The Casual Vacancy (41 page)

“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 traveled so far, without realizing it? She was becoming 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 realize 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 come 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…”

The building that housed Yarvil Social Services was an ugly 1970s office block. As the two women traveled up in the lift, Parminder wondered whether Kay knew about the anonymous post on the council website, or about the accusations made against her by Catherine Weedon’s family. She imagined the lift doors sliding open to reveal a line of people in suits, waiting to accuse and condemn her. Imagine if this review about Robbie Weedon’s welfare were a ruse, and it was to her own tribunal she was traveling…

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 back to the venetian-blinded windows. “And this is my supervisor Gillian, and this is Louise Harper, who oversees the Anchor Road Nursery. Dr. Parminder Jawanda, Robbie’s GP,” Kay added.

Parminder accepted coffee. The other four women began talking, without involving her.

(
Parish Councillor Dr. Parminder Jawanda, who pretends to be so keen on looking after the poor and needy of the area…

Who
pretends
to be so keen. You bastard, Howard Mollison. But he had always seen her as a hypocrite; Barry had said so.

“He thinks that because I came from the Fields, I want Pagford overrun by Yarvillians. But you’re proper professional class, so he doesn’t think you’ve got any right to be on the side of the Fields. He thinks you’re a hypocrite or making trouble for fun.”)

“…understand why the family’s registered with a GP in Pagford?” said one of the three unfamiliar social workers, whose names Parminder had already forgotten.

“Several families in the Fields are registered with us,” said Parminder at once. “But wasn’t there some trouble with the Weedons and their previous —?”

“Yeah, the Cantermill practice threw them out,” said Kay, in front of whom sat a pile of notes thicker than either of her colleagues’. “Terri assaulted a nurse there. So they’ve been registered with you, how long?”

“Nearly five years,” said Parminder, who had looked up all the details at the surgery.

(She had seen Howard in church, at Barry’s funeral, pretending to pray, with his big fat hands clasped in front of him, and the Fawleys kneeling beside him. Parminder knew what Christians were supposed to believe in.
Love thy neighbor as thyself…
if Howard had been more honest, he would have turned sideways and prayed to Aubrey…

Until I died, she was in love with me, which she could barely hide whenever she laid eyes on me…

Had she really not been able to hide it?)

“…last seen him, Parminder?” asked Kay.

“When his sister brought him in for antibiotics for an ear infection,” said Parminder. “About eight weeks ago.”

“And how was his physical condition then?” asked one of the other women.

“Well, he’s not failing to thrive,” said Parminder, withdrawing a slim sheaf of photocopied notes from her handbag. “I checked him quite thoroughly, because — well, I know the family history. He’s a good weight, although I doubt his diet’s anything to write home about. No lice or nits or anything of that description. His bottom was a bit sore, and I remember his sister said that he still wets himself sometimes.”

“They keep putting him back in nappies,” said Kay.

“But you wouldn’t,” asked the woman who had first questioned Parminder, “have any major concerns health-wise?”

“There was no sign of abuse,” said Parminder. “I remember, I took off his vest to check, and there were no bruises or other injuries.”

“There’s no man in the house,” interjected Kay.

“And this ear infection?” her supervisor prompted Parminder.

“It was a fairly run-of-the-mill bacterial infection following a virus. Nothing odd about it. Typical of kids his age.”

“So, all in all —”

“I’ve seen much worse,” said Parminder.

“You said it was the sister who brought him in, not the mother? Are you Terri’s doctor, too?”

“I don’t think we’ve seen Terri for five years,” said Parminder, and the supervisor turned to Nina instead.

“How’s she doing on methadone?”

(
Until I died
,
she was in love with me…

Parminder thought,
Perhaps it’s Shirley, or Maureen, who’s the ghost, not Howard — they would be much more likely to watch her when she was with Barry, hoping to see something with their dirty old-womanish minds…
)

“…longest she’s lasted on the program so far,” said Nina. “She’s mentioned the case review quite a lot. I get the feeling she knows that this is it, that she’s running out of chances. She doesn’t want to lose Robbie. She’s said that a few times. I’d have to say you’ve got through to her, Kay. I really do see her taking some responsibility for the situation, for the first time since I’ve known her.”

“Thank you, but I’m not going to get overexcited. The situation’s still pretty precarious.” Kay’s dampening words were at odds with her tiny irrepressible smile of satisfaction. “How are things going at nursery, Louise?”

“Well, he’s back again,” said the fourth social worker. “He’s been in full attendance for the past three weeks, which is a dramatic change. The teenage sister brings him. His clothes are too small and usually dirty, but he talks about bath and meal times at home.”

“And behaviorally?”

“He’s developmentally delayed. His language skills are very poor. He doesn’t like men coming into the nursery. When fathers turn up, he won’t go near them; he hangs around the nursery workers and becomes very anxious. And once or twice,” she said, turning a page in her notes, “he’s mimicked what are clearly sexual acts on or near little girls.”

“I don’t think, whatever we decide, there can be any question of taking him off the at-risk register,” said Kay, to a murmur of agreement.

“It sounds like everything hinges on Terri staying on your program,” said the supervisor to Nina, “and staying off the game.”

“That’s key, certainly,” Kay agreed, “but I’m concerned that even when she’s heroin-free, she doesn’t provide much mothering to Robbie. Krystal seems to be raising him, and she’s sixteen and got plenty of her own issues…”

(Parminder remembered what she had said to Sukhvinder a couple of nights previously.

Krystal Weedon! That stupid girl! Is that what being in a team with Krystal Weedon taught you — to sink to her level?

Barry had liked Krystal. He had seen things in her that were invisible to other people’s eyes.

Once, long ago, Parminder had told Barry the story of Bhai Kanhaiya, the Sikh hero who had administered to the needs of those wounded in combat, whether friend or foe. When asked why he gave aid indiscriminately, Bhai Kanhaiya had replied that the light of God shone from every soul, and that he had been unable to distinguish between them.

The light of God shone from every soul
.

She had called Krystal Weedon stupid and implied that she was low.

Barry would never have said it.

She was ashamed.)

“…when there was a great-grandmother who seemed to provide some backup in care, but —”

“She died,” said Parminder, rushing to say it before anyone else could. “Emphysema and stroke.”

“Yeah,” said Kay, still looking at her notes. “So we go back to Terri. She came out of care herself. Has she ever attended parenting classes?”

“We offer them, but she’s never been in a fit state to attend,” said the woman from the nursery.

“If she agreed to take them and actually turned up, it would be a massive step forward,” said Kay.

“If they close us down,” sighed Nina from Bellchapel, addressing Parminder, “I suppose she’ll have to come to you for her methadone.”

“I’m concerned that she wouldn’t,” said Kay, before Parminder could answer.

“What do you mean?” asked Parminder angrily.

The other women stared at her.

“Just that catching buses and remembering appointments isn’t Terri’s forte,” said Kay. “She only has to walk up the road to Bellchapel.”

“Oh,” said Parminder, mortified. “Yes. Sorry. Yes, you’re probably right.”

(She had thought that Kay was making a reference to the complaint about Catherine Weedon’s death; that she did not think Terri Weedon would trust her.

Concentrate on what they’re saying. What’s wrong with you?
)

“So, big picture,” said the supervisor, looking down at her notes. “We’ve got neglectful parenting interspersed with some adequate care.” She sighed, but there was more exasperation than sadness in the sound. “The immediate crisis is over — she’s stopped using — Robbie’s back in nursery, where we can keep a proper eye on him — and there’s no immediate concern for his safety. As Kay says, he stays on the at-risk register…I certainly think we’ll need another meeting in four weeks…”

It was another forty minutes before the meeting broke up. Kay walked Parminder back down to the car park.

“It was very good of you to come in person; most GPs send through a report.”

“It was my morning off,” said Parminder. She meant it as an explanation for her attendance, because she hated sitting at home alone with nothing to do, but Kay seemed to think that she was asking for more praise and gave it.

At Parminder’s car, Kay said, “You’re the parish councillor, aren’t you? Did Colin pass you the figures on Bellchapel I gave him?”

“Yes, he did,” said Parminder. “It would be good to have a talk about that sometime. It’s on the agenda for the next meeting.”

But when Kay had given her her number, and left, with renewed thanks, Parminder’s thoughts reverted to Barry, the Ghost and the Mollisons. She was driving through the Fields when the simple thought that she had tried to bury, to drown out, slipped past her lowered defenses at last.

Perhaps I did love him.

III

Andrew had spent hours deciding which clothes he ought to wear for his first day’s work at the Copper Kettle. His final choice was draped over the back of the chair in his bedroom. A particularly angry acne pustule had chosen to bring itself to a shiny tight peak on his left cheek, and Andrew had gone so far as to experiment with Ruth’s foundation, which he had sneaked out of her dressing-table drawer.

He was laying the kitchen table on Friday evening, his mind full of Gaia and the seven solid hours of close proximity to her that were within touching distance, when his father returned from work in a state that Andrew had never seen before. Simon seemed subdued, almost disoriented.

“Where’s your mother?”

Ruth came bustling out of the walk-in pantry.

“Hello Si-Pie! How — what’s wrong?”

“They’ve made me redundant.”

Ruth clapped her hands to her face in horror, then dashed to her husband, threw her arms around his neck and drew him close.

“Why?” she whispered.

“That message,” said Simon. “On that fucking website. They pulled in Jim and Tommy too. It was take redundancy or we’ll sack you. And it’s a shitty deal. It’s not even what they gave Brian Grant.”

Andrew stood perfectly still, calcifying slowly into a monument of guilt.

“Fuck,” said Simon, into Ruth’s shoulder.

“You’ll get something else,” she whispered.

“Not round here,” said Simon.

He sat down at a kitchen chair, still in his coat, and stared across the room, apparently too stunned to speak. Ruth hovered around him, dismayed, affectionate and tearful. Andrew was glad to detect in Simon’s catatonic gaze a whiff of his usual ham theatrics. It made him feel slightly less guilty. He continued to lay the table without saying a word.

Dinner was a subdued affair. Paul, apprised of the family news, looked terrified, as though his father might accuse him of causing it all. Simon acted like a Christian martyr through the first course, wounded but dignified in the face of unwarranted persecution, but then — “I’ll pay someone to punch the fucker’s fat face through the back of his neck,” he burst out as he spooned apple crumble into himself; and the family knew that he meant Howard Mollison.

“You know, there’s been another message on that council website,” said Ruth breathlessly. “It’s not only you who’s had it, Si. Shir — somebody told me at work. The same person — The Ghost of Barry Fairbrother — has put up something horrible about Dr. Jawanda. So Howard and Shirley got someone in to look at the site, and he realized that whoever’s doing these messages has been using Barry Fairbrother’s log-in details, so to be safe, they’ve taken them off the — the database or something —”

“And will any of this get me my fucking job back?”

Ruth did not speak again for several minutes.

Andrew was unnerved by what his mother had said. It was worrying that The_Ghost_of_Barry_Fairbrother was being investigated, and unnerving that somebody else had followed his lead.

Who else would have thought of using Barry Fairbrother’s log-in details but Fats? Yet why would Fats go for Dr. Jawanda? Or was it just another way of getting at Sukhvinder? Andrew did not like it at all…