ou’ll meet someone else。’
‘At forty;’ sobbed Mary; ‘with four children …’
‘Plenty of men;’ he began; but that was no good; he would rather she did not think she had too many options。 ‘The right man;’ he corrected himself; ‘won’t care that you’ve got kids。 Anyway; they’re such nice kids … anyone would be glad to take them on。’
‘Oh; Gavin; you’re so sweet;’ she said; dabbing her eyes again。
He put his arm around her; and she did not shrug it off。 They stood without speaking while she blew her nose; and then he felt her tense to move away; and he said; ‘Mary …’
‘What?’
‘I’ve got to – Mary; I think I’m in love with you。’
He knew for a few seconds the glorious pride of the skydiver who pushes off firm floor into limitless space。
Then she pulled away。
‘Gavin。 I—’
‘I’m sorry;’ he said; observing with alarm her repulsed expression。 ‘I wanted you to hear it from me。 I told Kay that’s why I wanted to split up; and I was scared you’d hear it from someone else。 I wouldn’t have said anything for months。 Years;’ he added; trying to bring back her smile and the mood in which she found him sweet。
But Mary was shaking her head; arms folded over her thin chest。
‘Gavin; I never; ever—’
‘Forget I said anything;’ he said foolishly。 ‘Let’s just forget it。’
‘I thought you understood;’ she said。
He gathered that he should have known that she was encased in the invisible armour of grief; and that it ought to have protected her。
‘I do understand;’ he lied。 ‘I wouldn’t have told you; only—’
‘Barry always said you fancied me;’ said Mary。
‘I didn’t;’ he said frantically。
‘Gavin; I think you’re such a nice man;’ she said breathlessly。 ‘But I don’t – I mean; even if—’
‘No;’ he said loudly; trying to drown her out。 ‘I understand。 Listen; I’m going to go。’
‘There’s no need …’
But he almost hated her now。 He had heard what she was trying to say: even if I weren’t grieving for my husband; I wouldn’t want you。
His visit had been so brief that when Mary; slightly shaky; poured away his coffee it was still hot。
XI
Howard had told Shirley that he did not feel well; that he thought he had better stay in bed and rest; and that the Copper Kettle could run without him for an afternoon。
‘I’ll call Mo;’ he said。
‘No; I’ll call her;’ said Shirley sharply。
As she closed the bedroom door on him; Shirley thought; He’s using his heart。
He had said; ‘Don’t be silly; Shirl’; and then; ‘It’s rubbish; bloody rubbish’; and she had not pressed him。 Years of genteel avoidance of grisly topics (Shirley had been literally struck dumb when twenty…three…year…old Patricia had said: ‘I’m gay; Mum。’) seemed to have muzzled something inside her。
The doorbell rang。 Lexie said; ‘Dad told me to e round here。 He and Mum have got something to do。 Where’s Grandad?’
‘In bed;’ said Shirley。 ‘He overdid it a bit last night。’
‘It was a good party; wasn’t it?’ said Lexie。
‘Yes; lovely;’ said Shirley; with a tempest building inside her。
After a while; her granddaughter’s prattling wore Shirley down。
‘Let’s have lunch at the café;’ she suggested。 ‘Howard;’ she called through the closed bedroom door; ‘I’m taking Lexie for lunch at the Copper Kettle。’
He sounded worried; and she was glad。 She was not afraid of Maureen。 She would look Maureen right in the face …
But it occurred to Shirley; as she walked; that Howard might have telephoned Maureen the moment she had left the bungalow。 She was so stupid … somehow; she had thought that; in calling Maureen herself about Howard’s illness; she had stopped them municating … she was forgetting …
The familiar; well…loved streets seemed different; strange。 She had taken a regular inventory of the window she presented to this lovely little world: wife and mother; hospital volunteer; secretary to the Parish Council; First Citizeness; and Pagford had been her mirror; reflecting; in its polite respect; her value and her worth。 But the Ghost had taken a rubber stamp and smeared across the pristine surface of her life a revelation that would nullify it all: ‘her husband was sleeping with his business partner; and she never knew …’
It would be all that anyone said; when she was mentioned; all that they ever remembered about her。
She pushed open the door of the café; the bell tinkled; and Lexie said; ‘There’s Peanut Price。’
‘Howard all right?’ croaked Maureen。
‘Just tired;’ said Shirley; moving smoothly to a table and sitting down; her heart beating so fast that she wondered whether she might have a coronary herself。
‘Tell him neither of the girls has turned up;’ said Maureen crossly; lingering by their table; ‘and neither of them bothered to call in either。 It’s lucky we’re not busy。’
Lexie went to the counter to talk to Andrew; who had been put on waiter duty。 Conscious of her unusual solitude; as she sat alone at the table; Shirley remembered Mary Fairbrother; erect and gaunt at Barry’s funeral; widowhood draped around her like a queen’s train; the pity; the admiration。 In losing her husband; Mary had bee the silent passive recipient of admiration; whereas she; shackled to a man who had betrayed her; was cloaked in grubbiness; a target of derision …
(Long ago; in Yarvil; men had subjected Shirley to smutty jokes because of her mother’s reputation; even though she; Shirley; had been as pure as it was possible to be。)
‘Grandad’s feeling ill;’ Lexie was telling Andrew。 ‘What’s in those cakes?’
He bent down behind the counter; hiding his red face。
I snogged your mum。
Andrew had almost skived off work。 He had been afraid that Howard might sack him on the spot for kissing his daughter…in…law; and was downright terrified that Miles Mollison might storm in; looking for him。 At the same time; he was not so naive that he did not know that Samantha; who must; he thought ruthlessly; be well over forty; would figure as the villain of the piece。 His defence was simple。 ‘She was pissed and she grabbed me。’
There was a tiny glimmer of pride in his embarrassment。 He had been anxious to see Gai
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