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‘Well；　there　won’t　be　any　…　any　trouble　about　it；　will　there？’

Simon　was　seized　with　a　brutal　urge　to　punish　her　for　intuiting　his　own　fears　and　for　stoking　them　with　her　anxiety。

‘Yeah；　well；　I　wasn’t　going　to　say　anything；’　he　said；　speaking　slowly；　giving　himself　time　to　make　up　a　story；　‘but　there　was　a　bit　of　trouble　when　they　were　nicked；　as　it　turns　out。’　Andrew　and　Paul　paused　in　their　eating　and　stared。　‘Some　security　guard　got　beaten　up。　I　didn’t　know　anything　about　it　till　it　was　too　late。　I　only　hope　there’s　no　eback。’

Ruth　could　barely　breathe。　She　could　not　believe　the　evenness　of　his　tone；　the　calmness　with　which　he　spoke　of　violent　robbery。　This　explained　his　mood　when　he　had　e　home；　this　explained　everything。

‘That’s　why　it’s　essential　nobody　mentions　we’ve　got　it；’　said　Simon。

He　subjected　each　of　them　to　a　fierce　glare；　to　impress　the　dangers　on　them　by　sheer　force　of　personality。

‘We　won’t；’　Ruth　breathed。

Her　rapid　imagination　was　already　showing　her　the　police　at　the　door；　the　puter　examined；　Simon　arrested；　wrongly　accused　of　aggravated　assault　–　jailed。

‘Did　you　hear　Dad？’　she　said　to　her　sons；　in　a　voice　barely　louder　than　a　whisper。　‘You　mustn’t　tell　anybody　we’ve　got　a　new　puter。’

‘It　should　be　all　right；’　said　Simon。　‘It　should　be　fine。　As　long　as　everyone　keeps　their　traps　shut。’

He　turned　his　attention　back　to　his　shepherd’s　pie。　Ruth’s　eyes　flittered　from　Simon　to　her　sons　and　back　again。　Paul　was　pushing　food　around　his　plate；　silent；　frightened。

But　Andrew　had　not　believed　a　word　his　father　said。

You’re　a　lying　fucking　bastard。　You　just　like　scaring　her。

When　the　meal　was　finished；　Simon　got　up　and　said；　‘Well；　let’s　see　whether　the　bloody　thing　works；　at　least。　You；’　he　pointed　at　Paul；　‘go　and　get　it　out　of　the　box　and　put　it　carefully　–　carefully　–　on　the　stand。　You；’　he　pointed　at　Andrew；　‘you　do　puting；　don’t　you？　You　can　tell　me　what　to　do。’

Simon　led　the　way　into　the　sitting　room。　Andrew　knew　that　he　was　trying　to　catch　them　out；　that　he　wanted　them　to　mess　up：　Paul；　who　was　small　and　nervous；　might　drop　the　puter；　and　he；　Andrew；　was　sure　to　blunder。　Behind　them　in　the　kitchen；　Ruth　was　clattering　around；　clearing　away　the　dinner　things。　She；　at　least；　was　out　of　the　immediate　line　of　fire。

Andrew　went　to　assist　Paul　as　he　lifted　the　hard　drive。

‘He　can　do　it；　he’s　not　that　much　of　a　pussy！’　snapped　Simon。

By　a　miracle；　Paul；　his　arms　trembling；　set　it　down　on　the　stand　without　mishap；　then　waited　with　his　arms　dangling　limply　at　his　sides；　blocking　Simon’s　access　to　the　machine。

‘Get　out　of　my　way；　you　stupid　little　prick；’　Simon　shouted。　Paul　scurried　off　to　watch　from　behind　the　sofa。　Simon　picked　up　a　lead　at　random　and　addressed　Andrew。

‘Where　do　I　put　this？’

Up　your　arse；　you　bastard。

‘If　you　give　it　to　me—’

‘I’m　asking　where　I　fucking　put　it！’　roared　Simon。　‘You　do　puting　–　tell　me　where　it　goes！’

Andrew　leaned　around　the　back　of　the　puter；　he　instructed　Simon　wrong　at　first；　but　then；　by　chance；　got　the　right　socket。

They　had　nearly　finished　by　the　time　Ruth　joined　them　in　the　sitting　room。　Andrew　could　tell；　from　one　fleeting　look　at　her；　that　she　did　not　want　the　thing　to　work；　that　she　wanted　Simon　to　dump　it　somewhere；　and　never　mind　the　eighty　quid。

Simon　sat　down　in　front　of　the　monitor。　After　several　fruitless　attempts；　he　realized　that　the　cordless　mouse　had　no　batteries　in　it。　Paul　was　sent　sprinting　from　the　room　to　fetch　some　from　the　kitchen。　When　he　held　them　out　to　his　father　on　his　return；　Simon　snatched　them　out　of　his　hand；　as　if　Paul　might　try　and　whip　them　away。

His　tongue　down　between　his　lower　teeth　and　his　lip；　so　that　his　chin　bulged　out　stupidly；　Simon　made　an　exaggerated　over…fiddling　business　of　inserting　the　batteries。　He　always　pulled　this　mad；　brutish　face　as　a　warning　that　he　was　reaching　the　end　of　his　tether；　descending　into　the　place　where　he　could　not　be　held　accountable　for　his　actions。　Andrew　imagined　walking　out　and　leaving　his　father　to　it；　depriving　him　of　the　audience　he　preferred　when　working　himself　up；　he　could　almost　feel　the　mouse　hitting　him　behind　the　ear　as；　in　his　imagination；　he　turned　his　back。
Ｚei8。电子书
‘Get　–　fucking　–　IN！’

Simon　began　to　emit　the　low；　animal　noise；　unique　to　him；　that　matched　his　aggressively　wadded　face。

‘Uhhlll　…　uhhlll　…　CUNTING　THING！　You　fucking　do　it！　You！　You’ve　got　pissy　little　girl’s　fingers！’

Simon　slammed　the　control　and　the　batteries　into　Paul’s　chest。　Paul’s　hands　shook　as　he　fitted　the　little　metal　tubes　into　place；　he　snapped　the　plastic　cover　shut　and　held　the　controls　back　out　to　his　father。

‘Thank　you；　Pauline。’

Simon’s　chin　was　still　jutting　like　a　Neanderthal’s。　He　habitually　acted　as　though　inanimate　objects　were　conspiring　to　irritate　him。　Once　again　he　placed　the　mouse　on　the　mat。

Let　it　work。

A　small　white　arrow　appeared　on　screen　and　swooped　cheerily　around　at　Simon’s　mand。

A　tourniquet　of　fear　was　released；　relief　gushed　through　three　of　the　watchers；　Simon　stopped　pulling　his　Neanderthal　face。　Andrew　visualized　a　line　of　Japanese　men　and　woman　in　white　coats：　the　people　who　had　assembled　this　flawless　machine；　all　of　them　with　delicate；　dextrous　fingers　like　Paul’s；　they　were　bowing　to　him；　sweetly　civilized　and　gentle。　Silently；　Andrew　blessed　them　and　their　families。　They　would　never　know　how　much　had　hung　on　this　particular　machine　working。

Ruth；　Andrew　and　Paul　waited　attentively　while　Simon　put　the　puter　through　its　paces。　He　brought　up　menus；　had　difficulty　getting　rid　of　them；　clicked　icons　whose　functions　he　did　not　understand；　and　was　confused　by　the　outes；　but　he　had　descended　from　the　plateau　of　dangerous　rage。　Having　blundered　his　way　back　to　the　desktop；　he　said；　looking　up　at　Ruth；　‘Seems　all　right；　doesn’t　it？’

‘It’s　great！’　she　said　at　once；　forcing　a　smile；　as　though　the　last　half…hour　had　not　happened；　he　had　bought　the　machine　at　Dixons；　and　connected　it　without　the　threat　of　violence。　‘It’s　faster；　Simon。　Much　faster　than　the　last　one。’

He　hasn’t　opened　the　inter　yet；　you　silly　woman。

‘Yeah；　I　thought　that　too。’

He　glared　at　his　two　sons。

‘This　is　brand　new　and　expensive；　so　you　two　treat　it　with　respect；　you　understand？　And　don’t　tell　anyone　we’ve　got　it；’　Simon　added；　and　a　gust　of　renewed　malice　chilled　the　room。　‘All　right？　Do　you　understand　me？’

They　nodded　again。　Paul’s　face　was　tight　and　pinched。　Unseen　by　his　father；　he　traced　a　figure　of　eight　on　the　outside　of　his　leg　with　his　slender　forefinger。

‘And　one　of　you　draw　the　bloody　curtains。　Why　are　they　still　open？’

Because　we’ve　all　been　standing　here；　watching　you　behave　like　a　prick。

Andrew　pulled　the　curtains　shut　and　left　the　room。

Even　after　he　had　reached　his　bedroom　and　lain　back　down　on　his　bed；　Andrew　was　unable　to　resume　his　pleasurable　meditations　on　the　person　of　Gaia　Bawden。　The　prospect　of　his　father　standing　for　the　council　had　loomed　out　of　nowhere　like　some　gigantic　iceberg；　casting　its　shadow　over　everything；　even　Gaia。

For　all　of　Andrew’s　life；　Simon　had　been　a　contented　prisoner　of　his　own　contempt　for　other　people；　making　his　house　a　fortress　against　the　world　where　his　will　was　law；　and　where　his　mood　constituted　the　family’s　daily　weather。　As　he　had　grown　older；　Andrew　had　bee　aware　that　his　family’s　almost　total　isolation　was　not　typical；　and　bee　slightly　embarrassed　by　it。　Friends’　parents　would　ask　him　where　he　lived；　unable　to　place　his　family；　they　would　ask　casual　questions　about　whether　his　mother　or　father　intended　to　e　to　social　events　or　fundraisers。　Sometimes　they　remembered　Ruth　from　the　primary　school　years；　when　mothers　mixed　in　the　playground。　She　was　much　more　sociable　than　Simon。　Perhaps；　if　she　had　not　married　such　an　antisocial　man；　she　would　have　been　more　like　Fats’　mother；　meeting　friends　for　lunch　or　dinner；　busily　connected　to　the　town。

On　the　very　rare　occasions　that　Simon　came　face　to　face　with　a　person　whom　he　felt　it　worth　courting；　he　adopted　a　salt…of…the…earth　bluff　persona　that　made　Andrew　cringe。　Simon　would　talk　over　them；　crack　clumsy　jokes　and　often　stepped；　unwittingly；　on　all　kinds　of　sensitivities；　because　he　neither　knew　anything；　nor　cared　much；　about　the　people　with　whom　he　was　forced　to　converse。　Lately；　Andrew　had　asked　himself　whether　Simon　even　saw　other　humans　as　real。

Why　his　father　had　been　seized　with　the　aspiration　to　perform　on　a　wider　stage；　Andrew　could　not　fathom；　but　calamity　was　surely　inevitable。　Andrew　knew　other　parents；　the　sort　who　did　sponsored　cycle　rides　to　raise　money　for　the　Square’s　new　Christmas　lights；　or　ran　the　Brownies；　or　set　up　book　clubs。　Simon　did　nothing　that　required　collaboration；　and　had　never　evinced　the　smallest　interest　in　anything　that　did　not　benefit　him　directly。

Awful　visions　surged　in　Andrew’s　churning　mind：　Simon　making　a　speech　larded　with　the　transparent　lies　that　his　wife　swallowed　whole；　Simon　pulling　his　Neanderthal　face　in　an　attempt　to　intimidate　an　opponent；　Simon　losing　control　and　starting　to　spew　all　his　favourite　swearwords　into　a　microphone：　cunting；　fucking；　pissy；　shit　…　

Andrew　pulled　his　laptop　towards　him；　but　pushed　it　away　again　almost　at　once。　He　made　no　move　to　touch　the　mobile　on　his　desk。　This　magnitude　of　anxiety　and　shame　could　not　be　contained　in　an　instant　message　or　a　text；　he　was　alone　with　it；　and　even　Fats　would　not　understand；　and　he　did　not　know　what　to　do。

Friday
Barry　Fairbrother’s　body　had　been　moved　to　the　undertaker’s。　The　deep　black　cuts　in　the　white　scalp；　like　the　grooves　of　skates　on　ice；　were　hidden　by　his　forest　of　thick　hair。　Cold；　waxen　and　empty；　the　body　lay；　re…dressed　in　Barry’s　anniversary　dinner　shirt　and　trousers；　in　a　dimly　lit　viewing　room　where　soft　music　played。　Touches　of　discreet　make…up　had　returned　a　life…like　glow　to　his　skin。　It　was　almost　as　though　he　slept；　but　not　quite。

Barry’s　two　brothers；　his　widow　and　his　four　children　went　to　bid　the　body　goodbye　on　the　eve　of　the　burial。　Mary　had　been　undecided；　almost　until　the　minute　of　departure；　as　to　whether　she　should　allow　all　of　the　children　to　see　their　father’s　remains。　Declan　was　a　sensitive　boy；　prone　to　nightmares。　It　was　while　she　was　still　in　a　fever　pitch　of　indecision　on　Friday　afternoon　that　there　was　an　upset。

Colin　‘Cubby’　Wall　had　decided　that　he　wanted　to　go　and　say　goodbye　to　Barry’s　body　too。　Mary；　usually　pliant　and　agreeable；　had　found　this　excessive。　Her　voice　had　grown　shrill　on　the　telephone　to　Tessa；　then　she　had　begun　to　cry　again；　and　said　that　it　was　just　that　she　had　not　planned　a　large　procession　past　Barry；　that　this　was　really　a　family　affair　…　Dreadfully　apologetic；　Tessa　said　that　she　quite　understood；　and　was　then　left　to　explain　to　Colin；　who　retreated　into　a　mortified；　wounded　silence。

He　had　simply　wanted　to　stand　alone　beside　Barry’s　body　and　pay　silent　homage　to　a　man　who　had　occupied　a　unique　place　in　his　life。　Colin　had　poured　truths　and　secrets　he　had　confided　to　no　other　friend　into　Barry’s　ears；　and　Barry’s　small　brown　eyes；　robin　bright；　had　never　ceased　to　regard　him　with　warmth　and　kindness。　Barry　had　been　Colin’s　closest　ever　friend；　giving　him　an　experience　of　male　radeship　he　had　never　known　before　moving　to　Pagford；　and　was　sure　he　would　never　have　again。　That　he；　Colin；　who　felt　himself　to　be　perpetually　the　outsider　and　the　oddball；　for　whom　life　was　a　matter　of　daily　struggle；　had　managed　to　forge　a　friendship　with　the　cheerful；　popular　and　eternally　optimistic　Barry；　had　always　seemed　a　small　miracle。　Colin　clutched　what　was　left　of　his　dignity　to　him；　resolved　never　to　hold　this　against　Mary；　and　spent　the　rest　of　the　day　meditating　on　how　surprised　and　hurt　Barry　would　have　been；　surely；　at　his　widow’s　attitude。

Three　miles　outside　Pagford；　in　an　attractive　cottage　called　the　Smithy；　Gavin　Hughes　was　trying　to　fight　off　an　intensifying　gloom。　Mary　had　called　earlier。　In　a　voice　that　trembled　with　the　weight　of　tears；　she　had　explained　how　the　children　had　all　contributed　ideas　for　tomorrow’s　funeral　service。　Siobhan　had　grown　a　sunflower　from　seed；　and　was