last night, the creaking of the cheap pine bed, Kay’s groans and yelps. It was easy to forget, sometimes, that her daughter was in the house.
    He jogged down the carpetless stairs. Kay had told him of her plans to sand and polish them, but he doubted that she would ever do it; her flat in London had been shabby and in poor repair. In any case, he was convinced that she was expecting to move in with him quite soon, but he would not allow it; that was the final bastion, and there, if forced, he would make his stand.
    ‘What have you done to yourself?’ Kay squealed, catching sight of the blood on his shirt. She was wearing the cheap scarlet kimono that he did not like, but which suited her so well.
    ‘Gaia banged on the door and made me jump. I’m going to have to go home and change.’
    ‘Oh, but I’ve made you breakfast!’ she said quickly.
    He realized that the smell of burning rubber was actually scrambled eggs. They looked anaemic and overcooked.
    ‘I can’t, Kay, I’ve got to change this shirt, I’ve got an early—’
    She was already spooning the congealed mass onto plates.
    ‘Five minutes, surely you can stay five—?’
    The mobile phone in his jacket pocket buzzed loudly and he pulled it out, wondering whether he would have the nerve to pretend that it was an urgent summons.
    ‘Jesus Christ,’ he said, in unfeigned horror.
    ‘What’s the matter?’
    ‘Barry. Barry Fairbrother! He’s … fuck, he’s … he’s dead! It’s from Miles. Jesus Christ. Jesus fucking Christ!’
    She laid down the wooden spoon.
    ‘Who’s Barry Fairbrother?’
    ‘I play squash with him. He’s only forty-four! Jesus Christ!’
    He read the text message again. Kay watched him, confused. Sheknew that Miles was Gavin’s partner at the solicitor’s, but had never been introduced to him. Barry Fairbrother was no more than a name to her.
    There came a thunderous banging from the stairs: Gaia was stamping as she ran.
    ‘Eggs,’ she stated, at the kitchen door. ‘Like you make me every morning.
Not.
And thanks to
him
,’ with a venomous look at the back of Gavin’s head, ‘I’ve probably missed the bloody bus.’
    ‘Well, if you hadn’t spent so long doing your hair,’ Kay shouted at the figure of her retreating daughter, who did not respond, but stormed down the hall, her bag bouncing off the walls, and slammed the front door behind her.
    ‘Kay, I’ve got to go,’ said Gavin.
    ‘But look, I’ve got it all ready, you could have it before—’
    ‘I’ve got to change my shirt. And, shit, I did Barry’s will for him, I’ll need to look it out. No, I’m sorry, I’ve got to go. I can’t believe it,’ he added, rereading Miles’ text. ‘I can’t believe it. We only played squash on Thursday. I can’t – Jesus.’
    A man had died; there was nothing she could say, not without putting herself in the wrong. He kissed her briefly on her unresponsive mouth, and then walked away, up the dark narrow hall.
    ‘Will I see you—?’
    ‘I’ll call you later,’ he shouted over her, pretending not to hear.
    Gavin hurried across the road to his car, gulping the crisp, cold air, holding the fact of Barry’s death in his mind like a phial of volatile liquid that he dare not agitate. As he turned the key in the ignition, he imagined Barry’s twin daughters crying, face down in their bunk beds. He had seen them lying like that, one above the other, each playing on a Nintendo DS, when he passed the door of their bedroom the very last time he had gone round for dinner.
    The Fairbrothers had been the most devoted couple he knew. He would never eat at their house again. He used to tell Barry how lucky he was. Not so lucky after all.
    Someone was coming down the pavement towards him; in a panic that it was Gaia, coming to shout at him or to demand a lift, he reversed too hard and hit the car behind him: Kay’s old VauxhallCorsa. The passer-by drew level with his window, and was revealed to be an emaciated, hobbling old woman in carpet slippers. Sweating, Gavin swung his steering wheel around and