Pearly went into the dark, stained pen. Ewan had taken off his leather apron, the fly was open in his jeans and he was holding his cock, partly distended, in his hand. At first Pearly thought it was some sort of joke: sometimes in the lavatory at school they joked about their cocks. ‘Stroke it,’ said Ewan. ‘You’ll like the feel of it too.’

‘No,’ Pearly had said.

‘Just give it a stroke. Cocks like to be stroked.’

‘No.’

‘Fuck off then,’ Ewan said, and Pearly did. He just went out and sat on the shearing-shed step again, and soon Ewan came out with his apron on and continued working just as before. The incident was never referred to again, but it wasn’t the same between them after that. Ewan didn’t take as much notice of him or bother to say anything amusing, and Pearly didn’t spend much time watching him finishing the roof in the following days. Pearly never considered telling anyone what had happened, not his father, or Richie, not even Snoz Gazler. It didn’t bother him much: he just didn’t want to talk about it. He was old enough to realise the incident was one of those things you close off, you don’t share, you don’t interrogate, even though you never forget.

TEN

Following Philip Utterspan’s announcement of his candidacy for the mayoralty, Pearly noticed a change of mood within both the council and the wider community. There had been no significant challenger during Pearly’s bid for a second term, and a general consensus that he’d done a fine job. It was different now, and the gloss had worn off somewhat. Debate around the council table became more noticeably tinged with personal politics, the community good no longer always the touchstone, although that was never openly acknowledged. Factions prospered, and both Philip and Pearly clearly marked their positions on the significant issues. Pearly had the advantage of his office and the profile that provided; Philip had the benefit of being able to criticise and make promises without needing to demonstrate achievement.

It was soon apparent to Pearly that the local paper wasn’t going to support him unreservedly. Impartial coverage, Paul Wrinskley assured him when he rang for his accustomed update, and so it should be, but there seemed an underlying predilection for change that disappointed Pearly. Journalism thrives on a diet of lurid disclosure, tragedy and conflict. If these are in short supply then speculation as to change and personalities must suffice. Pearly told himself that the chief reporter could well be under pressure from the editor, or proprietors, and knew better than to make any public claim of bias. Voters saw that as weakness. He understood also that the unavoidable price of effectiveness in politics was gathering enemies. Significant decisions divide people. Those who benefit recall their good fortune less sharply than those who suffer remember their wounds.