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morrow’s　funeral　service。　Siobhan　had　grown　a　sunflower　from　seed；　and　was　going　to　cut　it　and　put　it　on　top　of　the　coffin。　All　four　kids　had　written　letters　to　put　inside　the　casket　with　their　father。　Mary　had　posed　one　too；　and　was　going　to　put　it　in　Barry’s　shirt　pocket；　over　his　heart。

Gavin　put　down　the　receiver；　sickened。　He　did　not　want　to　know　about　the　children’s　letters；　nor　about　the　long…nurtured　sunflower；　yet　his　mind　kept　returning　to　these　things　as　he　ate　lasagne　alone　at　his　kitchen　table。　Though　he　would　have　done　anything　to　avoid　reading　it；　he　kept　trying　to　imagine　what　Mary　had　written　in　her　letter。

A　black　suit　was　hanging　in　dry…cleaner’s　polythene　in　his　bedroom；　like　an　unwele　guest。　His　appreciation　of　the　honour　Mary　had　done　him；　in　publicly　acknowledging　him　as　one　of　those　closest　to　the　popular　Barry；　had　long　since　been　overwhelmed　by　dread。　By　the　time　he　was　washing　up　his　plate　and　cutlery　at　the　sink；　Gavin　would　have　gladly　missed　the　funeral　altogether。　As　for　the　idea　of　viewing　his　dead　friend’s　body；　it　had　not；　and　would　never　have　occurred　to　him。

He　and　Kay　had　had　a　nasty　row　the　previous　evening；　and　had　not　spoken　since。　It　had　all　been　triggered　by　Kay　asking　Gavin　if　he　would　like　her　to　go　with　him　to　the　funeral。

‘Christ；　no；’　Gavin　had　said；　before　he　could　stop　himself。

He　had　seen　her　expression；　and　knew　instantly　that　she　had　heard。　Christ；　no；　people　will　think　we’re　a　couple。　Christ；　no；　why　would　I　want　you？　And　although　these　were　precisely　his　feelings；　he　had　attempted　to　bluff　his　way　through。

‘I　mean；　you　didn’t　know　him；　did　you？　It’d　be　a　bit　weird；　wouldn’t　it？’

But　Kay　had　let　rip；　tried　to　corner　him；　to　make　him　tell　her　what　he　really　felt；　what　he　wanted；　what　future　he　envisioned　for　the　two　of　them。　He　had　fought　back　with　every　weapon　in　his　arsenal；　being　alternately　obtuse；　evasive　and　pedantic；　for　it　was　wonderful　how　you　could　obscure　an　emotional　issue　by　appearing　to　seek　precision。　At　last　she　had　told　him　to　get　out　of　her　house；　he　had　obeyed；　but　he　knew　that　it　was　not　over。　That　would　be　way　too　much　to　hope　for。　Gavin’s　reflection　in　the　kitchen　window　was　drawn　and　miserable；　Barry’s　stolen　future　seemed　to　hang　over　his　own　life　like　a　looming　cliff；　he　felt　inadequate　and　guilty；　but　he　still　wished　that　Kay　would　move　back　to　London。

Night　drew　in　over　Pagford；　and　in　the　Old　Vicarage　Parminder　Jawanda　perused　her　wardrobe；　wondering　what　to　wear　to　say　goodbye　to　Barry。　She　had　several　dark　dresses　and　suits；　any　one　of　which　would　be　appropriate；　and　yet　still　she　looked　backwards　and　forwards　along　the　rail　of　clothes；　mired　in　indecision。

Wear　a　sari。　It’ll　upset　Shirley　Mollison。　Go　on；　wear　a　sari。

It　was　so　stupid　to　think　that　–　mad　and　wrong　–　and　even　worse　to　think　it　in　Barry’s　voice。　Barry　was　dead；　she　had　endured　nearly　five　days　of　deep　grief　for　him；　and　tomorrow　they　would　bury　him　in　the　earth。　The　prospect　was　unpleasant　to　Parminder。　She　had　always　hated　the　idea　of　interment；　of　a　body　lying　whole　under　the　ground；　slowly　rotting　away；　riddled　with　maggots　and　flies。　The　Sikh　way　was　to　cremate　and　to　scatter　the　ashes　in　running　water。

She　let　her　eyes　wander　up　and　down　the　hanging　garments；　but　her　saris；　worn　to　family　weddings　and　get…togethers　back　in　Birmingham；　seemed　to　call　to　her。　What　was　this　strange　urge　to　don　one？　It　felt　uncharacteristically　exhibitionist。　She　reached　out　to　touch　the　folds　of　her　favourite；　dark　blue　and　gold。　She　had　last　worn　it　to　the　Fairbrothers’　New　Year’s　party；　when　Barry　had　attempted　to　teach　her　to　jive。　It　had　been　a　most　unsuccessful　experiment；　mainly　because　he　did　not　know　what　he　was　doing　himself；　but　she　could　remember　laughing　as　she　almost　never　laughed；　uncontrollably；　madly；　the　way　she　had　seen　drunk　women　laugh。

The　sari　was　elegant　and　feminine；　forgiving　of　middle…aged　spread：　Parminder’s　mother；　who　was　eighty…two；　wore　it　daily。　Parminder　herself　had　no　need　of　its　camouflaging　properties：　she　was　as　slim　as　she　had　been　at　twenty。　Yet　she　pulled　out　the　long；　dark　length　of　soft　material　and　held　it　up　against　her　dressing　gown；　letting　it　fall　to　caress　her　bare　feet；　looking　down　its　length　at　its　subtle　embroidery。　To　wear　it　would　feel　like　a　private　joke　between　herself　and　Barry；　like　the　cow…faced　house　and　all　the　funny　things　Barry　had　said　about　Howard；　as　they　walked　away　from　interminable；　ill…humoured　council　meetings。

There　was　a　terrible　weight　on　Parminder’s　chest；　but　did　not　the　Guru　Granth　Sahib　exhort　friends　and　relatives　of　the　dead　not　to　show　grief；　but　to　celebrate　their　loved　one’s　reunion　with　God？　In　an　effort　to　keep　traitorous　tears　at　bay；　Parminder　silently　intoned　the　night…time　prayer；　the　kirtan　sohila。

My　friend；　I　urge　you　that　this　is　the　opportune　time　to　serve　the　saints。

Earn　divine　profit　in　this　world　and　live　in　peace　and　fort　in　the　next。

Life　is　shortening　day　and　night。

O　mind；　meet　the　Guru　and　set　right　your　affairs　…

Lying　on　her　bed　in　her　dark　room；　Sukhvinder　could　hear　what　every　member　of　her　family　was　doing。　There　was　the　distant　murmur　of　the　television　directly　below　her；　punctuated　by　the　muffled　laughter　of　her　brother　and　her　father；　who　were　watching　a　Friday…night　edy　show。　She　could　make　out　her　elder　sister’s　voice　across　the　landing；　talking　on　her　mobile　to　one　of　her　many　friends。　Nearest　of　all　was　her　mother；　clunking　and　scraping　in　the　built…in　wardrobe　on　the　other　side　of　the　wall。

Sukhvinder　had　drawn　the　curtains　over　her　window　and　placed　a　draught　excluder；　shaped　like　a　long　sausage　dog；　along　the　bottom　of　her　door。　In　the　absence　of　a　lock；　the　dog　impeded　the　door’s　progress；　it　gave　her　warning。　She　was　sure　that　nobody　would　e　in；　though。　She　was　where　she　ought　to　be；　doing　what　she　ought　to　be　doing。　Or　so　they　thought。

She　had　just　performed　one　of　her　dreadful　daily　rituals：　the　opening　of　her　Facebook　page；　and　the　removal　of　another　post　from　a　sender　she　did　not　know。　As　often　as　she　blocked　the　person　bombarding　her　with　these　messages；　they　changed　their　profile　and　sent　more。　She　never　knew　when　one　would　appear。　Today’s　had　been　a　black　and　white　image；　a　copy　of　a　nieenth…century　circus　poster。

La　Véritable　Femme　à　Barbe；　Miss　Anne　Jones　Elliot。

It　showed　the　photograph　of　a　woman　in　a　lacy　dress；　with　long　dark　hair　and　a　luxuriant　beard　and　moustache。

She　was　convinced　that　it　was　Fats　Wall　who　was　sending　them；　although　it　might　have　been　somebody　else。　Dane　Tully　and　his　friends；　for　instance；　who　made　soft；　grunting　ape…like　noises　whenever　she　spoke　in　English。　They　would　have　done　it　to　anybody　of　her　colour；　there　were　hardly　any　brown　faces　at　Winterdown。　It　made　her　feel　humiliated　and　stupid；　especially　as　Mr　Garry　never　told　them　off。　He　affected　not　to　hear　them；　or　else　to　hear　only　background　chatter。　Perhaps　he；　too；　thought　that　Sukhvinder　Kaur　Jawanda　was　an　ape；　a　hairy　ape。

Sukhvinder　lay　on　her　back　on　top　of　her　covers　and　wished　with　all　of　her　being　that　she　was　dead。　If　she　could　have　achieved　suicide；　simply　by　willing　it；　she　would　have　done　it　without　hesitation。　Death　had　e　to　Mr　Fairbrother；　why　could　it　not　happen　to　her？　Better　yet；　why　could　they　not　swap　places？　Niamh　and　Siobhan　could　have　their　father　back；　and　she；　Sukhvinder；　could　simply　slip　into　non…being：　wiped　out；　wiped　clean。

Her　self…disgust　was　like　a　tle　suit；　every　part　of　her　prickled　and　burnt　with　it。　She　had　to　will　herself；　moment　by　moment；　to　endure；　to　remain　stationary；　not　to　rush　to　do　the　one　and　only　thing　that　helped。　The　whole　family　had　to　be　in　bed　before　she　acted。　But　it　was　agony　to　lie　like　this；　listening　to　her　own　breathing；　conscious　of　the　useless　weight　of　her　own　ugly　and　disgusting　body　on　the　bed。　She　liked　to　think　of　drowning；　of　sinking　down　into　cool　green　water；　and　feeling　herself　slowly　pressed　into　nothingness　…　

The　great　hermaphrodite　sits　quiet　and　still　…

Shame　ran　down　her　body　like　a　burning　rash　as　she　lay　in　the　darkness。　She　had　never　heard　the　word　before　Fats　Wall　spoke　it　in　maths　on　Wednesday。　She　would　not　have　been　able　to　look　it　up：　she　was　dyslexic。　But　he　had　been　kind　enough　to　explain　what　it　meant；　so　there　was　no　need。

The　hairy　man…woman　…

He　was　worse　than　Dane　Tully；　whose　taunts　had　no　variety。　Fats　Wall’s　evil　tongue　fashioned　a　fresh；　tailor…made　torture　every　time　he　saw　her；　and　she　could　not　shut　her　ears。　His　every　insult　and　jibe　was　branded　on　Sukhvinder’s　memory；　sticking　there　as　no　useful　fact　had　ever　done。　If　she　could　have　been　examined　on　the　things　he　had　called　her；　she　would　have　achieved　the　first　A　grade　of　her　life。　Tash　’N’　Tits。　Hermaphrodite。　The　Bearded　Dumb…bell。

Hairy；　heavy　and　stupid。　Plain　and　clumsy。　Lazy；　according　to　her　mother；　whose　criticism　and　exasperation　rained　down　upon　her　daily。　A　bit　slow；　according　to　her　father；　who　said　it　with　an　affection　that　did　not　mitigate　his　lack　of　interest。　He　could　afford　to　be　nice　about　her　bad　grades。　He　had　Jaswant　and　Rajpal；　both　top　of　every　class　they　took。

‘Poor　old　Jolly；’　Vikram　would　say　carelessly；　after　glancing　through　her　report。

But　her　father’s　indifference　was　preferable　to　her　mother’s　anger。　Parminder　did　not　seem　able　to　prehend　or　accept　that　she　had　produced　a　child　who　was　not　gifted。　If　any　of　the　subject　teachers　made　the　slightest　hint　that　Sukhvinder　might　try　harder；　Parminder　seized　upon　it　in　triumph。

‘“Sukhvinder　is　easily　discouraged　and　needs　to　have　more　faith　in　her　abilities。”　There！　You　see？　Your　teacher　is　saying　you　don’t　try　hard　enough；　Sukhvinder。’

Of　the　only　class　in　which　Sukhvinder　had　reached　the　second　set；　puting　–　Fats　Wall　was　not　there；　so　she　sometimes　dared　put　up　her　hand　to　answer　questions　–　Parminder　said　dismissively；　‘The　amount　of　time　you　children　spend　on　the　inter；　I’m　surprised　you’re　not　in　set　one。’

Never　would　it　have　occurred　to　Sukhvinder　to　tell　either　of　her　parents　about　the　ape　grunts　or　about　Stuart　Wall’s　endless　stream　of　malice。　It　would　mean　confessing　that　people　beyond　the　family　also　saw　her　as　sub…standard　and　worthless。　In　any　case；　Parminder　was　friends　with　Stuart　Wall’s　mother。　Sukhvinder　sometimes　wondered　why　Stuart　Wall　did　not　worry　about　their　mothers’　connection；　but　concluded　that　he　knew　that　she　would　not　give　him　away。　He　saw　through　her。　He　saw　her　cowardice；　as　he　knew　her　every　worst　thought　about　herself；　and　was　able　to　articulate　it　for　the　amusement　of　Andrew　Price。　She　had　fancied　Andrew　Price　once；　before　she　realized　that　she　was　utterly　unfit　to　fancy　anyone；　before　she　realized　that　she　was　laughable　and　strange。

Sukhvinder　heard　her　father’s　voice　and　Rajpal’s；　growing　louder　as　they　came　up　the　stairs。　Rajpal’s　laughter　reached　a　crescendo　right　outside　her　door。

‘It’s　late；’　she　heard　her　mother　call　from　her　bedroom。　‘Vikram；　he　should　be　in　bed。’

Vikram’s　voice　came　through　Sukhvinder’s　door；　close　by；　loud　and　warm。

‘Are　you　asleep　already；　Jolly？’

It　was　her　childhood　nickname；　bestowed　in　irony。　Jaswant　had　been　Jazzy；　and　Sukhvinder；　a　grizzling；　unhappy　baby；　rarely　smiling；　had　bee　Jolly。

‘No；’　Sukhvinder　called　back。　‘I’ve　only　just　gone　to　bed。’

‘Well；　it　might　interest　you　to　know　that　your　brother；　here—’

But　what　Rajpal　had　done　was　lost　in　his　shouting　protests；　his　laughter；　she　heard　Vikram　moving　away；　still　teasing　Rajpal。

Sukhvinder　waited　for　the　house　to　fall　silent。　She　clung　to　the　prospect　of　her　only　consolation；　as　she　would　have　hugged　a　life…belt；　waiting；　waiting；　for　them　all　to　go　to　bed　…

（And　as　she　waited；　she　remembered　that　evening　not　long　ago；　at　the　end　of　rowing　training；　when　they　had　been　walking　through　the　darkness　towards　the　car　park　by　the　canal。　You　were　so　tired　after　rowing。　Your　arms　and　your　stomach　muscles　ached；　but　it　was　a　good　clean　pain。　She　always　slept　properly　after　rowing。　And　then　Krystal；　bringing　up　the　rear　of　the　group　with　Sukhvinder；　had　called　her　a　silly　Paki　bitch。

It　had　e　out　of　nowhere。　They　had　all　been　messing　around　with　Mr　Fairbrother。　Krys