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re　could　be　reprisals　…　I　don’t　like　the　way　this　thing’s　going。’

‘Well；　that’s　politics；　Miles；’　said　Samantha；　openly　amused。　‘Dirty　business。’

Miles　stalked　out　of　the　room；　but　she　did　not　care；　her　thoughts　had　already　returned　to　chiselled　cheekbones；　winged　eyebrows　and　taut；　tight　abdominal　muscles。　She　could　sing　along　with　most　of　the　songs　now。　She　would　buy　a　band　T…shirt　to　wear　–　and　one　for　Libby　too。　Jake　would　be　undulating　mere　yards　away　from　her。　It　would　be　more　fun　than　she　had　had　in　years。

Howard；　meanwhile；　was　pacing　up　and　down　the　closed　delicatessen　with　his　mobile　phone　clamped　to　his　ear。　The　blinds　were　down；　the　lights　were　on；　and　through　the　archway　in　the　wall　Shirley　and　Maureen　were　busy　in　the　soon…to…be…opened　café；　unpacking　china　and　glasses；　talking　in　excited　undertones　and　half　listening　to　Howard’s　almost　monosyllabic　contributions　to　his　conversation。

‘Yes　…　mm；　hmm　…　yes　…’

‘Screaming　at　me；’　said　Shirley。　‘Screaming　and　swearing。　“Take　it　bloody　down；”　she　said。　I　said；　“I’m　taking　it　down；　Dr　Jawanda；　and　I’ll　thank　you　not　to　swear　at　me。”’

‘I’d’ve　left　it　up　there　for　another　couple　of　hours　if　she’d　sworn　at　me；’　said　Maureen。

Shirley　smiled。　As　it　happened；　she　had　chosen　to　go　and　make　herself　a　cup　of　tea；　leaving　the　anonymous　post　about　Parminder　up　on　the　site　for　an　extra　forty…five　minutes　before　removing　it。　She　and　Maureen　had　already　picked　over　the　topic　of　the　post　until　it　was　ragged　and　bare；　there　was　plenty　of　scope　for　further　dissection；　but　the　immediate　urge　was　sated。　Instead；　Shirley　looked　ahead；　greedily；　to　Parminder’s　reaction　to　having　her　secret　spilt　in　public。

‘It　can’t　have　been　her　who　did　that　post　about　Simon　Price；　after　all；’　said　Maureen。

‘No；　obviously　not；’　said　Shirley；　as　she　wiped　over　the　pretty　blue　and　white　china　that　she　had　chosen；　overruling　Maureen’s　preference　for　pink。　Sometimes；　though　not　directly　involved　in　the　business；　Shirley　liked　to　remind　Maureen　that　she　still　had　huge　influence；　as　Howard’s　wife。

‘Yes；’　said　Howard；　on　the　telephone。　‘But　wouldn’t　it　be　better　to　…？　Mm；　hmm　…’

‘So　who　do　you　think　it　is？’　asked　Maureen。

‘I　really　don’t　know；’　said　Shirley；　in　a　genteel　voice；　as　though　such　knowledge　or　suspicions　were　beneath　her。

‘Someone　who　knows　the　Prices　and　the　Jawandas；’　said　Maureen。

‘Obviously；’　said　Shirley　again。

Howard　hung　up　at　last。

‘Aubrey　agrees；’　he　told　the　two　women；　waddling　through　into　the　café。　He　was　clutching　today’s　edition　of　the　Yarvil　and　District　Gazette。　‘Very　weak　piece。　Very　weak　indeed。’

It　took　the　two　women　several　seconds　to　recollect　that　they　were　supposed　to　be　interested　in　the　posthumous　article　by　Barry　Fairbrother　in　the　local　newspaper。　His　ghost　was　so　much　more　interesting。

‘Oh；　yes；　well；　I　thought　it　was　very　poor　when　I　read　it；’　said　Shirley；　hurriedly　catching　up。

‘The　interview　with　Krystal　Weedon　was　funny；’　guffawed　Maureen。　‘Making　out　she　enjoyed　art。　I　suppose　that’s　what　she　calls　graffiti…ing　the　desks。’

Howard　laughed。　As　an　excuse　to　turn　her　back；　Shirley　picked　up　Andrew　Price’s　spare　EpiPen　from　the　counter；　which　Ruth　had　dropped　into　the　delicatessen　that　morning。　Shirley　had　looked　up　EpiPens　on　her　favourite　medical　website；　and　felt　fully　petent　to　explain　how　adrenalin　worked。　Nobody　asked；　though；　so　she　put　the　small　white　tube　away　in　the　cupboard　and　closed　the　door　as　noisily　as　she　could　to　try　and　disrupt　Maureen’s　further　witticisms。

The　phone　in　Howard’s　huge　hand　rang。

‘Yes；　hello？　Oh；　Miles；　yes　…　yes；　we　know　all　about　it　…　Mum　saw　it　this　morning　…’　He　laughed。　‘Yes；　she’s　taken　it　down　…　I　don’t　know　…　I　think　it　was　posted　yesterday　…　Oh；　I　wouldn’t　say　that　…　we’ve　all　known　about　Bends…Your…Ear　for　years　…’

But　Howard’s　jocularity　faded　as　Miles　talked。　After　a　while　he　said；　‘Ah　…　yes；　I　see。　Yes。　No；　I　hadn’t　considered　it　from　…　perhaps　we　should　get　someone　to　have　a　look　at　security　…’

The　sound　of　a　car　in　the　darkening　square　outside　went　virtually　unremarked　by　the　three　in　the　delicatessen；　but　its　driver　noticed　the　enormous　shadow　of　Howard　Mollison　moving　behind　the　cream　blinds。　Gavin　put　his　foot　down；　eager　to　get　to　Mary。　She　had　sounded　desperate　on　the　telephone。

‘Who’s　doing　this？　Who’s　doing　it？　Who　hates　me　this　much？’

‘Nobody　hates　you；’　he　had　said。　‘Who　could　hate　you？　Stay　there　…　I’m　ing　over。’

He　parked　outside　the　house；　slammed　the　door　and　hurried　up　the　footpath。　She　opened　the　front　door　before　he　had　even　knocked。　Her　eyes　were　puffy　with　tears　again；　and　she　was　wearing　a　floor…length　woollen　dressing　gown　that　dwarfed　her。　It　was　not　at　all　seductive；　the　very　antithesis　of　Kay’s　scarlet　kimono；　but　its　homeliness；　its　very　shabbiness；　represented　a　new　level　of　intimacy。

Mary’s　four　children　were　all　in　the　sitting　room。　Mary　gestured　him　through　into　the　kitchen。

‘Do　they　know？’　he　asked　her。

‘Fergus　does。　Somebody　at　school　told　him。　I’ve　asked　him　not　to　tell　the　others。　Honestly；　Gavin　…　I’m　about　at　the　end　of　my　tether。　The　spite—’

‘It　isn’t　true；’　he　said；　and　then；　his　curiosity　getting　the　better　of　him；　‘is　it？’

‘No！’　she　said；　outraged。　‘I　mean　…　I　don’t　know　…　I　don’t　really　know　her。　But　to　make　him　talk　like　that　…　putting　the　words　in　his　mouth　…　don’t　they　care　what　it’s　like　for　me？’

She　dissolved　into　tears　again。　He　felt　that　he　shouldn’t　hug　her　while　she　was　wearing　her　dressing　gown；　and　was　glad　that　he　had　not；　when　eighteen…year…old　Fergus　entered　the　kitchen　a　moment　later。

‘Hey；　Gav。’

The　boy　looked　tired；　older　than　his　years。　Gavin　watched　him　put　an　arm　around　Mary　and　saw　her　lean　her　head　against　his　shoulder；　mopping　her　eyes　on　her　baggy　sleeve　like　a　child。

‘I　don’t　think　it　was　the　same　person；’　Fergus　told　them；　without　preamble。　‘I’ve　been　looking　at　it　again。　The　style　of　the　message　is　different。’

He　had　it　on　his　mobile　phone；　and　began　to　read　aloud：

‘“Parish　Councillor　Dr　Parminder　Jawanda；　who　pretends　to　be　so　keen　on　looking　after　the　poor　and　needy　of　the　area；　has　always　had　a　secret　motive。　Until　I　died—”’

‘Fergus；　don’t；’　said　Mary；　slumping　down　at　the　kitchen　table。　‘I　can’t　take　it。　I　honestly　can’t。　And　his　article　in　the　paper　today　too。’

As　she　covered　her　face　with　her　hands　and　sobbed　silently；　Gavin　noticed　the　Yarvil　and　District　Gazette　lying　there。　He　never　read　it。　Without　asking　or　offering；　he　moved　across　to　the　cupboard　to　make　her　a　drink。

‘Thanks；　Gav；’　she　said　thickly；　when　he　pushed　the　glass　into　her　hand。

‘It　might　be　Howard　Mollison；’　suggested　Gavin；　sitting　down　beside　her。　‘From　what　Barry　said　about　him。’

‘I　don’t　think　so；’　said　Mary；　dabbing　at　her　eyes。　‘It’s　so　crude。　He　never　did　anything　like　that　when　Barry　was　–’　she　hiccuped　‘–　alive。’　And　then　she　snapped　at　her　son；　‘Throw　that　paper　away；　Fergus。’

The　boy　looked　confused　and　hurt。

‘It’s　got　Dad’s—’

‘Throw　it　away！’　said　Mary；　with　an　edge　of　hysteria　in　her　voice。　‘I　can　read　it　off　the　puter　if　I　want　to；　the　last　thing　he　ever　did　–　on　our　anniversary！’

Fergus　took　the　newspaper　off　the　table　and　stood　for　a　moment　watching　his　mother；　who　had　buried　her　face　in　her　hands　again。　Then；　with　a　glance　at　Gavin；　he　walked　out　of　the　room　still　holding　the　Gazette。

After　a　while；　when　Gavin　judged　that　Fergus　was　not　ing　back；　he　put　out　a　consoling　hand　and　rubbed　Mary’s　arm。　They　sat　in　silence　for　some　time；　and　Gavin　felt　much　happier　with　the　newspaper　gone　from　the　table。

II
Parminder　was　not　supposed　to　be　working　the　next　morning；　but　she　had　a　meeting　in　Yarvil。　Once　the　children　had　left　for　school　she　moved　methodically　around　the　house；　making　sure　that　she　had　everything　she　needed；　but　when　the　telephone　rang；　she　jumped　so　much　that　she　dropped　her　bag。

‘Yes？’　she　yelped；　sounding　almost　frightened。　Tessa；　on　the　other　end　of　the　line；　was　taken　aback。

‘Minda；　it’s　me　–　are　you　all　right？’

‘Yes　–　yes　–　the　phone　made　me　jump；’　said　Parminder；　looking　at　the　kitchen　floor　now　littered　with　keys；　papers；　loose　change　and　tampons。　‘What　is　it？’

‘Nothing　really；’　said　Tessa。　‘Just　calling　for　a　chat。　See　how　you　are。’

The　subject　of　the　anonymous　post　hung　between　them　like　some　jeering　monster；　dangling　from　the　line。　Parminder　had　barely　allowed　Tessa　to　talk　about　it　during　yesterday’s　call。　She　had　shouted；　‘It’s　a　lie；　a　filthy　lie；　and　don’t　tell　me　Howard　Mollison　didn’t　do　it！’

Tessa　had　not　dared　pursue　the　subject。

‘I　can’t　talk；’　said　Parminder。　‘I’ve　got　a　meeting　in　Yarvil。　A　case　review　for　a　little　boy　on　the　at…risk　register。’

‘Oh；　right。　Sorry。　Maybe　later？’

‘Yes；’　said　Parminder。　‘Great。　Goodbye。’

She　scooped　up　the　contents　of　her　bag　and　hurried　from　the　house；　running　back　from　the　garden　gate　to　check　that　she　had　closed　the　front　door　properly。

Every　so　often；　as　she　drove；　she　realized　that　she　had　no　recollection　of　travelling　the　last　mile；　and　told　herself　fiercely　to　concentrate。　But　the　malicious　words　of　the　anonymous　post　kept　ing　back　to　her。　She　already　knew　them　by　heart。

Parish　Councillor　Dr　Parminder　Jawanda；　who　pretends　to　be　so　keen　on　looking　after　the　poor　and　needy　of　the　area；　has　always　had　a　secret　motive。　Until　I　died；　she　was　in　love　with　me；　which　she　could　barely　hide　whenever　she　laid　eyes　on　me；　and　she　would　vote　however　I　told　her　to；　whenever　there　was　a　council　meeting。　Now　that　I　am　gone；　she　will　be　useless　as　a　councillor；　because　she　has　lost　her　brain。

She　had　first　seen　it　the　previous　morning；　when　she　opened　up　the　council　website　to　check　the　minutes　of　the　last　meeting。　The　shock　had　been　almost　physical；　her　breathing　had　bee　very　fast　and　shallow；　as　it　had　been　during　the　most　excruciating　parts　of　childbirth；　when　she　had　tried　to　lift　herself　over　the　pain；　to　disengage　from　the　agonizing　present。

Everyone　would　know　by　now。　There　was　nowhere　to　hide。

The　oddest　thoughts　kept　ing　to　her。　For　instance；　what　her　grandmother　would　have　said　if　she　had　known　that　Parminder　had　been　accused　of　loving　another　woman’s　husband；　and　a　gora　to　boot；　in　a　public　forum。　She　could　almost　see　bebe　covering　her　face　with　a　fold　of　her　sari；　shaking　her　head；　rocking　backwards　and　forwards　as　she　had　always　done　when　a　harsh　blow　had　hit　the　family。

‘Some　husbands；’　Vikram　had　said　to　her　late　last　night；　with　a　strange　new　twist　to　his　sardonic　smile；　‘might　want　to　know　whether　it　was　true。’

‘Of　course　it　isn’t　true！’　Parminder　had　said；　with　her　own　shaking　hand　over　her　mouth。　‘How　can　you　ask　me　that？　Of　course　it　isn’t！　You　knew　him！　He　was　my　friend　–　just　a　friend！’

She　was　already　passing　the　Bellchapel　Addiction　Clinic。　How　had　she　travelled　so　far；　without　realizing　it？　She　was　being　a　dangerous　driver。　She　was　not　paying　attention。

She　remembered　the　evening　that　she　and　Vikram　had　gone　to　the　restaurant；　nearly　twenty　years　ago；　the　night　they　had　agreed　to　marry。　She　had　told　him　about　all　the　fuss　the　family　had　made　when　she　had　walked　home　with　Stephen　Hoyle；　and　he　had　agreed　how　silly　it　was。　He　had　understood　then。　But　he　did　not　understand　when　it　was　Howard　Mollison　who　accused　her　instead　of　her　own　hidebound　relatives。　Apparently　he　did　not　realise　that　goras　could　be　narrow；　and　untruthful；　and　full　of　malice　…

She　had　missed　the　turning。　She　must　concentrate。　She　must　pay　attention。

‘Am　I　late？’　she　called；　as　she　hurried　at　last　across　the　car　park　towards　Kay　Bawden。　She　had　met　the　social　worker　once　before；　when　she　had　e　in　for　a　renewal　of　her　prescription　for　the　pill。

‘Not　at　all；’　said　Kay。　‘I　thought　I’d　show　you　up　to　the　office；　because　it’s　a　rabbit　warren　in　here　…’

Kay　led　her　down　a　shabby；　deserted　institutional　corridor　into　a　meeting　room。　Three　more　women　were　already　sitting　there；　they　greeted　Parminder　with　smiles。

‘This　is　Nina；　who　works　with　Robbie’s　mother　at　Bellchapel；’　said　Kay；　sitting　down　with　her　ba