The Vacant Casualty Read Online Free

jumped from his chair and sang
‘LALALALALA’ at the top of his voice, then when everything was under control threw himself back into his seat and hummed tunefully as though it had all been part of the song that was
playing in his head. The major was quietened, and a very uneasy silence descended on the room.
    Sam looked left and right, awkwardly, and scanned for an exit closer than the door he had come in through. He wondered if they had wicker men in this part of the world. He looked at Bradley, who
was sitting back in his chair, with one leg over the other, his foot swinging happily as though nothing had happened.
    ‘I don’t know what the major refers to,’ said Lord Selvington stiffly. ‘But to put it baldly, yes, there are lots of misguided tourists in the town who are looking for
the private home of a very famous author. Of course, we know this is nonsense . . .’
    As he said this, he could not help but cast a quick and meaningful glance towards the tall window to his left. Neither could the rest of the council – their eyes travelled as one to the
view of the crest of the hill, topped by a tasteful detached house in pale stone, surrounded on each side by stands of trees, silhouetted by the bright afternoon sky and framed perfectly by the bay
window. Their eyes all lingered on this charming scene for a moment too long, before drifting distractedly back to the business at hand.
    ‘. . . Er . . . Nonsense . . .’ said Lord Selvington. ‘As I said. There is absolutely no world-famous author of a series of fantasy novels that have been turned into major
motion pictures, trying to live her private life (to which she is perfectly entitled) anywhere near here. And I’d say that to anyone. Er, please,’ he said, mopping his brow nervously,
‘what’s next on the agenda?’
    A lady on the other side of the table, the only member of the council unmoved by the distraction owing to her furious concentration on the minutes, peered down through her glasses and said:
    ‘Point three. Application by author Stephenie Meyer to build a huge mansion on the top of the hill.’
    ‘Oh, bloody hell,’ said Selvington. ‘Not another one. No, no!’
    The others seemed to join in with this sentiment, and the matter was quickly voted down.
    ‘Next,’ said the severe-looking lady with glasses. Then she blinked, and refused to read the minute out loud, passing it instead along the line to Lord Selvington.
    ‘Ah,’ said the peer awkwardly. ‘Bad news from the golf club.’
    ‘Oh God,’ said a round little man a few places along. ‘Not the Oldest Member again?’
    (‘I think this guy’s the mayor, the little chap,’ whispered Sam to Bradley.)
    ‘Is it the same trouble as last time?’ asked the mayor.
    ‘I dunno, what the fuck happened last time?’ chimed in the major, looking towards Selvington.
    ‘Oh,
please
!’ expostulated two of the ladies (who sat beside one another, dressed identically, and appeared to be twins), speaking at once.
    ‘It’s funny, isn’t it,’ whispered Sam into Bradley’s ear, ‘that the words “mayor” and “major” are so linguistically linked?’
    ‘Hmm,’ said Bradley.
    ‘I suppose etymologically they probably mean the same thing,’ Sam pressed, feeling he deserved a little more than this. ‘Interesting, don’t you think?’
    ‘Hmm,’ said Bradley.
    ‘I don’t suppose you mind if I stick my hand up my bum-hole and then smear it over your face?’
    ‘Hmm,’ said Bradley. ‘
What
?’
    ‘What
has
he been up to at the golf club?’ demanded the major, adjusting his eyepatch.
    ‘Well, he’s been getting his, er . . . well, his
member
out again. In the bar, apparently.’
    ‘Oh Lord! There wasn’t a party of Japanese schoolgirls being shown around like last time, I hope?’
    ‘Apparently no. It seems this time he was genuinely worried that he had something wrong with him and was trying to get attention.’
    ‘Well, of course he was trying to get attention,