Swimming Pool Sunday by Sophie Kinsella, Madeleine Wickham Read Free Book Online Page A

gone wrong. Louise had mustered a sympathetic word or two of reply. And then, as the surrounding eyes watched, Barnaby had made his way over to the other side of the swimming-pool where Hugh – stalwart Hugh – had already pulled over a chair in preparation for him. The entertainment for the village was almost complete, thought Louise bitterly. Now all that was needed for their delectation was an appearance by Cassian, village anti-Christ.
    Louise knew the village’s opinion of Cassian. She knew the village’s version of events. No-one had asked; everyone had assumed. They had assumed that when Louise popped over to Cassian’s cottage and ended up spending the evening there, something suspicious must be going on. They had assumed that when Barnaby arrived at The George, silent and angry and without Louise, he had found some sort of confirming evidence. No-one – and here Louise wriggled angrily on her towel – no-one had noticed that the problems between her and Barnaby stretched way back before Cassian had arrived in the village.
    Louise and Barnaby had married soon after she left university. The wedding was a large glittering affair – only right for the only daughter of a man who, until recently, had been the local MP and, at one time, a cabinet minister. Louise Page – as she was then – had been a well-known figure on the local political campaign circuit. She had started to help out her father while she was at school and became even more involved after her mother died. When an election fellduring her first year at university, she motored over from Bristol every weekend to put up posters and go from house to house with her clipboard, blue scarf and cheerful smile.
    When she rang Barnaby’s doorbell, she found a group of agricultural college chums watching the football, drinking beer, and unwilling to be disturbed.
    ‘What does it matter?’ said one of them, offering her a can. Louise stared.
    ‘What does it matter? ’ she echoed in disbelief. ‘It matters … it matters …’ Her hands started to whirl helplessly in the air. ‘It affects your whole life! If you don’t vote for the right people …’
    ‘I’m not going to vote,’ said one of them. ‘Bloody waste of time.’
    ‘You must vote!’ Louise’s voice sounded through the house like a clarion. ‘You must! My God! You’re young, don’t you care?’
    ‘I’m going to vote.’ Barnaby’s voice came from the back of the room. Louise turned and looked at him. He’s huge, was her first thought. He sat on a smallish wooden chair that looked as though it might break under his weight, and cupped a can of beer in a huge paw of a hand. But his voice was gentle and Louise smiled at him.
    ‘Good,’ she said.
    ‘Not for your lot, though,’ said Barnaby, gesturing to her rosette. ‘I’m voting Green.’ He took a swig of beer while his friends exchanged derisive glances.
    ‘Green?’
    ‘You’re a bloody hippy, Barn.’
    ‘Going to join the hunt sabs too?’
    Louise ignored them and met his eye.
    ‘Well, good for you,’ she said. ‘At least you care.’
    And that would have been that had Barnaby not come to vote while Louise was on poll-monitoring duty. She smiled as he approached the polling station,and put her pen next to his name, ready to tick.
    ‘Well,’ she said, as he got near. ‘I don’t have to ask you who you’re voting for, do I?’
    ‘Not for you, if that’s what you mean,’ said Barnaby.
    ‘I didn’t expect you to,’ said Louise. ‘In fact, I would have been disappointed if you had.’ Barnaby looked at her.
    ‘How long do you have to stand there?’
    ‘Another couple of hours.’
    ‘And then?’
    ‘Home, to wait for the results.’ She flushed slightly. ‘My father’s the Conservative candidate.’
    ‘John Page, I know.’ Barnaby grinned at Louise’s look of surprise. ‘We’re not all unaware yobs.’ He looked at her clipboard. ‘And is he going to win?’
    ‘I should think so. It’s closer run