The Casual Vacancy полностью

‘We said,’ Samantha articulated carefully over the rim of her trembling glass, ‘that once the girls were out of school, we’d go travelling. We promised each other that, remember?’

The formless rage and misery that had consumed her since Miles announced his intention to stand for the council had not once led her to mourn the year’s travelling she had missed, but at this moment it seemed to her that that was the real problem; or at least, that it came closest to expressing both the antagonism and the yearning inside her.

Miles seemed completely bewildered.

‘What are you talking about?’

‘When I got pregnant with Lexie,’ Samantha said loudly, ‘and we couldn’t go travelling, and your bloody mother made us get married in double-quick time, and your father got you a job with Edward Collins, you said, we agreed, that we’d do it when the girls were grown up; we said we’d go away and do all the things we missed out on.’

He shook his head slowly.

‘This is news to me,’ he said. ‘Where the hell has this come from?’

‘Miles, we were in the Black Canon. I told you I was pregnant, and you said — for Christ’s sake, Miles — I told you I was pregnant, and you promised me, you promised—’

‘You want a holiday?’ said Miles. ‘Is that it? You want a holiday?’

‘No, Miles, I don’t want a bloody holiday, I want — don’t you remember? We said we’d take a year out and do it later, when the kids were grown up!’

‘Fine, then.’ He seemed unnerved, determined to brush her aside. ‘Fine. When Libby’s eighteen; in four years’ time, we’ll talk about it again. I don’t see how me becoming a councillor affects any of this.’

‘Well, apart from the bloody boredom of listening to you and your parents whining about the Fields for the rest of our natural lives—’

‘Our natural lives?’ he smirked. ‘As opposed to—?’

‘Piss off,’ she spat. ‘Don’t be such a bloody smartarse, Miles, it might impress your mother—’

‘Well, frankly, I still don’t see what the problem—’

‘The problem,’ she shouted, ‘is that this is about our future, Miles. Our future. And I don’t want to bloody talk about it in four years’ time, I want to talk about it now!’

‘I think you’d better eat something,’ said Miles. He got to his feet. ‘You’ve had enough to drink.’

‘Screw you, Miles!’

‘Sorry, if you’re going to be abusive…’

He turned and walked out of the room. She barely stopped herself throwing her wine glass after him.

The council: if he got on it, he would never get off; he would never renounce his seat, the chance to be a proper Pagford big shot, like Howard. He was committing himself anew to Pagford, retaking his vows to the town of his birth, to a future quite different from the one he had promised his distraught new fiancée as she sat sobbing on his bed.

When had they last talked about travelling the world? She was not sure. Years and years ago, perhaps, but tonight Samantha decided that she, at least, had never changed her mind. Yes, she had always expected that some day they would pack up and leave, in search of heat and freedom, half the globe away from Pagford, Shirley, Mollison and Lowe, the rain, the pettiness and the sameness. Perhaps she had not thought of the white sands of Australia and Singapore with longing for many years, but she would rather be there, even with her heavy thighs and her stretch marks, than here, trapped in Pagford, forced to watch as Miles turned slowly into Howard.

She slumped back down on the sofa, groped for the controls, and switched back to Libby’s DVD. The band, now in black and white, was walking slowly along a long empty beach, singing. The broad-shouldered boy’s shirt was flapping open in the breeze. A fine trail of hair led from his navel down into his jeans.

Alison Jenkins, the journalist from the Yarvil and District Gazette, had at last established which of the many Weedon households in Yarvil housed Krystal. It had been difficult: nobody was registered to vote at the address and no landline number was listed for the property. Alison visited Foley Road in person on Sunday, but Krystal was out, and Terri, suspicious and antagonistic, refused to say when she would be back or confirm that she lived there.

Krystal arrived home a mere twenty minutes after the journalist had departed in her car, and she and her mother had another row.

‘Why din’t ya tell her to wait? She was gonna interview me abou’ the Fields an’ stuff!’

‘Interview you? Fuck off. Wha’ the fuck for?’

The argument escalated and Krystal walked out again, off to Nikki’s, with Terri’s mobile in her tracksuit bottoms. She frequently made off with this phone; many rows were triggered by her mother demanding it back and Krystal pretending that she didn’t know where it was. Dimly, Krystal hoped that the journalist might know the number somehow and call her directly.

She was in a crowded, jangling café in the shopping centre, telling Nikki and Leanne all about the journalist, when the mobile rang.

‘’Oo? Are you the journalist, like?’

‘…o’s ’at… ’erri?’