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‘Not quite that； Sammy； no；’ said Howard。 ‘No； they’ve called themselves “The Ghost of Barry Fairbrother”。’
‘Oh；’ said Samantha； her grin evaporating。 She did not like that。 After all； she had been in the ambulance while they had forced needles and tubes into Barry’s collapsed body； she had watched him dying beneath the plastic mask； seen Mary clinging to his hand； heard her groans and sobs。
‘Oh； no； that’s not nice；’ said Maureen； relish in her bullfrog’s voice。 ‘No； that’s nasty。 Putting words into the mouths of the dead。 Taking names in vain。 That’s not right。’
‘No；’ agreed Howard。 Almost absent…mindedly； he strolled across the room； picked up the wine bottle and returned to Samantha； topping up her empty glass。 ‘But someone out there doesn’t care about good taste it seems； if they can put Simon Price out of the running。’
‘If you’re thinking what I think you’re thinking； Dad；’ said Miles； ‘wouldn’t they have gone for me rather than Price？’
‘How do you know they haven’t； Miles？’
‘Meaning？’ asked Miles swiftly。
‘Meaning；’ said Howard； the happy cynosure of all eyes； ‘that I got sent an anonymous letter about you a couple of weeks ago。 Nothing specific。 Just said you were unfit to fill Fairbrother’s shoes。 I’d be very surprised if the letter didn’t e from the same source as the online post。 The Fairbrother theme in both； you see？’
Samantha tilted her glass a little too enthusiastically； so that wine trickled down the sides of her chin； exactly where her own ventriloquist’s doll grooves would no doubt appear in time。 She mopped her face with her sleeve。
‘Where is this letter？’ asked Miles； striving not to look rattled。
‘I shredded it。 It was anonymous； it didn’t count。’
‘We didn’t want to upset you； dear；’ said Shirley； and she patted Miles’ arm。
‘Anyway； they can’t have anything on you；’ Howard reassured his son； ‘or they’d have dished the dirt； the same as they have on Price。’
‘Simon Price’s wife is a lovely girl；’ said Shirley with gentle regret。 ‘I can’t believe Ruth knows anything about it； if her husband’s been on the fiddle。 She’s a friend from the hospital；’ Shirley elaborated to Maureen。 ‘An agency nurse。’
‘She wouldn’t be the first wife who hasn’t spotted what’s going on under her nose；’ retorted Maureen； trumping insider knowledge with worldly wisdom。
‘But；’ said Samantha； ‘it mightn’t have anything to do with Parminder and that lot at all。 It could be from someone we don’t know； someone who’s got a grudge against Simon Price。’
‘Oh； Sam；’ said Shirley； with a tinkling laugh； shaking her head。 ‘It’s easy to see you’re new to politics。’
Oh； fuck off； Shirley。
‘So why have they used Barry Fairbrother’s name； then？’ asked Miles； rounding on his wife。
‘Well； it’s on the website； isn’t it？ It’s his vacant seat。’
‘And who’s going to trawl through the council website for that kind of information？ No；’ he said gravely； ‘this is an insider。’
An insider … Libby had once told Samantha that there could be thousands of microscopic species inside one drop of pond water。 They were all perfectly ridiculous； Samantha thought； sitting here in front of Shirley’s memorative plates as if they were in the Cabi Room in Downing Street； as though one bit of tittle…tattle on a Parish Council website constituted an organized campaign； as though any of it mattered。
Consciously and defiantly； Samantha withdrew her attention from the lot of them。 She fixed her eyes on the window and the clear evening sky beyond； and she thought about Jake； the muscular boy in Libby’s favourite band。 At lunchtime today； Samantha had gone out for sandwiches； and brought back a music magazine in which Jake and his bandmates were interviewed。 There were lots of pictures。
‘It’s for Libby；’ Samantha had told the girl who helped her in the shop。
‘Wow； look at that。 I wouldn’t kick him out of bed for eating toast；’ replied Carly； pointing at Jake； naked from the waist up； his head thrown back to reveal that thick strong neck。 ‘Oh； but he’s only twenty…one； look。 I’m not a cradle…snatcher。’
Carly was twenty…six。 Samantha did not care to subtract Jake’s age from her own。 She had eaten her sandwich and read the interview； and studied all the pictures。 Jake with his hands on a bar above his head； biceps swelling under a black T…shirt； Jake with his white shirt open； abdominal muscles chiselled above the loose waistband of his jeans。
Samantha drank Howard’s wine and stared out at the sky above the black privet hedge； which was a delicate shade of rose pink； the precise shade her nipples had been before they had been darkened and distended by pregnancy and breast…feeding。 She imagined herself nieen to Jake’s twenty…one； slender…waisted again； taut curves in the right places； and a strong flat stomach of her own； fitting fortably into her white； size ten shorts。 She vividly recalled how it felt to sit on a young man’s lap in those shorts； with the heat and roughness of sun…warmed denim under her bare thighs； and big hands around her lithe waist。 She imagined Jake’s breath on her neck； she imagined turning to look into the blue eyes； close to the high cheekbones and that firm； carved mouth …
‘… at the church hall； and we’re getting it catered by Bucknoles；’ said Howard。 ‘We’ve invited everyone： Aubrey and Julia – everyone。 With luck it will be a double celebration； you on the council； me； another year young …’
Samantha felt tipsy and randy。 When were they going to eat？ She realized that Shirley had left the room； hopefully to put food on the table。
The telephone rang at Samantha’s elbow； and she jumped。 Before any of them could move； Shirley had bustled back in。 She had one hand in a flowery oven glove； and picked up the receiver with the other。
‘Double…two…five…nine？’ sang Shirley on a rising inflection。 ‘Oh … hello； Ruth； dear！’
Howard； Miles and Maureen became rigidly attentive。 Shirley turned to look at her husband with intensity； as if she were transmitting Ruth’s voice through her eyes into her husband’s mind。
‘Yes；’ fluted Shirley。 ‘Yes …’
Samantha； sitting closest to the receiver； could hear the other woman’s voice but not make out the words。
‘Oh； really …？’
Maureen’s mouth was hanging open again； she was like an ancient baby bird； or perhaps a pterodactyl； hungering for regurgitated news。
‘Yes； dear； I see … oh； that shouldn’t be a problem … no； no； I’ll explain to Howard。 No； no trouble at all。’
Shirley’s small hazel eyes had not wavered from Howard’s big； popping blue ones。
‘Ruth； dear；’ said Shirley； ‘Ruth； I don’t want to worry you； but have you been on the council website today？ … Well … it’s not very nice； but I think you ought to know … somebody’s posted something nasty about Simon … well； I think you’d better read it for yourself； I wouldn’t want to … all right； dear。 All right。 See you Wednesday； I hope。 Yes。 Bye bye。’
Shirley replaced the receiver。
‘She didn’t know；’ Miles stated。
Shirley shook her head。
‘Why was she calling？’
‘Her son；’ Shirley told Howard。 ‘Your new potboy。 He’s got a peanut allergy。’
‘Very handy； in a delicatessen；’ said Howard。
‘She wanted to ask whether you could store a needleful of adrenalin in the fridge for him； just in case；’ said Shirley。
Maureen sniffed。
‘They’ve all got allergies these days； children。’
Shirley’s ungloved hand was still clutching the receiver。 She was subconsciously hoping to feel tremors down the line from Hilltop House。
V
Ruth stood alone in her lamp…lit sitting room； continuing to grip the telephone she had just replaced in its cradle。
Hilltop House was small and pact。 It was always easy to tell the location of each of the four Prices； because voices； footfalls and the sounds of doors opening and shutting carried so effectively in the old house。 Ruth knew that her husband was still in the shower； because she could hear the hot water boiler under the stairs hissing and clanking。 She had waited for Simon to turn on the water before telephoning Shirley； worried that he might think that even h