The Casual Vacancy

much. Lovely to meet you properly at last. Gav’s been keeping you under wraps for far too long.’
    Miles shook the wine out of Gavin’s hand, then clapped him on the back, which Gavin resented.
    ‘Come on through, Sam’ll be down in a mo. What’ll you have to drink?’
    Kay would ordinarily have found Miles rather smooth and over-familiar, but she was determined to suspend judgement. Couples had to mix with each other’s circles, and manage to get along in them. This evening represented significant progress in her quest to infiltrate the layers of his life to which Gavin had never admitted her, and she wanted to show him that she was at home in the Mollisons’ big, smug house, that there was no need to exclude her any more. So she smiled at Miles, asked for a red wine, and admired the spacious room with its stripped pine floorboards, its over-cushioned sofa and its framed prints.
    ‘Been here for, ooh, getting on for fourteen years,’ said Miles,busy with the corkscrew. ‘You’re down in Hope Street, aren’t you? Nice little houses, some great fixer-upper opportunities down there.’
    Samantha appeared, smiling without warmth. Kay, who had previously seen her only in an overcoat, noted the tightness of her orange top, beneath which every detail of her lacy bra was clearly visible. Her face was even darker than her leathery chest; her eye make-up was thick and unflattering and her jangling gold earrings and high-heeled golden mules were, in Kay’s opinion, tarty. Samantha struck her as the kind of woman who would have raucous girls’ nights out, and find stripograms hilarious, and flirt drunkenly with everyone else’s partner at parties.
    ‘Hi there,’ said Samantha. She kissed Gavin and smiled at Kay. ‘Great, you’ve got drinks. I’ll have the same as Kay, Miles.’
    She turned away to sit down, having already taken stock of the other woman’s appearance: Kay was small-breasted and heavy-hipped, and had certainly chosen her black trousers to minimize the size of her bottom. She would have done better, in Samantha’s opinion, to wear heels, given the shortness of her legs. Her face was attractive enough, with even-toned olive skin, large dark eyes and a generous mouth; but the closely cropped boy’s hair and the resolutely flat shoes were undoubtedly pointers to certain sacrosanct Beliefs. Gavin had done it again: he had gone and picked another humourless, domineering woman who would make his life a misery.
    ‘So!’ said Samantha brightly, raising her glass. ‘Gavin-and-Kay!’
    She saw, with satisfaction, Gavin’s hangdog wince of a smile; but before she could make him squirm more or weasel private information out of them both to dangle over Shirley’s and Maureen’s heads, the doorbell rang again.
    Mary appeared fragile and angular, especially beside Miles, who ushered her into the room. Her T-shirt hung from protruding collarbones.
    ‘Oh,’ she said, coming to a startled halt on the threshold. ‘I didn’t realize you were having—’
    ‘Gavin and Kay just dropped in,’ said Samantha a little wildly. ‘Come in, Mary, please … have a drink …’
    ‘Mary, this is Kay,’ said Miles. ‘Kay, this is Mary Fairbrother.’
    ‘Oh,’ said Kay, thrown; she had thought that it would only be the four of them. ‘Yes, hello.’
    Gavin, who could tell that Mary had not meant to drop in on a dinner party and was on the point of walking straight back out again, patted the sofa beside him; Mary sat down with a weak smile. He was overjoyed to see her. Here was his buffer; even Samantha must realize that her particular brand of prurience would be inappropriate in front of a bereaved woman; plus, the constrictive symmetry of a foursome had been broken up.
    ‘How are you?’ he said quietly. ‘I was going to give you a ring, actually … there’ve been developments with the insurance …’
    ‘Haven’t we got any nibbles, Sam?’ asked Miles.
    Samantha walked from the room, seething at Miles. The smell of scorched meat met her as she opened the kitchen door.
    ‘Oh shit, shit, shit …’
    She had completely forgotten the casserole, which had dried out. Desiccated chunks of meat and vegetables sat, forlorn survivors of the catastrophe, on the singed bottom of the pot. Samantha sloshed in wine and stock, chiselling the adhering bits off the pan with her spoon, stirring vigorously, sweating in the heat. Miles’ high-pitched laugh rang out from the sitting room. Samantha put on