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‘Is　everything　all　right？’　he　asked；　closing　the　door　behind　her；　looking　wary。

‘Yes；　fine；’　she　said。　‘I　thought　you　might　like　to　walk　down　the　church　hall　with　me；　to　vote。’

‘I　–　no；’　he　said　weakly。　‘I’m　sorry。’

‘I　know　how　you　feel；　Colin；’　said　Parminder；　in　a　small　tight　voice。　‘But　if　you　don’t　vote；　it　means　they’ve　won。　I’m　not　going　to　let　them　win。　I’m　going　to　go　down　there　and　vote　for　you；　and　I　want　you　to　e　with　me。’

Parminder　was　effectively　suspended　from　work。　The　Mollisons　had　plained　to　every　professional　body　for　which　they　could　find　an　address；　and　Dr　Crawford　had　advised　Parminder　to　take　time　off。　To　her　great　surprise；　she　felt　strangely　liberated。

But　Colin　was　shaking　his　head。　She　thought　she　saw　tears　in　his　eyes。

‘I　can’t；　Minda。’

‘You　can！’　she　said。　‘You　can；　Colin！　You’ve　got　to　stand　up　to　them！　Think　of　Barry！’

‘I　can’t　–　I’m　sorry　–　I　…’

He　made　a　choking　noise　and　burst　into　tears。　Colin　had　cried　in　her　surgery　before　now；　sobbed　in　desperation　at　the　burden　of　fear　he　carried　with　him　every　day　of　his　life。

‘e　on；’　she　said；　unembarrassed；　and　she　took　his　arm　and　steered　him　through　to　the　kitchen；　where　she　handed　him　kitchen　roll　and　let　him　sob　himself　into　hiccups　again。　‘Where’s　Tessa？’

‘At　work；’　he　gasped；　mopping　his　eyes。

There　was　an　invitation　to　Howard　Mollison’s　sixty…fifth　birthday　party　lying　on　the　kitchen　table；　somebody　had　torn　it　neatly　in　two。

‘I　got　one　of　those；　as　well；’　said　Parminder。　‘Before　I　shouted　at　him。　Listen；　Colin。　Voting—’

‘I　can’t；’　whispered　Colin。

‘—shows　them　they　haven’t　beaten　us。’

‘But　they　have；’　said　Colin。

Parminder　burst　out　laughing。　After　contemplating　her　with　his　mouth　open　for　a　moment；　Colin　started　to　laugh　too：　a　big；　booming　guffaw；　like　the　bark　of　a　mastiff。

‘All　right；　they’ve　run　us　out　of　our　jobs；’　said　Parminder；　‘and　neither　of　us　wants　to　leave　the　house　but；　other　than　that；　I　think　we’re　in　very　good　shape　indeed。’

Colin　took　off　his　glasses　and　dabbed　his　wet　eyes；　grinning。

‘e　on；　Colin。　I　want　to　vote　for　you。　It　isn’t　over　yet。　After　I　blew　my　top；　and　told　Howard　Mollison　he　was　no　better　than　a　junkie　in　front　of　the　whole　council　and　the　local　press—’

He　burst　out　laughing　again　and　she　was　delighted；　she　had　not　heard　him　laugh　so　much　since　New　Year；　and　then　it　had　been　Barry　making　him　do　it。

‘—they　forgot　to　vote　on　forcing　the　addiction　clinic　out　of　Bellchapel。　So；　please。　Get　your　coat。　We’ll　walk　down　there　together。’

Colin’s　snorts　and　giggles　died　away。　He　stared　down　at　the　big　hands　fumbled　over　each　other；　as　if　he　were　washing　them　clean。

‘Colin；　it’s　not　over。　You’ve　made　a　difference。　People　don’t　like　the　Mollisons。　If　you　get　in；　we’d　be　in　a　much　stronger　position　to　fight。　Please；　Colin。’

‘All　right；’　he　said；　after　a　few　moments；　awed　by　his　own　daring。

It　was　a　short　walk；　in　the　fresh　clean　air；　each　of　them　clutching　their　voter　registration　cards。　The　church　hall　was　empty　of　voters　apart　from　themselves。　Each　put　a　thick　pencil　cross　beside　Colin’s　name　and　left　with　the　sense　that　they　had　got　away　with　something。

Miles　Mollison　did　not　vote　until　midday。　He　paused　at　his　partner’s　door　on　the　way　out。

‘I’m　off　to　vote；　Gav；’　he　said。

Gavin　indicated　the　telephone　pressed　against　his　ear；　he　was　on　hold　with　Mary’s　insurance　pany。

‘Oh　–　right　–　I’m　off　to　vote；　Shona；’　said　Miles；　turning　to　their　secretary。

There　was　no　harm　in　reminding　them　both　that　he　was　in　need　of　their　support。　Miles　jogged　downstairs　and　proceeded　to　the　Copper　Kettle；　where；　during　a　brief　post…coital　chat；　he　had　arranged　to　meet　his　wife　so　that　they　could　go　down　to　the　church　hall　together。

Samantha　had　spent　the　morning　at　home；　leaving　her　assistant　in　charge　at　the　shop。　She　knew　that　she　could　no　longer　put　off　telling　Carly　that　they　were　out　of　business；　and　that　Carly　was　out　of　a　job；　but　she　could　not　bring　herself　to　do　it　before　the　weekend　and　the　concert　in　London。　When　Miles　appeared；　and　she　saw　his　excited　little　grin；　she　experienced　a　rush　of　fury。

‘Dad　not　ing？’　were　his　first　words。

‘They’re　going　down　after　closing　time；’　said　Samantha。

There　were　two　old　ladies　in　the　voting　booths　when　she　and　Miles　got　there。　Samantha　waited；　looking　at　the　backs　of　their　iron…grey　perms；　their　thick　coats　and　their　thicker　ankles。　That　was　how　she　would　look　one　day。　The　more　crooked　of　the　two　old　women　noticed　Miles　as　they　left；　beamed；　and　said；　‘I’ve　just　voted　for　you！’

‘Well；　thank　you　very　much！’　said　Miles；　delighted。

Samantha　entered　the　booth　and　stared　down　at　the　two　names：　Miles　Mollison　and　Colin　Wall；　the　pencil；　tied　to　the　end　of　a　piece　of　string；　in　her　hand。　Then　she　scribbled　‘I　hate　bloody　Pagford’　across　the　paper；　folded　it　over；　crossed　to　the　ballot　box　and　dropped　it；　unsmiling；　through　the　slot。

‘Thanks；　love；’　said　Miles　quietly；　with　a　pat　on　her　back。

Tessa　Wall；　who　had　never　failed　to　vote　in　an　election　before；　drove　past　the　church　hall　on　her　way　back　home　from　school　and　did　not　stop。　Ruth　and　Simon　Price　spent　the　day　talking　more　seriously　than　ever　about　the　possibility　of　moving　to　Reading。　Ruth　threw　out　their　voter　registration　cards　while　clearing　the　kitchen　table　for　supper。

Gavin　had　never　intended　to　vote；　if　Barry　had　been　alive　to　stand；　he　might　have　done　so；　but　he　had　no　desire　to　help　Miles　achieve　another　of　his　life’s　goals。　At　half…past　five　he　packed　up　his　briefcase；　irritable　and　depressed；　because　he　had　finally　run　out　of　excuses　not　to　have　dinner　at　Kay’s。　It　was　particularly　irksome；　because　there　were　hopeful　signs　that　the　insurance　pany　was　shifting　in　Mary’s　favour；　and　he　had　very　much　wanted　to　go　over　and　tell　her　so。　This　meant　that　he　would　have　to　store　up　the　news　until　tomorrow；　he　did　not　want　to　waste　it　on　the　telephone。

When　Kay　opened　the　door　to　him；　she　launched　at　once　into　the　rapid；　quick…fire　talk　that　usually　meant　she　was　in　a　bad　mood。

‘Sorry；　it’s　been　a　dreadful　day；’　she　said；　although　he　had　not　plained；　and　they　had　barely　exchanged　greetings。　‘I　was　late　back；　I　meant　to　be　further　on　with　dinner；　e　through。’

From　upstairs　came　the　insistent　crash　of　drums　and　a　loud　bass　line。　Gavin　was　surprised　that　the　neighbours　were　not　plaining。　Kay　saw　him　glance　up　at　the　ceiling　and　said；　‘Oh；　Gaia’s　furious　because　some　boy　she　liked　back　in　Hackney　has　started　going　out　with　another　girl。’

She　seized　the　glass　of　wine　she　was　already　drinking　and　took　a　big　gulp。　Her　conscience　had　hurt　her　when　she　called　Marco　de　Luca　‘some　boy’。　He　had　virtually　moved　into　their　house　in　the　weeks　before　they　had　left　London。　Kay　had　found　him　charming；　considerate　and　helpful。　She　would　have　liked　a　son　like　Marco。

‘She’ll　live；’　said　Kay；　pushing　the　memories　away；　and　she　returned　to　the　potatoes　she　was　boiling。　‘She’s　sixteen。　You　bounce　at　that　age。　Help　yourself　to　wine。’

Gavin　sat　down　at　the　table；　wishing　that　Kay　would　make　Gaia　turn　the　music　down。　She　had　virtually　to　shout　at　him　over　the　vibration　of　the　bass；　the　rattling　saucepan　lids　and　the　noisy　extractor　fan。　He　yearned　again　for　the　melancholy　calm　of　Mary’s　big　kitchen；　for　Mary’s　gratitude；　her　need　for　him。

‘What？’　he　said　loudly；　because　he　could　tell　that　Kay　had　just　asked　him　something。

‘I　said；　did　you　vote？’

‘Vote？’

‘In　the　council　election！’　she　said。

‘No；’　he　replied。　‘Couldn’t　care　less。’

He　was　not　sure　whether　she　had　heard。　She　was　talking　again；　and　only　when　she　turned　to　the　table　with　knives　and　forks　could　he　hear　her　clearly。

‘…　absolutely　disgusting；　actually；　that　the　parish　is　colluding　with　Aubrey　Fawley。　I　expect　Bellchapel　will　be　finished　if　Miles　gets　in　…’

She　drained　the　potatoes　and　the　splatter　and　crash　drowned　her　temporarily　again。

‘…　if　that　silly　woman　hadn’t　lost　her　temper；　we　might　be　in　with　a　better　shot。　I　gave　her　masses　of　stuff　on　the　clinic　and　I　don’t　think　she　used　any　of　it。　She　just　screamed　at　Howard　Mollison　that　he　was　too　fat。　Talk　about　unprofessional　…’

Gavin　had　heard　rumours　about　Dr　Jawanda’s　public　outburst。　He　had　found　it　mildly　amusing。

‘…　all　this　uncertainty’s　very　damaging　to　the　people　who　work　at　that　clinic；　not　to　mention　the　clients。’

But　Gavin　could　muster　neither　pity　nor　indignation；　all　he　felt　was　dismay　at　the　firm　grip　Kay　seemed　to　have　on　the　intricacies　and　personalities　involved　in　this　esoteric　local　issue。　It　was　yet　another　indication　of　how　she　was　driving　roots　deeper　and　deeper　into　Pagford。　It　would　take　a　lot　to　dislodge　her　now。

He　turned　his　head　and　gazed　out　of　the　window　onto　the　overgrown　garden　beyond。　He　had　offered　to　help　Fergus　with　Mary’s　garden　this　weekend。　With　luck；　he　thought；　Mary　would　invite　him　to　stay　for　dinner　again；　and　if　she　did；　he　would　skip　Howard　Mollison’s　sixty…fifth　birthday　party；　to　which　Miles　seemed　to　think　he　was　looking　forward　with　excitement。

‘…　wanted　to　keep　the　Weedons；　but　no；　Gillian　says　we　can’t　cherry…pick。　Would　you　call　that　cherry…picking？’

‘Sorry；　what？’　asked　Gavin。

‘Mattie’s　back；’　she　said；　and　he　had　to　struggle　to　recollect　that　this　was　a　colleague　of　hers；　whose　cases　she　had　been　covering。　‘I　wanted　to　keep　working　with　the　Weedons；　because　sometimes　you　do　get　a　particular　feeling　for　a　family；　but　Gillian　won’t　let　me。　It’s　crazy。’

‘You　must　be　the　only　person　in　the　world　who　ever　wanted　to　keep　the　Weedons；’　said　Gavin。　‘From　what　I’ve　heard；　anyway。’

It　took　nearly　all　Kay’s　willpower　not　to　snap　at　him。　She　pulled　the　salmon　fillets　she　had　been　baking　out　of　the　oven。　Gaia’s　music　was　so　loud　that　she　could　feel　it　vibrating　through　the　tray；　which　she　slammed　down　on　the　hob。

‘Gaia！’　she　screamed；　making　Gavin　jump　as　she　strode　past　him　to　the　foot　of　the　stairs。　‘GAIA！　Turn　it　down！　I　mean　it！　TURN　IT　DOWN！’

The　volume　diminished　by　perhaps　a　decibel。　Kay　marched　back　into　the　kitchen；　fuming。　The　row　with　Gaia；　before　Gavin　arrived；　had　been　one　of　their　worst　ever。　Gaia　had　stated　her　intention　of　telephoning　her　father　and　asking　to　move　in　with　him。

‘Well；　good　luck　with　that！’　Kay　had　shouted。

But　perhaps　Brendan　would　say　yes。　He　had　left　her　when　Gaia　was　only　a　month　old。　Brendan　was　married　now；　with　three　other　children。　He　had　a　huge　house　and　a　good　job。　What　if　he　said　yes？

Gavin　was　glad　that　he　did　not　have　to　talk　as　they　ate；　the　thumping　music　filled　the　silence；　and　he　could　think　about　Mary　in　peace。　He　would　tell　her　tomorrow　that　the　insurance　pany　was　making　conciliatory　noises；　and　receive　her　gratitude　and　admiration　…

He　had　almost　cleared　his　plate　when　he　realized　that　Kay　had　not　eaten　a　single　mouthful。　She　was　staring　at　him　across　the　table；　and　her　expression　alarmed　him。　Perhaps　he　had　somehow　revealed　his　inner　thoughts　…

Gaia’s　music　came　to　an　abrupt　halt　overhead。　The　throbbing　quiet　was　dreadful　to　Gavin；　he　wished　that　Gaia　would　put　something　else　on；　quickly。

‘You　don’t　even　try；’　Kay　said　miserably。　‘You　don’t　even　pretend　to　care；　Gavin。’

He　attempted　to　take　the　easy　way　out。

‘Kay；　I’ve　had　a　long　day；’　he　said。　‘I’m　sorry　if　I’m　not　up　to　the　minutiae　of　local　politics　the　second　I　walk—’

‘I’m　not　talking　about　local　politics；’　she　said。　‘You　sit　there　looking　as　if　you’d　rather　be　anywhere　else　–　it’s　–　it’s　offensive。　What　do　you　want；　Gavin？’

He　saw　Mary’s　kitchen；　and　her　sweet　face。

‘I　have　to　beg　to　see　you；’　Kay　said；　‘and　when　you　e　round　here　you　couldn’t　make　it　clearer　that　you　don’t　want　to　e。’

She　wanted　him　to　say　‘that’s　not　true’。　The　last　point　at　which　a　denial　might　have　counted　slunk　past。　They　were　sliding；　at　increasing　speed；　towards　that　crisis　which　Gavin　both　urgently　desired　and　dreaded。

‘Tell　me　what　you　want；’　she　said　wearily。　‘Just　tell　me。’

Both　could　feel　the　relationship　crumbling　to　pieces　beneath　the　weight　of　everything　that　Gavin　refused　to　say。　It　was　with　a　sense　of　p