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He　raked　excitedly　through　this　magnificent；　unexpected　treasure　trove：　her　perfect　body；　revealed　in　tight　denim　and　stretchy　cotton；　number　ten　behind　her；　on　a　chipped；　shabby　blue　door；　‘oh；　hi’；　easily　and　naturally　–　so　his　features　were　definitely　logged　somewhere　in　the　mind　that　lived　behind　the　astonishing　face。

The　bike　jolted　on　the　newly　pebbly　and　rough　ground。　Elated；　Andrew　dismounted　only　when　he　began　to　overbalance。　He　wheeled　the　bicycle　on　through　the　trees；　emerging　onto　the　narrow　riverbank；　where　he　slung　the　bicycle　down　on　the　ground　among　the　wood　anemones　that　had　opened　like　tiny　white　stars　since　his　last　visit。

His　father　had　said；　when　he　first　started　to　borrow　the　bike：　‘You　chain　it　up　if　you’re　going　in　a　shop。　I’m　warning　you；　if　that　gets　nicked　…’

But　the　chain　was　not　long　enough　to　go　around　any　of　the　trees　and；　in　any　case；　the　further　he　rode　from　his　father　the　less　Andrew　feared　him。　Still　thinking　about　the　inches　of　flat；　bare　midriff　and　Gaia’s　exquisite　face；　Andrew　strode　to　the　place　where　the　bank　met　the　eroded　side　of　the　hill；　which　hung　like　an　earthy；　rocky　cliff　in　a　sheer　face　above　the　fast…flowing　green　water。

The　narrowest　lip　of　slippery；　crumbling　bank　ran　along　the　bottom　of　the　hillside。　The　only　way　of　navigating　it；　if　your　feet　had　grown　to　be　twice　the　length　they　had　been　when　they　had　first　made　the　trip；　was　to　edge　along　sideways；　pressed　to　the　sheer　face；　holding　tight　to　roots　and　bits　of　protruding　rock。

The　mulchy　green　smell　of　the　river　and　of　wet　soil　was　deeply　familiar　to　Andrew；　as　was　the　sensation　of　this　narrow　ledge　of　earth　and　grass　under　his　feet；　and　the　cracks　and　rocks　he　sought　with　his　hands　on　the　hillside。　He　and　Fats　had　found　the　secret　place　when　they　were　eleven　years　old。　They　had　known　that　what　they　were　doing　was　forbidden　and　dangerous；　they　had　been　warned　about　the　river。　Terrified；　but　determined　not　to　tell　each　other　so；　they　had　sidled　along　this　tricky　ledge；　grabbing　at　anything　that　protruded　from　the　rocky　wall　and；　at　the　very　narrowest　point；　clutching　fistfuls　of　each　other’s　T…shirts。

Years　of　practice　enabled　Andrew；　though　his　mind　was　barely　on　the　job；　to　move　crab…wise　along　the　solid　wall　of　earth　and　rock　with　the　water　gushing　three　feet　beneath　his　trainers；　then　with　a　deft　duck　and　swing；　he　was　inside　the　fissure　in　the　hillside　that　they　had　found　so　long　ago。　Back　then；　it　had　seemed　like　a　divine　reward　for　their　daring。　He　could　no　longer　stand　up　in　it；　but；　slightly　larger　than　a　two…man　tent；　it　was　big　enough　for　two　teenage　boys　to　lie；　side　by　side；　with　the　river　rushing　past　and　the　trees　dappling　their　view　of　the　sky；　framed　by　the　triangular　entrance。

The　first　time　they　had　been　here；　they　had　poked　and　dug　at　the　back　wall　with　sticks；　but　they　had　not　found　a　secret　passageway　leading　to　the　abbey　above；　so　they　gloried　instead　in　the　fact　that　they　alone　had　discovered　the　hiding　place；　and　swore　that　it　would　be　their　secret　in　perpetuity。　Andrew　had　a　vague　memory　of　a　solemn　oath；　spit　and　swearwords。　They　had　called　it　the　Cave　when　they　had　first　discovered　it；　but　it　was　now；　and　had　been　for　some　time　past；　the　Cubby　Hole。

The　little　recess　smelt　earthy；　though　the　sloping　ceiling　was　made　of　rock。　A　dark　green　tidemark　showed　that　it　had　flooded　in　the　past；　not　quite　to　the　roof。　The　floor　was　covered　in　their　cigarette　butts　and　cardboard　roaches。　Andrew　sat　down；　with　his　legs　dangling　over　the　sludge…green　water；　and　pulled　his　cigarettes　and　lighter　out　of　his　jacket；　bought　with　the　last　of　his　birthday　money；　now　that　his　allowance　had　been　stopped。　He　lit　up；　inhaled　deeply；　and　relived　the　glorious　encounter　with　Gaia　Bawden　in　as　much　detail　as　he　could　ring　out　of　it：　narrow　waist　and　curving　hips；　creamy　skin　between　leather　and　T…shirt；　full；　wide　mouth；　‘oh；　hi’。　It　was　the　first　time　he　had　seen　her　out　of　school　uniform。　Where　was　she　going；　alone　with　her　leather　handbag？　What　was　there　in　Pagford　for　her　to　do　on　a　Saturday　morning？　Was　she　perhaps　catching　the　bus　into　Yarvil？　What　did　she　get　up　to　when　she　was　out　of　his　sight；　what　feminine　mysteries　absorbed　her？

And　he　asked　himself　for　the　umpteenth　time　whether　it　was　conceivable　that　flesh　and　bone　wrought　like　that　could　contain　a　banal　personality。　It　was　only　Gaia　who　had　ever　made　him　wonder　this：　the　idea　of　body　and　soul　as　separate　entities　had　never　once　occurred　to　him　until　he　had　clapped　eyes　on　her。　Even　while　trying　to　imagine　what　her　breasts　would　look　and　feel　like；　judged　by　the　visual　evidence　he　had　managed　to　gather　through　a　slightly　translucent　school　shirt；　and　what　he　knew　was　a　white　bra；　he　could　not　believe　that　the　allure　she　held　for　him　was　exclusively　physical。　She　had　a　way　of　moving　that　moved　him　as　much　as　music；　which　was　what　moved　him　most　of　all。　Surely　the　spirit　animating　that　peerless　body　must　be　unusual　too？　Why　would　nature　make　a　vessel　like　that；　if　not　to　contain　something　still　more　valuable？

Andrew　knew　what　naked　women　looked　like；　because　there　were　no　parental　controls　on　the　puter　in　Fats’　conversion　bedroom。　Together　they　had　explored　as　much　online　porn　as　they　could　access　for　free：　shaven　vulvas；　pink　labia　pulled　wide　to　show　darkly　gaping　slits；　spread　buttocks　revealing　the　puckered　buttons　of　anuses；　thickly　lipsticked　mouths；　dripping　semen。　Andrew’s　excitement　was　underpinned；　always；　by　the　panicky　awareness　that　you　could　only　hear　Mrs　Wall　approaching　the　room　when　she　reached　the　creaking　halfway　stair。　Sometimes　they　found　weirdness　that　made　them　roar　with　laughter；　even　when　Andrew　was　unsure　whether　he　was　more　excited　or　repulsed　（whips　and　saddles；　harnesses；　ropes；　hoses；　and　once；　at　which　even　Fats　had　not　managed　to　laugh；　close…ups　of　metal…bolted　contraptions；　and　needles　protruding　from　soft　flesh；　and　women’s　faces　frozen；　screaming）。

Together　he　and　Fats　had　bee　connoisseurs　of　silicone…enhanced　breasts；　enormous；　taut　and　round。

‘Plastic；’　one　of　them　would　point　out；　matter　of　factly；　as　they　sat　in　front　of　the　monitor　with　the　door　wedged　shut　against　Fats’　parents。　The　on…screen　blonde’s　arms　were　raised　as　she　sat　astride　some　hairy　man；　her　big　brown…nippled　breasts　hanging　off　her　narrow　rib　cage　like　bowling　balls；　thin；　shiny　purple　lines　under　each　of　them　showing　where　the　silicone　had　been　inserted。　You　could　almost　tell　how　they　would　feel；　looking　at　them：　firm；　as　if　there　were　a　football　underneath　the　skin。　Andrew　could　imagine　nothing　more　erotic　than　a　natural　breast；　soft　and　spongy　and　perhaps　a　little　springy；　and　the　nipples　（he　hoped）　contrastingly　hard。

And　all　of　these　images　blurred　in　his　mind；　late　at　night；　with　the　possibilities　offered　by　real　girls；　human　girls；　and　the　little　you　managed　to　feel　through　clothes　if　you　managed　to　move　in　close　enough。　Niamh　was　the　less　pretty　of　the　Fairbrother　twins；　but　she　had　been　the　more　willing；　in　the　stuffy　drama　hall；　during　the　Christmas　disco。　Half　hidden　by　the　musty　stage　curtain　in　a　dark　corner；　they　had　pressed　against　each　other；　and　Andrew　had　put　his　tongue　into　her　mouth。　His　hands　had　inched　as　far　as　her　bra　strap　and　no　further；　because　she　kept　pulling　away。　He　had　been　driven；　chiefly；　by　the　knowledge　that　somewhere　outside　in　the　darkness；　Fats　was　going　further。　And　now　his　brain　teemed　and　throbbed　with　Gaia。　She　was　both　the　sexiest　girl　he　had　ever　seen　and　the　source　of　another；　entirely　inexplicable　yearning。　Certain　chord　changes；　certain　beats；　made　the　very　core　of　him　shiver；　and　so　did　something　about　Gaia　Bawden。

He　lit　a　new　cigarette　from　the　end　of　the　first　and　threw　the　butt　into　the　water　below。　Then　he　heard　a　familiar　scuffling；　and　leaned　forward　to　see　Fats；　still　wearing　his　funeral　suit；　spread…eagled　on　the　hill　wall；　moving　from　hand…hold　to　hand…hold　as　he　edged　along　the　narrow　lip　of　bank；　towards　the　opening　where　Andrew　sat。

‘Fats。’

‘Arf。’

Andrew　pulled　in　his　legs　to　give　Fats　room　to　climb　into　the　Cubby　Hole。

‘Fucking　hell；’　said　Fats；　when　he　had　clambered　inside。　He　was　spider…like　in　his　awkwardness；　with　his　long　limbs；　his　skinniness　emphasized　by　the　black　suit。

Andrew　handed　him　a　cigarette。　Fats　always　lit　up　as　though　he　were　in　a　high　wind；　one　hand　cupped　around　the　flame　to　shield　it；　scowling　slightly。　He　inhaled；　blew　a　smoke　ring　out　of　the　Cubby　Hole　and　loosened　the　dark　grey　tie　around　his　neck。　He　appeared　older　and　not；　after　all；　so　very　foolish　in　the　suit；　which　bore　traces　of　earth　on　the　knees　and　cuffs　from　the　journey　to　the　cave。

‘You’d　think　they　were　bum　chums；’　Fats　said；　after　he　had　taken　another　powerful　drag　on　his　cigarette。

‘Cubby　upset；　was　he？’

‘Upset？　He’s　having　fucking　hysterics。　He’s　given　himself　hiccups。　He’s　worse　than　the　fucking　widow。’

Andrew　laughed。　Fats　blew　another　smoke　ring　and　pulled　at　one　of　his　overlarge　ears。

‘I　bowed　out　early。　They　haven’t　even　buried　him　yet。’

They　smoked　in　silence　for　a　minute；　both　looking　out　at　the　sludgy　river。　As　he　smoked；　Andrew　contemplated　the　words　‘bowed　out　early’；　and　the　amount　of　autonomy　Fats　seemed　to　have；　pared　to　himself。　Simon　and　his　fury　stood　between　Andrew　and　too　much　freedom：　in　Hilltop　House；　you　sometimes　copped　for　punishment　simply　because　you　were　present。　Andrew’s　imagination　had　once　been　caught　by　a　strange　little　module　in　their　philosophy　and　religion　class；　in　which　primitive　gods　had　been　discussed　in　all　their　arbitrary　wrath　and　violence；　and　the　attempts　of　early　civilizations　to　placate　them。　He　had　thought　then　of　the　nature　of　justice　as　he　had　e　to　know　it：　of　his　father　as　a　pagan　god；　and　of　his　mother　as　the　high　priestess　of　the　cult；　who　attempted　to　interpret　and　intercede；　usually　failing；　yet　still　insisting；　in　the　face　of　all　the　evidence；　that　there　was　an　underlying　magnanimity　and　reasonableness　to　her　deity。

Fats　rested　his　head　against　the　stone　side　of　the　Cubby　Hole　and　blew　smoke　rings　at　the　ceiling。　He　was　thinking　about　what　he　wanted　to　tell　Andrew。　He　had　been　mentally　rehearsing　the　way　he　would　start；　all　through　the　funeral　service；　while　his　father　gulped　and　sobbed　into　his　handkerchief。　Fats　was　so　excited　by　the　prospect　of　telling；　that　he　was　having　difficulty　containing　himself；　but　he　was　determined　not　to　blurt　it　out。　The　telling　of　it　was；　to　Fats；　of　almost　equal　importance　to　the　doing　of　it。　He　did　not　want　Andrew　to　think　that　he　had　hurried　here　to　say　it。

‘You　know　how　Fairbrother　was　on　the　Parish　Council？’　said　Andrew。

‘Yeah；’　said　Fats；　glad　that　Andrew　had　initiated　a　space…filler　conversation。

‘Si…Pie’s　saying　he’s　going　to　stand　for　his　seat。’

‘Si…Pie　is？’

Fats　frowned　at　Andrew。

‘What　the　fuck’s　got　into　him？’

‘He　reckons　Fairbrother　was　getting　backhanders　from　some　contractor。’　Andrew　had　heard　Simon　discussing　it　with　Ruth　in　the　kitchen　that　morning。　It　had　explained　everything。　‘He　wants　a　bit　of　the　action。’

‘That　wasn’t　Barry　Fairbrother；’　said　Fats；　laughing　as　he　flicked　ash　onto　the　cave　floor。　‘And　that　wasn’t　the　Parish　Council。　That　was　What’s…his…name　Frierly；　up　in　Yarvil。　He　was　on　the　school　board　at　Winterdown。　Cubby　had　a　fucking　fit。　Local　press　calling　him　for　a　ment　and　all　that。　Frierly　got　done　for　it。　Doesn’t　Si…Pie　read　the　Yarvil　and　District　Gazette？’

Andrew　stared　at　Fats。

‘Fucking　typical。’

He　ground　out　his　cigarette　on　the　earthy　floor；　embarrassed　by　his　father’s　idiocy。　Simon　had　got　the　wrong　end　of　the　stick　yet　again。　He　spurned　the　local　munity；　sneered　at　their　concerns；　was　proud　of　his　isolation　in　his　poxy　little　house　on　the　hill；　then　he　got　a　bit　of　misinformation　and　decided　to　expose　his　family　to　humiliation　on　the　basis　of　it。

‘Crooked　as　fuck；　Si…Pie；　isn’t　he？’　said　Fats。

They　called　him　Si…Pie　because　that　was　Ruth’s　nickname　for　her　husband。　Fats　had　heard　her　use　it　once；　when　he　had　been　over　for　his　tea；　and　had　never　called　Simon　anything　else　since。

‘Yeah；　he　is；’　said　Andrew；　wondering　whether　he　would　be　able　to　dissuade　his　father　from　standing　by　telling　him　he　had　the　wrong　m