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ling　her　about　Mary　Fairbrother　and　the　life　insurance　pany。

‘They’re　being　real　bastards；’　he　said。　‘He　was　heavily　insured；　but　their　lawyers　are　looking　for　a　way　not　to　pay　out。　They’re　trying　to　make　out　he　didn’t　make　a　full　disclosure。’

‘In　what　way？’

‘Well；　an　uncle　died　of　an　aneurysm；　too。　Mary　swears　Barry　told　the　insurance　agent　that　when　he　signed　the　policy；　but　it’s　nowhere　in　the　notes。　Presumably　the　bloke　didn’t　realize　it　can　be　a　geic　thing。　I　don’t　know　that　Barry　did；　e　to　…’

Gavin’s　voice　broke。　Horrified　and　embarrassed；　he　bowed　his　flushing　face　over　his　plate。　There　was　a　hard　chunk　of　grief　in　his　throat　and　he　couldn’t　shift　it。　Kay’s　chair　legs　scraped　on　the　floor；　he　hoped　that　she　was　off　to　the　bathroom；　but　then　felt　her　arms　around　his　shoulders；　drawing　him　to　her。　Without　thinking；　he　put　a　single　arm　around　her；　too。

It　was　so　good　to　be　held。　If　only　their　relationship　could　be　distilled　into　simple；　wordless　gestures　of　fort。　Why　had　humans　ever　learned　to　talk？

He　had　dribbled　snot　onto　the　back　of　her　top。

‘Sorry；’　he　said　thickly；　wiping　it　away　with　his　napkin。

He　withdrew　from　her　and　blew　his　nose。　She　dragged　her　chair　to　sit　beside　him　and　put　a　hand　on　his　arm。　He　liked　her　so　much　better　when　she　was　silent；　and　her　face　was　soft　and　concerned；　as　it　was　now。

‘I　still　can’t　…　he　was　a　good　bloke；’　he　said。　‘Barry。　He　was　a　good　bloke。’

‘Yes；　everyone　says　that　about　him；’　said　Kay。

She　had　never　been　allowed　to　meet　this　famous　Barry　Fairbrother；　but　she　was　intrigued　by　the　show　of　emotion　from　Gavin；　and　by　the　person　who　had　caused　it。

‘Was　he　funny？’　she　asked；　because　she　could　imagine　Gavin　in　thrall　to　a　edian；　to　a　rowdy　ringleader；　propping　up　the　bar。

‘Yeah；　I　s’pose。　Well；　not　particularly。　Normal。　He　liked　a　laugh　…　but　he　was　just　such　a　…　such　a　nice　bloke。　He　liked　people；　you　know？’

She　waited；　but　Gavin　did　not　seem　able　to　elucidate　further　on　the　niceness　of　Barry。

‘And　the　kids　…　and　Mary　…　poor　Mary　…　God；　you’ve　got　no　idea。’

Kay　continued　to　pat　his　arm　gently；　but　her　sympathy　had　chilled　a　little。　No　idea；　she　thought；　what　it　was　to　be　alone？　No　idea　how　hard　it　was　to　be　left　in　sole　charge　of　a　family？　Where　was　his　pity　for　her；　Kay？

‘They　were　really　happy；’　said　Gavin；　in　a　cracked　voice。　‘She’s　in　pieces。’

Wordlessly；　Kay　stroked　his　arm；　reflecting　that　she　had　never　been　able　to　afford　to　go　to　pieces。

‘I’m　all　right；’　he　said；　wiping　his　nose　on　his　napkin　and　picking　up　his　fork。　By　the　smallest　of　twitches；　he　indicated　that　she　should　remove　her　hand。

III
Gavin　cooked　for　Kay　at　his　house　that　evening；　opening　tins　and　crushing　garlic　with　a　sense　of　ill…usage。

After　a　row；　you　had　to　say　certain　things　to　secure　a　truce：　those　were　the　rules；　everyone　knew　that。　Gavin　had　telephoned　Kay　from　his　car　on　the　way　back　from　Barry’s　burial　and　told　her　that　he　wished　she　had　been　there；　that　the　whole　day　had　been　horrible　and　that　he　hoped　he　could　see　her　that　night。　He　considered　these　humble　admissions　no　more　or　less　than　the　price　he　had　to　pay　for　an　evening　of　undemanding　panionship。

But　Kay　seemed　to　consider　them　more　in　the　light　of　a　down　payment　on　a　renegotiated　contract。　You　missed　me。　You　needed　me　when　you　were　upset。　You’re　sorry　we　didn’t　go　as　a　couple。　Well；　let’s　not　make　that　mistake　again。　There　had　been　a　certain　placency　about　the　way　she　had　treated　him　since；　a　briskness；　a　sense　of　renewed　expectation。

He　was　making　spaghetti　Bolognese　tonight；　he　had　deliberately　omitted　to　buy　a　pudding　or　to　lay　the　table　in　advance；　he　was　at　pains　to　show　her　that　he　had　not　made　much　of　an　effort。　Kay　seemed　oblivious；　even　determined　to　take　this　casual　attitude　as　a　pliment。　She　sat　at　his　small　kitchen　table；　talking　to　him　over　the　pitter…patter　of　rain　on　the　skylight；　her　eyes　wandering　over　the　fixtures　and　fittings。　She　had　not　often　been　here。

‘I　suppose　Lisa　chose　this　yellow；　did　she？’

She　was　doing　it　again：　breaking　taboos；　as　though　they　had　recently　passed　to　a　deeper　level　of　intimacy。　Gavin　preferred　not　to　talk　about　Lisa　if　he　could　avoid　it；　surely　she　knew　that　by　now？　He　shook　oregano　onto　the　mince　in　his　frying　pan　and　said；　‘No；　this　was　all　the　previous　owner。　I　haven’t　got　round　to　changing　it　yet。’

‘Oh；’　she　said；　sipping　wine。　‘Well；　it’s　quite　nice。　A　bit　bland。’

This　rankled　with　Gavin；　as；　in　his　opinion；　the　interior　of　the　Smithy　was　superior　in　every　way　to　that　of　Ten　Hope　Street。　He　watched　the　pasta　bubbling；　keeping　his　back　to　her。

‘Guess　what？’　she　said。　‘I　met　Samantha　Mollison　this　afternoon。’

Gavin　wheeled　around；　how　did　Kay　even　know　what　Samantha　Mollison　looked　like？

‘Just　outside　the　deli　in　the　Square；　I　was　on　my　way　in　to　get　this；’　said　Kay；　clinking　the　wine　bottle　beside　her　with　a　flick　of　her　nail。　‘She　asked　me　whether　I　was　Gavin’s　girlfriend。’

Kay　said　it　archly；　but　actually　she　had　been　heartened　by　Samantha’s　choice　of　words；　relieved　to　think　that　this　was　how　Gavin　described　her　to　his　friends。

‘And　what　did　you　say？’

‘I　said　–　I　said　yes。’

Her　expression　was　crestfallen。　Gavin　had　not　meant　to　ask　the　question　quite　so　aggressively。　He　would　have　given　a　lot　to　prevent　Kay　and　Samantha　ever　meeting。

‘Anyway；’　Kay　proceeded　with　a　slight　edge　to　her　voice；　‘she’s　asked　us　for　dinner　next　Friday。　Week　today。’

‘Oh；　bloody　hell；’　said　Gavin　crossly。

A　lot　of　Kay’s　cheerfulness　deserted　her。

‘What’s　the　problem？’

‘Nothing。　It’s　–　nothing；’　he　said；　prodding　the　bubbling　spaghetti。　‘It’s　just　that　I　see　enough　of　Miles　during　work　hours；　to　be　honest。’

It　was　what　he　had　dreaded　all　along：　that　she　would　worm　her　way　in　and　they　would　bee　Gavin…and…Kay；　with　a　shared　social　circle；　so　that　it　would　bee　progressively　more　difficult　to　excise　her　from　his　life。　How　had　he　let　this　happen？　Why　had　he　allowed　her　to　move　down　here？　Fury　at　himself　mutated　easily　into　anger　with　her。　Why　couldn’t　she　realize　how　little　he　wanted　her；　and　take　herself　off　without　forcing　him　to　do　the　dirty？　He　drained　the　spaghetti　in　the　sink；　swearing　under　his　breath　as　he　speckled　himself　with　boiling　water。

‘You’d　better　call　Miles　and　Samantha　and　tell　them　“no”；　then；’　said　Kay。

Her　voice　had　hardened。　As　was　Gavin’s　deeply　ingrained　habit；　he　sought　to　deflect　an　imminent　conflict　and　hoped　that　the　future　would　look　after　itself。

‘No；　no；’　he　said；　dabbing　at　his　wet　shirt　with　a　tea　towel。　‘We’ll　go。　It’s　fine。　We’ll　go。’

But　in　his　undisguised　lack　of　enthusiasm；　he　sought　to　put　down　a　marker　to　which　he　could　refer；　retrospectively。　You　knew　I　didn’t　want　to　go。　No；　I　didn’t　enjoy　it。　No；　I　don’t　want　it　to　happen　again。

They　ate　for　several　minutes　in　silence。　Gavin　was　afraid　that　there　would　be　another　row；　and　that　Kay　would　force　him　to　discuss　underlying　issues　again。　He　cast　around　for　something　to　say；　and　so　started　telling　her　about　Mary　Fairbrother　and　the　life　insurance　pany。

‘They’re　being　real　bastards；’　he　said。　‘He　was　heavily　insured；　but　their　lawyers　are　looking　for　a　way　not　to　pay　out。　They’re　trying　to　make　out　he　didn’t　make　a　full　disclosure。’

‘In　what　way？’

‘Well；　an　uncle　died　of　an　aneurysm；　too。　Mary　swears　Barry　told　the　insurance　agent　that　when　he　signed　the　policy；　but　it’s　nowhere　in　the　notes。　Presumably　the　bloke　didn’t　realize　it　can　be　a　geic　thing。　I　don’t　know　that　Barry　did；　e　to　…’

Gavin’s　voice　broke。　Horrified　and　embarrassed；　he　bowed　his　flushing　face　over　his　plate。　There　was　a　hard　chunk　of　grief　in　his　throat　and　he　couldn’t　shift　it。　Kay’s　chair　legs　scraped　on　the　floor；　he　hoped　that　she　was　off　to　the　bathroom；　but　then　felt　her　arms　around　his　shoulders；　drawing　him　to　her。　Without　thinking；　he　put　a　single　arm　around　her；　too。

It　was　so　good　to　be　held。　If　only　their　relationship　could　be　distilled　into　simple；　wordless　gestures　of　fort。　Why　had　humans　ever　learned　to　talk？

He　had　dribbled　snot　onto　the　back　of　her　top。

‘Sorry；’　he　said　thickly；　wiping　it　away　with　his　napkin。

He　withdrew　from　her　and　blew　his　nose。　She　dragged　her　chair　to　sit　beside　him　and　put　a　hand　on　his　arm。　He　liked　her　so　much　better　when　she　was　silent；　and　her　face　was　soft　and　concerned；　as　it　was　now。

‘I　still　can’t　…　he　was　a　good　bloke；’　he　said。　‘Barry。　He　was　a　good　bloke。’

‘Yes；　everyone　says　that　about　him；’　said　Kay。

She　had　never　been　allowed　to　meet　this　famous　Barry　Fairbrother；　but　she　was　intrigued　by　the　show　of　emotion　from　Gavin；　and　by　the　person　who　had　caused　it。

‘Was　he　funny？’　she　asked；　because　she　could　imagine　Gavin　in　thrall　to　a　edian；　to　a　rowdy　ringleader；　propping　up　the　bar。

‘Yeah；　I　s’pose。　Well；　not　particularly。　Normal。　He　liked　a　laugh　…　but　he　was　just　such　a　…　such　a　nice　bloke。　He　liked　people；　you　know？’

She　waited；　but　Gavin　did　not　seem　able　to　elucidate　further　on　the　niceness　of　Barry。

‘And　the　kids　…　and　Mary　…　poor　Mary　…　God；　you’ve　got　no　idea。’

Kay　continued　to　pat　his　arm　gently；　but　her　sympathy　had　chilled　a　little。　No　idea；　she　thought；　what　it　was　to　be　alone？　No　idea　how　hard　it　was　to　be　left　in　sole　charge　of　a　family？　Where　was　his　pity　for　her；　Kay？

‘They　were　really　happy；’　said　Gavin；　in　a　cracked　voice。　‘She’s　in　pieces。’

Wordlessly；　Kay　stroked　his　arm；　reflecting　that　she　had　never　been　able　to　afford　to　go　to　pieces。

‘I’m　all　right；’　he　said；　wiping　his　nose　on　his　napkin　and　picking　up　his　fork。　By　the　smallest　of　twitches；　he　indicated　that　she　should　remove　her　hand。

V
Alison　Jenkins；　the　journalist　from　the　Yarvil　and　District　Gazette；　had　at　last　established　which　of　the　many　Weedon　households　in　Yarvil　housed　Krystal。　It　had　been　difficult：　nobody　was　registered　to　vote　at　the　address　and　no　landline　number　was　listed　for　the　property。　Alison　visited　Foley　Road　in　person　on　Sunday；　but　Krystal　was　out；　and　Terri；　suspicious　and　antagonistic；　refused　to　say　when　she　would　be　back　or　confirm　that　she　lived　there。

Krystal　arrived　home　a　mere　twenty　minutes　after　the　journalist　had　departed　in　her　car；　and　she　and　her　mother　had　another　row。

‘Why　din’t　ya　tell　her　to　wait？　She　was　gonna　interview　me　abou’　the　Fields　an’　stuff！’

‘Interview　you？　Fuck　off。　Wha’　the　fuck　for？’

The　argument　escalated　and　Krystal　walked　out　again；　off　to　Nikki’s；　with　Terri’s　mobile　in　her　tracksuit　bottoms。　She　frequently　made　off　with　this　phone；　many　rows　were　triggered　by　her　mother　demanding　it　back　and　Krystal　pretending　that　she　didn’t　know　where　it　was。　Dimly；　Krystal　hoped　that　the　journalist　might　know　the　number　somehow　and　call　her　directly。

She　was　in　a　crowded；　jangling　café　in　the　shopping　centre；　telling　Nikki　and　Leanne　all　about　the　journalist；　when　the　mobile　rang。

‘’Oo？　Are　you　the　journalist；　like？’

‘…　o’s　’at　…　’erri？’

‘It’s　Krystal。　’Oo’s　this？’

‘…　’m　your　…　’nt　…　other　…　’ister。’

‘’Oo？’　shouted　Krystal。　One　finger　in　the　ear　not　pressed　against　the　phone；　she　wove　her　way　between　the　densely　packed　tables　to　reach　a　quieter　place。

‘Danielle；’　said　the　woman；　loud　and　clear　on　the　other　end　of　the　telephone。　‘I’m　yer　mum’s　sister。’

‘Oh；　yeah；’　said　Krystal；　disappointed。

Fuckin’　snobby　bitch；　Terri　always　said　when　Danielle’s　name　came　up。　Krystal　was　not　sure　that　she　had　ever　met　Danielle。

‘It’s　abou’　your　Great　Gran。’

‘’Oo？’

‘Nana　Cath；’　said　Danielle　impatiently。　Krystal　reached　the　balcony　overlooking　the　shopping　centre　forecourt；　reception　was　strong　here；　she　stopped。

‘Wha’s　wrong　with　’er？’　said　Krystal。　It　felt　as　though　her　stomach　was　flipping　over；　the　way　it　had　done　as　a　little　girl；　turning　somersaults　on　a　railing　like　the　one　in　front　of　her。　Thirty　feet　below；　the　crowds　surged；　carrying　plastic　bags；　pushing　buggies　and　dragging　toddlers。

‘She’s　in　South　West　General。　She’s　been　there　a　week。　She’s　had　a　stroke。’

‘She’s　bin　there　a　week？’　said　Krystal；　her　stomach　still　swooping。　‘Nobody　told　us。’

‘Ye