The Public Room

Veda knew Roscoe’s shirt beneath his jacket. That was the first unreasonable thing about the public room.

The second was that she wanted to straighten his collar while he was preparing to say something that could help end her working life as she knew it.

She sat beside Arden, third row from the back, with her notes on her knees. The room belonged to the sailing club, hired for the morning by the inshore fisheries authority. Its usual photographs had been left on the walls: regattas, dinners, people holding trophies with the startled delight of adults who had not expected to win anything.

At the front, an officer explained the session. They were gathering evidence and views. This was not a vote on the campaign’s proposal, nor the confirmation of a new byelaw. If measures were developed, there would be further process and consultation.

Veda knew this. She was glad…