J. Rowling - The Casual Vacancy

‘Can’t’ve been,’ said Andrew, and his voice wobbled slightly. ‘Whoever did it went after my old man, too. Couple of weeks ago.’

‘What?’ asked Gaia. ‘The same person posted something about your dad?’

He nodded, relishing her interest.

‘Something about stealing, wasn’t it?’ asked Sukhvinder, with considerable daring.

‘Yeah,’ said Andrew. ‘And he got the sack for it yesterday. So her mum,’ he met Gaia’s blinding gaze almost steadily, ‘isn’t the only one who’s suffered.’

‘Bloody hell,’ said Gaia, upending the can and throwing it into a bin. ‘People round here are effing mental.’

The post about Parminder on the council website had driven Colin Wall’s fears to a nightmarish new level. He could only guess how the Mollisons were getting their information, but if they knew that about Parminder…

‘For God’s sake, Colin!’ Tessa had said. ‘It’s just malicious gossip! There’s nothing in it!’

But Colin did not dare believe her. He was constitutionally prone to believing that others too lived with secrets that drove them half-demented. He could not even take comfort in knowing that he had spent most of his adult life in dread of calamities that had not materialized, because, by the law of averages, one of them was bound to come true one day.

He was thinking about his imminent exposure, as he thought about it constantly, while walking back from the butcher’s at half-past two, and it was not until the hubbub from the new café caught his startled attention that he realized where he was. He would have crossed to the other side of the Square if he had not been already level with the Copper Kettle’s windows; mere proximity to any Mollison frightened him now. Then he saw something through the glass that made him do a double-take.

When he entered their kitchen ten minutes later, Tessa was on the telephone to her sister. Colin deposited the leg of lamb in the fridge and marched upstairs, all the way to Fats’ loft conversion. Flinging open the door, he saw, as he had expected, a deserted room.

He could not remember the last time he had been in here. The floor was covered in dirty clothes. There was an odd smell, even though Fats had left the skylight propped open. Colin noticed a large matchbox on Fats’ desk. He slid it open, and saw a mass of twisted cardboard stubs. A packet of Rizlas lay brazenly on the desk beside the computer.

Colin’s heart seemed to have toppled down out of his chest to thump against his guts.

‘Colin?’ came Tessa’s voice, from the landing below. ‘Where are you?’

‘Up here!’ he roared.

She appeared at Fats’ door looking frightened and anxious. Wordlessly, he picked up the matchbox and showed her the contents.

‘Oh,’ said Tessa weakly.

‘He said he was going out with Andrew Price today,’ said Colin. Tessa was frightened by the muscle working in Colin’s jaw, an angry little bump moving from side to side. ‘I’ve just been past that new café in the Square, and Andrew Price is working in there, mopping tables. So where’s Stuart?’

For weeks, Tessa had been pretending to believe Fats whenever he said that he was going out with Andrew. For days she had been telling herself that Sukhvinder must be mistaken in thinking that Fats was going out (would condescend, ever, to go out) with Krystal Weedon.

‘I don’t know,’ she said. ‘Come down and have a cup of tea. I’ll ring him.’

‘I think I’ll wait here,’ said Colin, and he sat down on Fats’ unmade bed.

‘Come on, Colin – come downstairs,’ said Tessa.

She was scared of leaving him here. She did not know what he might find in the drawers or in Fats’ school bag. She did not want him to look on the computer or under the bed. Refusing to probe dark corners had become her sole modus operandi.

‘Come downstairs, Col,’ she urged him.

‘No,’ said Colin, and he crossed his arms like a mutinous child, but with that muscle working in his jaw. ‘Drugs in his bin. The son of the deputy headmaster.’

Tessa, who had sat down on Fats’ computer chair, felt a familiar thrill of anger. She knew that self-preoccupation was an inevitable consequence of his illness, but sometimes…

‘Plenty of teenagers experiment,’ she said.

‘Still defending him, are you? Doesn’t it ever occur to you that it’s your constant excuses for him that make him think he can get away with blue murder?’

She was trying to keep a curb on her temper, because she must be a buffer between them.

‘I’m sorry, Colin, but you and your job aren’t the be all and end—’

‘I see – so if I get the sack—’

‘Why on earth would you get the sack?’

‘For God’s sake!’ shouted Colin, outraged. ‘It all reflects on me – it’s already bad enough – he’s already one of the biggest problem students in the—’

‘That’s not true!’ shouted Tessa. ‘Nobody but you thinks Stuart’s anything other than a normal teenager. He’s not Dane Tully!’

‘He’s going the same way as Tully – drugs in his bin—’

‘I told you we should have sent him to Paxton High! I knew you’d make everything he did all about you, if he went to Winterdown! Is it any wonder he rebels, when his every movement is supposed to be a credit to you? I never wanted him to go to your school!’

‘And I,’ bellowed Colin, jumping to his feet, ‘never bloody wanted him at all!’

‘Don’t say that!’ gasped Tessa. ‘I know you’re angry – but don’t say that!’

The front door slammed two floors below them. Tessa looked around, frightened, as though Fats might materialize instantly beside them. It wasn’t merely the noise that had made her start. Stuart never slammed the front door; he usually slipped in and out like a shape-shifter.

His familiar tread on the stairs; did he know, or suspect they were in his room? Colin was waiting, with his fists clenched by his sides. Tessa heard the creak of the halfway step, and then Fats stood before them. She was sure he had arranged his expression in advance: a mixture of boredom and disdain.

‘Afternoon,’ he said, looking from his mother to his rigid, tense father. He had all the self-possession that Colin had never had. ‘This is a surprise.’

Desperate, Tessa tried to show him the way.

‘Dad was worried about where you are,’ she said, with a plea in her voice. ‘You said you were going to be with Arf today, but Dad saw—’

‘Yeah, change of plan,’ said Fats.

He glanced towards the place where the matchbox had been.

‘So, do you want to tell us where you’ve been?’ asked Colin. There were white patches around his mouth.

‘Yeah, if you like,’ said Fats, and he waited.

‘Stu,’ said Tessa, half whisper, half groan.

‘I’ve been out with Krystal Weedon,’ said Fats.

Oh God, no , thought Tessa. No, no, no…

‘You’ve what?’ said Colin, so taken aback that he forgot to sound aggressive.

‘I’ve been out with Krystal Weedon,’ Fats repeated, a little more loudly.

‘And since when,’ said Colin, after an infinitesimal pause, ‘has she been a friend of yours?’

‘A while,’ said Fats.

Tessa could see Colin struggling to formulate a question too grotesque to utter.

‘You should have told us, Stu,’ she said.

‘Told you what?’ he said.

She was frightened that he was going to push the argument to a dangerous place.

‘Where you were going,’ she said, standing up and trying to look matter of fact. ‘Next time, call us.’

She looked towards Colin in the hope that he might follow her lead and move towards the door. He remained fixed in the middle of the room, staring at Fats in horror.