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suit； looked like a film star。
A few yards from the church doors； Samantha Mollison was waiting beside her husband； looking up at the bright off…white sky and musing on all the wasted sunshine beating down on top of the high ceiling of cloud。 She was refusing to be dislodged from the hard…surfaced path； no matter how many old ladies had to cool their ankles in the grass； her patent…leather high heels might sink into the soft earth； and bee dirty and clogged。
When acquaintances hailed them； Miles and Samantha responded pleasantly； but they were not speaking to each other。 They had had a row the previous evening。 A few people had asked after Lexie and Libby； who usually came home at weekends； but both girls were staying over at friends’ houses。 Samantha knew that Miles regretted their absence； he loved playing paterfamilias in public。 Perhaps； she thought； with a most pleasurable leap of fury； he would ask her and the girls to pose with him for a picture on his election leaflets。 She would enjoy telling him what she thought of that idea。
She could tell that he was surprised by the turnout。 No doubt he was regretting that he did not have a starring role in the forthing service； it would have been an ideal opportunity to begin a surreptitious campaign for Barry’s seat on the council with this big audience of captive voters。 Samantha made a mental note to drop a sarcastic allusion to the missed opportunity when a suitable occasion arose。
‘Gavin！’ called Miles； at the sight of a familiar； fair and narrow head。
‘Oh； hi； Miles。 Hi； Sam。’
Gavin’s new black tie shone against his white shirt。 There were violet bags under his light eyes。 Samantha leaned in on tiptoes； so that he could not decently avoid kissing her on the cheek and inhaling her musky perfume。
‘Big turnout； isn’t it？’ Gavin said； gazing around。
‘Gavin’s a pall…bearer；’ Miles told his wife； in precisely the way that he would have announced that a small and unpromising child had been awarded a book token for effort。 In truth； he had been a little surprised when Gavin had told him he had been accorded this honour。 Miles had vaguely imagined that he and Samantha would be privileged guests； surrounded by a certain aura of mystery and importance； having been at the deathbed。 It might have been a nice gesture if Mary； or somebody close to Mary； had asked him； Miles； to read a lesson； or say a few words to acknowledge the important part he had played in Barry’s final moments。
Samantha was deliberately unsurprised that Gavin had been singled out。
‘You and Barry were quite close； weren’t you； Gav？’
Gavin nodded。 He felt jittery and a little sick。 He had had a very bad night’s sleep； waking in the early hours from horrible dreams in which； first； he had dropped the coffin； so that Barry’s body spilt out onto the church floor； and； secondly； he had overslept； missed the funeral； and arrived at St Michael and All Saints to find Mary alone in the graveyard； white…faced and furious； screaming at him that he had ruined the whole thing。
‘I’m not sure where I ought to be；’ he said； looking around。 ‘I’ve never done this before。’
‘Nothing to it； mate；’ said Miles。 ‘There’s only one requirement； really。 Don’t drop anything； hehehe。’
Miles’ girlish laugh contrasted oddly with his deep speaking voice。 Neither Gavin nor Samantha smiled。
Colin Wall loomed out of the mass of bodies。 Big and awkward…looking； with his high； knobbly forehead； he always made Samantha think of Frankenstein’s monster。
‘Gavin；’ he said。 ‘There you are。 I think we should probably stand out on the pavement； they’ll be here in a few minutes。’
‘Right…ho；’ said Gavin； relieved to be ordered around。
‘Colin；’ said Miles； with a nod。
‘Yes； hello；’ said Colin； flustered； before turning away and forcing his way back through the mass of mourners。
Then came another small flurry of movement； and Samantha heard Howard’s loud voice： ‘Excuse me … so sorry … trying to join our family …’ The crowd parted to avoid his belly； and Howard was revealed； immense in a velvet…faced overcoat。 Shirley and Maureen bobbed in his wake； Shirley neat and posed in navy blue； Maureen scrawny as a carrion bird； in a hat with a small black veil。
‘Hello； hello；’ said Howard； kissing Samantha firmly on both cheeks。 ‘And how’s Sammy？’
Her answer was swallowed up in a widespread； awkward shuffling； as everybody began retreating backwards off the path： there was a certain discreet jockeying for position； nobody wanted to relinquish their claim to a place near the church entrance。 With this cleaving in two of the crowd； familiar individuals were revealed like separate pips along the break。 Samantha spotted the Jawandas： coffee…brown faces among all the whey； Vikram； absurdly handsome in his dark suit； Parminder dressed in a sari （why did she do it？ Didn’t she know she was playing right into the likes of Howard and Shirley’s hands？） and beside her； dumpy little Tessa Wall in a grey coat； which was straining at the buttons。
Mary Fairbrother and the children were walking slowly up the path to the church。 Mary was terribly pale； and appeared pounds thinner。 Could she have lost so much weight in six days？ She was holding one of the twins’ hands； with her other arm around the shoulders of her younger son； and the eldest； Fergus； marching behind。 She walked with her eyes fixed straight ahead； her soft mouth pursed tight。 Other family members followed Mary and the children； the procession moved over the threshold and was swallowed up in the dingy interior of the church。
Everyone else moved towards the doors at once； which resulted in an undignified jam。 The Mollisons found themselves shunted together with the Jawandas。
‘After you； Mr Jawanda； sir； after you …’ boomed Howard； holding out an arm to let the surgeon walk in first。 But Howard made sure to use his bulk to prevent anybody else taking precedence over him； and followed Vikram immediately through the entrance； leaving their families to follow on。
A royal…blue carpet ran the length of the aisle of St Michael and All Saints。 Golden stars glimmered on the vaulted ceiling； brass plaques reflected the glow of the hanging lamps。 The stained…glass windows were elaborate and gorgeously hued。 Halfway down the nave； on the epistle side； St Michael himself stared down from the largest window； clad in silver armour。 Sky…blue wings curved out of his shoulders； in one hand he held aloft a sword； in the other； a pair of golden scales。 A sandalled foot rested on the back of a writhing bat…winged Satan； who was dark grey in colour and attempting to raise himself。 The saint’s expression was serene。
Howard stopped level with St Michael and indicated that his party should file into the pew on the left； Vikram turned right into the opposite one。 While the remaining Mollisons； and Maureen； filed past him into the pew； Howard remained planted on the royal…blue carpet； and addressed Parminder as she passed him。
‘Dreadful； this。 Barry。 Awful shock。’
‘Yes；’ she said； loathing him。
‘I always think those frocks look fy； are they？’ he added； nodding at her sari。
She did not answer； but took her place beside Jaswant。 Howard sat down too； making of himself a prodigious plug at the end of the pew that would seal it off to newers。
Shirley’s eyes were fixed respectfully on her knees； and her hands were clasped； apparently in prayer； but she was really mulling over Howard and Parminder’s little exchange about the sari。 Shirley belonged to a section of Pagford that quietly lamented the fact that the Old Vicarage； which had been built long ago to house a High Church vicar with mutton…chop whiskers and a starched…aproned staff； was now home to a family of Hindus （Shirley had never quite grasped what religion the Jawandas were）。 She thought that if she and Howard went to the temple； or the mosque； or wherever it was the Jawandas worshipped； they would doubtless be required to cover their heads and remove their shoes and who knew what else； otherwise there would be outcry。 Yet it was acceptable for Parminder to flaunt her sari in church。 It was not as though Parminder did not have normal clothes； f