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oping　dry　sobs；　like　a　child　with　croup。　Tessa　hurried　forward　and　put　her　arms　around　Colin’s　chest；　a　little　above　his　waist；　for；　short　and　stout　as　she　was；　that　was　the　highest　bit　she　could　reach。　He　stooped；　clinging　to　her；　she　could　feel　his　trembling；　and　the　heaving　of　his　rib　cage　under　his　coat。

After　a　few　minutes；　she　gently　disengaged　herself；　led　him　into　the　kitchen　and　made　him　a　pot　of　tea。

‘I’m　going　to　take　a　casserole　up　to　Mary’s；’　said　Tessa；　after　she　had　sat　for　a　while；　stroking　his　hand。　‘She’s　got　half　the　family　there。　We’ll　get　an　early　night；　once　I’m　back。’

He　nodded　and　sniffed；　and　she　kissed　him　on　the　side　of　his　head　before　heading　out　to　the　freezer。　When　she　came　back；　carrying　the　heavy；　icy　dish；　he　was　sitting　at　the　table；　cradling　his　mug　in　his　big　hands；　his　eyes　closed。

Tessa　set　down　the　casserole；　wrapped　in　a　polythene　bag；　on　the　tiles　beside　the　front　door。　She　pulled　on　the　lumpy　green　cardigan　she　often　wore　instead　of　a　jacket；　but　did　not　put　on　her　shoes。　Instead；　she　tiptoed　upstairs　to　the　landing　and　then；　taking　less　trouble　to　be　quiet；　up　the　second　flight　to　the　loft　conversion。

A　swift　burst　of　rat…like　activity　greeted　her　approach　to　the　door。　She　knocked；　giving　Fats　time　to　hide　whatever　it　was　he　had　been　looking　at　online；　or；　perhaps；　the　cigarettes　he　did　not　know　she　knew　about。

‘Yeah？’

She　pushed　open　the　door。　Her　son　was　crouching　stagily　over　his　school　bag。

‘Did　you　have　to　play　truant　today；　of　all　days？’

Fats　straightened　up；　long　and　stringy；　he　towered　over　his　mother。

‘I　was　there。　I　came　in　late。　Bent　didn’t　notice。　He’s　useless。’

‘Stuart；　please。　Please。’

She　wanted　to　shout　at　the　kids　at　work；　sometimes；　too。　She　wanted　to　scream；　You　must　accept　the　reality　of　other　people。　You　think　that　reality　is　up　for　negotiation；　that　we　think　it’s　whatever　you　say　it　is。　You　must　accept　that　we　are　as　real　as　you　are；　you　must　accept　that　you　are　not　God。

‘Your　father’s　very　upset；　Stu。　Because　of　Barry。　Can’t　you　understand　that？’

‘Yes；’　said　Fats。

‘I　mean；　it’s　like　Arf　dying　would　be　to　you。’

He　did　not　respond；　nor　did　his　expression　alter　much；　yet　she　sensed　his　disdain；　his　amusement。
。电子书
‘I　know　you　think　you　and　Arf　are　very　different　orders　of　being　to　the　likes　of　your　father　and　Barry—’

‘No；’　said　Fats；　but　only；　she　knew；　in　the　hope　of　ending　the　conversation。

‘I’m　going　to　take　some　food　over　to　Mary’s　house。　I　am　begging　you；　Stuart；　not　to　do　anything　else　to　upset　your　father　while　I’m　gone。　Please；　Stu。’

‘Fine；’　he　said；　with　half　a　laugh；　half　a　shrug。　She　felt　his　attention　swooping；　swallow…like；　back　to　his　own　concerns；　even　before　she　had　closed　the　door。

VI
The　spiteful　wind　blew　away　the　low…hanging　cloud　of　late　afternoon　and；　at　sunset；　died　out。　Three　houses　along　from　the　Walls’；　Samantha　Mollison　sat　facing　her　lamp…lit　reflection　in　the　dressing…table　mirror；　and　found　the　silence　and　the　stillness　depressing。

It　had　been　a　disappointing　couple　of　days。　She　had　sold　virtually　nothing。　The　sales　rep　from　Champêtre　had　turned　out　to　be　a　jowly　man　with　an　abrasive　manner　and　a　hold…all　full　of　ugly　bras。　Apparently　he　reserved　his　charm　for　the　preliminaries；　for　in　person　he　was　all　business；　patronizing　her；　criticizing　her　stock；　pushing　for　an　order。　She　had　been　imagining　somebody　younger；　taller　and　sexier；　she　had　wanted　to　get　him　and　his　garish　underwear　out　of　her　little　shop　as　quickly　as　possible。

She　had　bought　a　‘with　deepest　sympathy’　card　for　Mary　Fairbrother　that　lunchtime；　but　could　not　think　what　to　write　in　it；　because；　after　their　nightmare　journey　to　the　hospital　together；　a　simple　signature　did　not　seem　enough。　Their　relationship　had　never　been　close。　You　bumped　up　against　each　other　all　the　time　in　a　place　as　small　as　Pagford；　but　she　and　Miles　had　not　really　known　Barry　and　Mary。　If　anything；　it　might　have　been　said　that　they　were　in　opposing　camps；　what　with　Howard　and　Barry’s　endless　clashes　about　the　Fields　…　not　that　she；　Samantha；　gave　a　damn　one　way　or　another。　She　held　herself　above　the　smallness　of　local　politics。

Tired；　out　of　sorts　and　bloated　after　a　day　of　indiscriminate　snacking；　she　wished　that　she　and　Miles　were　not　going　to　dinner　at　her　parents…in…law’s。　Watching　herself　in　the　mirror；　she　put　her　hands　flat　against　the　sides　of　her　face　and　pulled　the　skin　gently　back　towards　her　ears。　A　younger　Samantha　emerged　by　millimetres。　Turning　her　face　slowly　from　side　to　side；　she　examined　this　taut　mask。　Better；　much　better。　She　wondered　what　it　would　cost；　how　much　it　would　hurt；　whether　she　would　dare。　She　tried　to　imagine　what　her　mother…in…law　would　say　if　she　appeared　with　a　firm　new　face。　Shirley　and　Howard　were；　as　Shirley　frequently　reminded　them；　helping　to　pay　for　their　granddaughters’　education。

Miles　entered　the　bedroom；　Samantha　released　her　skin　and　picked　up　her　under…eye　concealer；　tilting　her　head　back；　as　she　always　did　when　applying　make…up：　it　pulled　the　slightly　sagging　skin　at　her　jaw　taut　and　minimized　the　pouches　under　her　eyes。　There　were　short；　needle…deep　lines　at　the　edges　of　her　lips。　These　could　be　filled；　she　had　read；　with　a　synthetic；　injectable　pound。　She　wondered　how　much　difference　that　would　make；　it　would　surely　be　cheaper　than　a　facelift；　and　perhaps　Shirley　would　not　notice。　In　the　mirror　over　her　shoulder；　she　saw　Miles　pulling　off　his　tie　and　shirt；　his　big　belly　spilling　over　his　work　trousers。

‘Weren’t　you　meeting　someone　today？　Some　rep？’　he　asked。　Idly　he　scratched　his　hairy　navel；　staring　into　the　wardrobe。

‘Yes；　but　it　wasn’t　any　good；’　said　Samantha。　‘Crappy　stuff。’

Miles　enjoyed　what　she　did；　he　had　grown　up　in　a　home　where　retail　was　the　only　business　that　mattered；　and　he　had　never　lost　the　respect　for　merce　that　Howard　had　instilled　in　him。　Then　there　were　all　the　opportunities　for　jokes；　and　for　other　less　subtly　disguised　forms　of　self…congratulation　that　her　line　of　trade　afforded。　Miles　never　seemed　to　tire　of　making　the　same　old　quips　or　the　same　sly　allusions。

‘Bad　fit？’　he　enquired　knowledgeably。

‘Bad　design。　Horrible　colours。’
Ｚei8。
Samantha　brushed　and　tied　back　her　thick　dry　brown　hair；　watching　Miles　in　the　mirror　as　he　changed　into　chinos　and　a　polo　shirt。　She　was　on　edge；　feeling　that　she　might　snap　or　cry　at　the　smallest　provocation。

Evertree　Crescent　was　only　a　few　minutes　away；　but　Church　Row　was　steep；　so　they　drove。　Darkness　was　falling　properly；　and　at　the　top　of　the　road　they　passed　a　shadowy　man　with　Barry　Fairbrother’s　silhouette　and　gait；　it　gave　Samantha　a　shock　and　she　glanced　back　at　him；　wondering　who　he　could　be。　Miles’　car　turned　left　at　the　top　of　the　road；　then；　barely　a　minute　later；　right；　into　the　half…moon　of　1930s　bungalows。

Howard　and　Shirley’s　house；　a　low；　wide…windowed　building　of　red　brick；　boasted　generous　sweeps　of　green　lawn　at　the　front　and　back；　which　were　mown　into　stripes　during　the　summer　by　Miles。　During　the　long　years　of　their　occupancy；　Howard　and　Shirley　had　added　carriage　lamps；　a　white　wrought…iron　gate　and　terracotta　pots　full　of　geraniums　on　either　side　of　the　front　door。　They　had　also　put　up　a　sign　beside　the　doorbell；　a　round；　polished　piece　of　wood　on　which　was　written；　in　old　Gothic　black　lettering　plete　with　quotation　marks；　‘Ambleside’。

Samantha　was　sometimes　cruelly　witty　at　the　expense　of　her　parents…in…law’s　house。　Miles　tolerated　her　jibes；　accepting　the　implication　that　he　and　Samantha；　with　their　stripped…back　floors　and　doors；　their　rugs　on　bare　boards；　their　framed　art　prints　and　their　stylish；　unfortable　sofa；　had　the　better　taste；　but　in　his　secret　soul　he　preferred　the　bungalow　in　which　he　had　grown　up。　Nearly　every　surface　was　covered　with　something　plushy　and　soft；　there　were　no　draughts　and　the　reclining　chairs　were　deliciously　fortable。　After　he　mowed　the　lawn　in　the　summer；　Shirley　would　bring　him　a　cool　beer　while　he　lay　back　in　one　of　them；　watching　the　cricket　on　the　widescreen　TV。　Sometimes　one　of　his　daughters　would　e　with　him　and　sit　beside　him；　eating　ice　cream　with　chocolate　sauce　especially　made　for　her　granddaughters　by　Shirley。

‘Hello；　darling；’　said　Shirley；　when　she　opened　the　door。　Her　short；　pact　shape　suggested　a　neat　little　pepper　pot；　in　its　sprigged　apron。　She　stood　on　tiptoe　for　her　tall　son　to　kiss　her；　then　said；　‘Hello；　Sam；’　and　turned　away　immediately。　‘Dinner’s　nearly　ready。　Howard！　Miles　and　Sam　are　here！’
。电子书
The　house　smelt　of　furniture　polish　and　good　food。　Howard　emerged　from　the　kitchen；　a　bottle　of　wine　in　one　hand；　a　corkscrew　in　the　other。　In　a　practised　move；　Shirley　backed　smoothly　into　the　dining　room；　enabling　Howard；　who　took　up　almost　the　entire　width　of　the　hall；　to　pass；　before　she　trotted　into　the　kitchen。

‘Here　they　are；　the　good　Samaritans；’　boomed　Howard。　‘And　how’s　the　brassière　business；　Sammy？　Breasting　the　recession　all　right？’

‘Business　is　surprisingly　bouncy；　actually；　Howard；’　said　Samantha。

Howard　roared　with　laughter；　and　Samantha　was　sure　that　he　would　have　patted　her　on　the　bottom　if　he　had　not　been　holding　the　corkscrew　and　bottle。　She　tolerated　all　of　her　father…in…law’s　little　squeezes　and　slaps　as　the　harmless　exhibitionism　of　a　man　grown　too　fat　and　old　to　do　anything　more；　in　any　case；　it　annoyed　Shirley；　which　always　pleased　Samantha。　Shirley　never　showed　her　displeasure　openly；　her　smile　did　not　flicker；　nor　did　her　tone　of　sweet　reasonableness　falter；　but　within　a　short　time　of　any　of　Howard’s　mild　lewdnesses；　she　always　tossed　a　dart；　hidden　in　a　feathery　flourish；　at　her　daughter…in…law。　Mention　of　the　girls’　escalating　school　fees；　solicitous　enquiries　about　Samantha’s　diet；　asking　Miles　whether　he　did　not　think　Mary　Fairbrother　had　an　awfully　pretty　figure；　Samantha　endured　it　all；　smiling；　and　punished　Miles　for　it　later。

‘Hello；　Mo！’　said　Miles；　preceding　Samantha　into　what　Howard　and　Shirley　called　the　lounge。　‘Didn’t　know　you　were　going　to　be　here！’

‘Hello；　handsome；’　said　Maureen；　in　her　deep；　gravelly　voice。　‘Give　me　a　kiss。’

Howard’s　business　partner　was　sitting　in　a　corner　of　the　sofa；　clutching　a　tiny　glass　of　sherry。　She　was　wearing　a　fuchsia　pink　dress　with　dark　stockings　and　high　patent…leather　heels。　Her　jet…black　hair　was　heavily　lacquered　into　a　bouffant；　beneath　which　her　face　was　pale　and　monkeyish；　with　a　thick　smear　of　shocking　pink　lipstick　that　puckered　as　Miles　bent　low　to　kiss　her　cheek。

‘Been　talking　business。　Plans　for　the　new　café。　Hello；　Sam；　sweetheart；’　Maureen　added；　patting　the　sofa　beside　her。　‘Oh；　you　are　lovely　and　tanned；　is　that　still　from　Ibiza？　e　sit　down　by　me。　What　a　shock　for　you　at　the　golf　club。　It　must　have　been　ghastly。’

‘Yes；　it　was；’　said　Samantha。

And　for　the　first　time　she　found　herself　telling　somebody　the　story　of　Barry’s　death；　while　Miles　hovered；　looking　for　a　chance　to　interrupt。　Howard　handed　out　large　glasses　of　Pinot　Grigio；　paying　close　attention　to　Samantha’s　account。　Gradually；　in　the　glow　of　Howard　and　Maureen’s　interest；　with　the　alcohol　kindling　a　forting　fire　inside　her；　the　tension　Samantha　had　carried　with　her　for　two　days　seemed　to　drain　away　and　a　fragile　sense　of　well…being　blossomed。

The　room　was　warm　and　spotless。　Shelving　units　on　either　side　of　the　gas　fire　displayed　an　array　of　ornamental　china；　nearly　all　of　it　memorating　some　royal　landmark　or　anniversary　of　the　reign　of　Elizabeth　II。　A　small　bookcase　in　the　corner　contained　a　mixture　of　royal　biographies　and　the　glossy　cookbooks　that　had　overrun　the　kitchen。　Photographs　adorned　the　shelves　and　walls：　Miles　and　his　younger　sister　Patricia　beamed　from　a　twin　frame　in　matching　school　uniforms；　Miles　and　Samantha’s　two　daughters；　Lexie　and　Libby；　were　represented　over　and　again　from　babyhood　to　teens。　Samantha　figured　only　once　in　the　family　gallery；　though　in　one　of　the　largest　and　most　prominent　pictures。　It　showed　her　and　Miles’　wedding　day　sixteen　years　before。　Miles　was　young　and　handsome；　piercing　blue　eyes　crinkled　at　the　photographer；　whereas　Samantha’s　eyes　were　closed　in　a　half　blink；　her　face　was　turned　sideways；　her　ch