The Casual Vacancy Read Online Free Page B

his vague plans for loosening the ties, he had involuntarily tightened them. After she had fallen asleep, he had lain with one arm trapped underneath her, the damp sheet adhering unpleasantly to his thigh, on a mattress lumpy with old springs, and wished for the courage to be a bastard, to slip away and never return.
    Kay’s bathroom smelled of mold and damp sponges. A number of hairs were stuck to the side of the small bath. Paint was peeling off the walls.
    “It needs some work,” Kay had said.
    Gavin had been careful not to volunteer any help. The things he had not said to her were his talisman and safeguard; he strung them together in his mind and checked them off like beads on a rosary. He had never said “love.” He had never talked about marriage. He had never asked her to move to Pagford. And yet, here she was, and somehow, she made him feel responsible.
    His face stared back at him from out of the tarnished mirror. There were purple shadows under his eyes, and his thinning blond hair was wispy and dry. The naked bulb overhead lit the weak, goaty face with forensic cruelty.
    Thirty-four, he thought, and I look at least forty.
    He lifted the razor and delicately strafed off those two thick blond hairs that grew either side of his prominent Adam’s apple.
    Fists pummeled the bathroom door. Gavin’s hand slipped and blood dripped from his thin neck to speckle his clean white shirt.
    “Your boyfriend,” came a furious female scream, “is still in the bathroom and I am going to be late!”
    “I’ve finished!” he shouted.
    The gash stung, but what did that matter? Here was his excuse, ready-made: Look what your daughter made me do. I’ll have to go home and change my shirt before work. With an almost light heart he grabbed the tie and jacket he had hung over the hook on the back of the door, and unlocked it.
    Gaia pushed past, slammed the door behind her and rammed the lock home. Out on the tiny landing, which was thick with an unpleasant smell of burned rubber, Gavin remembered the headboard banging against the wall last night, the creaking of the cheap pine bed, Kay’s groans and yelps. It was easy to forget, sometimes, that her daughter was in the house.
    He jogged down the carpetless stairs. Kay had told him of her plans to sand and polish them, but he doubted that she would ever do it; her flat in London had been shabby and in poor repair. In any case, he was convinced that she was expecting to move in with him quite soon, but he would not allow it; that was the final bastion, and there, if forced, he would make his stand.
    “What have you done to yourself?” Kay squealed, catching sight of the blood on his shirt. She was wearing the cheap scarlet kimono that he did not like, but which suited her so well.
    “Gaia banged on the door and made me jump. I’m going to have to go home and change.”
    “Oh, but I’ve made you breakfast!” she said quickly.
    He realized that the smell of burning rubber was actually scrambled eggs. They looked anemic and overcooked.
    “I can’t, Kay, I’ve got to change this shirt, I’ve got an early —”
    She was already spooning the congealed mass onto plates.
    “Five minutes, surely you can stay five —?”
    The mobile phone in his jacket pocket buzzed loudly and he pulled it out, wondering whether he would have the nerve to pretend that it was an urgent summons.
    “Jesus Christ,” he said, in unfeigned horror.
    “What’s the matter?”
    “Barry. Barry Fairbrother! He’s…fuck, he’s…he’s dead! It’s from Miles. Jesus Christ. Jesus fucking Christ!”
    She laid down the wooden spoon.
    “Who’s Barry Fairbrother?”
    “I play squash with him. He’s only forty-four! Jesus Christ!”
    He read the text message again. Kay watched him, confused. She knew that Miles was Gavin’s partner at the solicitor’s, but had never been introduced to him. Barry Fairbrother was no more than a name to her.
    There came a thunderous banging from the stairs: Gaia was