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Another　happy　thought　came　to　Shirley。　She　set　down　her　cup　and　saucer　on　the　bedside　table；　slipped　out　of　bed；　pulled　on　her　candlewick　dressing　gown　and　her　glasses；　and　padded　down　the　hall　to　tap　on　the　bathroom　door。

‘Howard？’

An　interrogative　noise　answered　over　the　steady　patter　of　the　shower。

‘Do　you　think　I　should　put　something　on　the　website？　About　Fairbrother？’

‘Good　idea；’　he　called　through　the　door；　after　a　moment’s　consideration。　‘Excellent　idea。’

So　she　bustled　along　to　the　study。　It　had　previously　been　the　smallest　bedroom　in　the　bungalow；　long　since　vacated　by　their　daughter　Patricia　who　had　gone　to　London　and　was　rarely　mentioned。

Shirley　was　immensely　proud　of　her　skill　on　the　inter。　She　had　been　to　evening　classes　in　Yarvil　ten　years　previously；　where　she　had　been　one　of　the　oldest　students　and　the　slowest。　Nevertheless；　she　had　persevered；　determined　to　be　the　administrator　of　Pagford　Parish　Council’s　exciting　new　website。　She　logged　herself　in　and　brought　up　the　Parish　Council’s　homepage。

The　brief　statement　flowed　so　easily　that　it　was　as　if　her　fingers　themselves　were　posing　it。

Councillor　Barry　Fairbrother

It　is　with　great　regret　that　we　announce　the　death　of　Councillor　Barry　Fairbrother。　Our　thoughts　are　with　his　family　at　this　difficult　time。

She　read　this　through　carefully；　hit　return　and　watched　the　message　appear　on　the　message　board。

The　Queen　had　lowered　the　flag　on　Buckingham　Palace　when　Princess　Diana　had　died。　Her　Majesty　occupied　a　very　special　position　in　Shirley’s　interior　life。　Contemplating　the　message　on　the　website；　she　was　satisfied　and　happy　that　she　had　done　the　right　thing。　Learning　from　the　best　…

She　navigated　away　from　the　Parish　Council　message　board　and　dropped　into　her　favourite　medical　website；　where　she　painstakingly　entered　the　words　‘brain’　and　‘death’　in　the　search　box。

The　suggestions　were　endless。　Shirley　scrolled　through　the　possibilities；　her　mild　eyes　rolling　up　and　down；　wondering　to　which　of　these　deadly　conditions；　some　of　them　unpronounceable；　she　owed　her　present　happiness。　Shirley　was　a　hospital　volunteer；　she　had　developed　quite　a　little　interest　in　matters　medical　since　starting　work　at　South　West　General；　and　occasionally　offered　diagnoses　to　her　friends。

But　there　was　no　concentrating　on　long　words　and　symptoms　this　morning：　her　thoughts　skittered　away　to　the　further　dissemination　of　the　news；　already　she　was　mentally　assembling　and　reshuffling　a　list　of　telephone　numbers。　She　wondered　whether　Aubrey　and　Julia　knew；　and　what　they　would　say；　and　whether　Howard　would　let　her　tell　Maureen　or　reserve　that　pleasure　for　himself。

It　was　all　immensely　exciting。

IV
Andrew　Price　closed　the　front　door　of　the　small　white　house　and　followed　his　younger　brother　down　the　steep　garden　path；　crunchy　with　frost；　that　led　to　the　icy　metal　gate　in　the　hedge　and　the　lane　beyond。　Neither　boy　spared　a　glance　for　the　familiar　view　spread　out　below　them：　the　tiny　town　of　Pagford　cupped　in　a　hollow　between　three　hills；　one　of　which　was　crested　with　the　remains　of　the　twelfth…century　abbey。　A　thin　river　snaked　around　the　edge　of　the　hill　and　through　town；　straddled　by　a　toy　stone　bridge。　The　scene　was　dull　as　a　flat…painted　backdrop　to　the　brothers；　Andrew　despised　the　way　that；　on　the　rare　occasions　when　the　family　had　guests；　his　father　seemed　to　take　credit　for　it；　as　though　he　had　designed　and　built　the　whole　thing。　Andrew　had　lately　decided　that　he　would　prefer　an　outlook　of　asphalt；　broken　windows　and　graffiti；　he　dreamed　of　London　and　of　a　life　that　mattered。

The　brothers　marched　to　the　end　of　the　lane；　ambling　to　a　halt　on　the　corner　where　they　met　the　wider　road。　Andrew　reached　into　the　hedge；　groped　around　for　a　while；　then　drew　out　a　half…full　packet　of　Benson　&　Hedges　and　a　slightly　damp　box　of　matches。　After　several　false　starts；　the　heads　of　the　matches　crumbling　against　the　strike；　he　succeeded　in　lighting　up。　Two　or　three　deep　drags；　and　then　the　grumbling　engine　of　the　school　bus　broke　the　stillness。　Andrew　carefully　knocked　out　the　glowing　head　of　his　cigarette　and　stowed　the　rest　back　in　the　packet。

The　bus　was　always　two…thirds　full　by　the　time　it　reached　the　turning　for　Hilltop　House；　because　it　had　already　skirted　outlying　farms　and　houses。　The　brothers　sat　apart　as　usual；　each　of　them　taking　a　double　seat　and　turning　to　stare　out　of　the　window　as　the　bus　rumbled　and　lurched　on　down　into　Pagford。

At　the　foot　of　their　hill　was　a　house　that　stood　in　a　wedge…shaped　garden。　The　four　Fairbrother　children　usually　waited　outside　the　front　gate；　but　there　was　nobody　there　today。　The　curtains　were　all　closed。　Andrew　wondered　whether　you　usually　sat　in　the　dark　when　somebody　died。

A　few　weeks　previously；　Andrew　had　got　off　with　Niamh　Fairbrother；　one　of　Barry’s　twin　daughters；　at　a　disco　in　the　school　drama　hall。　She　had　shown　a　distasteful　tendency　to　shadow　his　movements　for　a　while　afterwards。　Andrew’s　parents　were　barely　acquainted　with　the　Fairbrothers；　Simon　and　Ruth　had　hardly　any　friends；　but　they　seemed　to　have　had　a　tepid　liking　for　Barry；　who　had　managed　the　minuscule　branch　of　the　only　bank　still　present　in　Pagford。　Fairbrother’s　name　had　cropped　up　a　lot　in　connection　with　such　things　as　the　Parish　Council；　town　hall　theatricals；　and　the　Church　Fun　Run。　These　were　things　in　which　Andrew　had　no　interest　and　from　which　his　parents　held　themselves　aloof；　excepting　the　occasional　sponsorship　form　or　raffle　ticket。

As　the　bus　turned　left　and　trundled　down　Church　Row；　past　the　spacious　Victorian　houses　ranged　in　descending　tiers；　Andrew　indulged　in　a　little　fantasy　in　which　his　father　dropped　dead；　gunned　down　by　an　invisible　sniper。　Andrew　visualized　himself　patting　his　sobbing　mother　on　the　back　while　he　telephoned　the　undertaker。　He　had　a　cigarette　in　his　mouth　as　he　ordered　the　cheapest　coffin。

The　three　Jawandas；　Jaswant；　Sukhvinder　and　Rajpal；　got　on　the　bus　at　the　bottom　of　Church　Row。　Andrew　had　carefully　chosen　a　seat　with　an　empty　place　in　front　of　it；　and　he　willed　Sukhvinder　to　sit　in　front　of　him；　not　for　her　own　sake　（Andrew’s　best　friend　Fats　referred　to　her　as　TNT；　short　for　‘Tits　’N’　Tash’）；　but　because　She　so　often　chose　to　sit　beside　Sukhvinder。　And　whether　because　his　telepathic　promptings　were　particularly　powerful　this　morning　or　not；　Sukhvinder　did　indeed　choose　the　seat　in　front。　Jubilant；　Andrew　stared；　unseeing；　at　the　grimy　window；　and　clutched　his　school　bag　more　closely　to　him；　to　conceal　the　erection　brought　on　by　the　heavy　vibration　of　the　bus。

Anticipation　mounted　with　every　fresh　pitch　and　heave；　as　the　cumbersome　vehicle　edged　its　way　through　the　narrow　streets；　around　the　tight　corner　into　the　village　square　and　towards　the　corner　of　Her　road。

Andrew　had　never　experienced　this　intensity　of　interest　in　any　girl。　She　was　newly　arrived；　an　odd　time　to　change　schools；　the　spring　term　of　the　GCSE　year。　Her　name　was　Gaia；　and　that　was　fitting；　because　he　had　never　heard　it　before；　and　she　was　something　entirely　new。　She　had　walked　onto　the　bus　one　morning　like　a　simple　statement　of　the　sublime　heights　to　which　nature　could　reach　and　sat　herself　down　two　seats　in　front　of　him；　while　he　sat　transfixed　by　the　perfection　of　her　shoulders　and　the　back　of　her　head。

She　would　be　here　any　minute；　and　if　she　sat　beside　square　and　sulky　Sukhvinder；　as　she　so　often　did；　she　would　be　close　enough　to　smell　the　nicotine　on　him。　He　liked　to　see　inanimate　objects　react　to　her　body；　liked　to　see　the　bus　seat　give　a　little　as　she　dropped　her　weight　into　it；　and　that　copper…gold　mass　of　hair　curve　against　the　steel　bar　at　the　top。

The　bus　driver　slowed；　and　Andrew　turned　his　face　away　from　the　door；　pretending　to　be　lost　in　contemplation；　he　would　look　around　when　she　got　on；　as　if　he　had　only　just　realized　that　they　had　stopped；　he　would　make　eye　contact；　possibly　nod。　He　waited　to　hear　the　doors　open；　but　the　soft　throb　of　the　engine　was　not　interrupted　by　the　familiar　grind　and　thump。

Andrew　glanced　around　and　saw　nothing　but　short；　shabby　little　Hope　Street：　two　lines　of　small　terraced　houses。　The　bus　driver　was　leaning　over　to　make　sure　she　was　not　ing。　Andrew　wanted　to　tell　him　to　wait；　because　only　the　previous　week　she　had　burst　from　one　of　those　little　houses　and　e　running　up　the　pavement　（it　had　been　acceptable　to　watch；　because　everyone　had　been　watching）；　and　the　sight　of　her　running　had　been　enough　to　occupy　his　thoughts　for　hours；　but　the　driver　hauled　at　the　big　wheel　and　the　bus　set　off　again。　Andrew　returned　to　his　contemplation　of　the　dirty　window　with　an　ache　in　his　heart　and　in　his　balls。

V
The　small　terraces　in　Hope　Street　had　once　been　labourers’　houses。　Gavin　Hughes　was　shaving　slowly　and　with　unnecessary　care　in　the　bathroom　of　number　ten。　He　was　so　fair；　and　his　beard　so　sparse；　that　the　job　really　only　needed　to　be　done　twice　weekly；　but　the　chilly；　slightly　grubby　bathroom　was　the　only　place　of　sanctuary。　If　he　dawdled　in　here　until　eight；　he　could　plausibly　say　he　needed　to　leave　for　work　immediately。　He　dreaded　having　to　talk　to　Kay。

He　had　only　managed　to　head　off　discussion　the　previous　evening　by　initiating　the　most　prolonged　and　inventive　coupling　they　had　enjoyed　since　the　very　earliest　days　of　their　relationship。　Kay　had　responded　immediately　and　with　unnerving　enthusiasm：　flicking　herself　from　position　to　position；　drawing　up　her　strong；　stocky　legs　for　him；　contorting　like　the　Slavic　acrobat　she　so　closely　resembled；　with　her　olive　skin　and　very　short　dark　hair。　Too　late；　he　had　realized　that　she　was　taking　this　uncharacteristic　act　of　assertion　as　a　tacit　confession　of　those　things　he　was　determined　to　avoid　saying。　She　had　kissed　him　greedily；　he　had　found　her　wet　intrusive　kisses　erotic　when　the　affair　began；　now　he　found　them　vaguely　repellent。　He　took　a　long　time　to　climax；　his　horror　at　what　he　had　started　constantly　threatening　to　deflate　his　erection。　Even　this　worked　against　him：　she　seemed　to　take　his　unusual　stamina　as　a　display　of　virtuosity。

When　at　last　it　was　over；　she　had　cuddled　close　to　him　in　the　darkness　and　stroked　his　hair　for　a　while。　Miserably　he　stared　into　the　void；　aware　that　after　all　his　vague　plans　for　loosening　the　ties；　he　had　involuntarily　tightened　them。　After　she　had　fallen　asleep；　he　had　lain　with　one　arm　trapped　underneath　her；　the　damp　sheet　adhering　unpleasantly　to　his　thigh；　on　a　mattress　lumpy　with　old　springs；　and　wished　for　the　courage　to　be　a　bastard；　to　slip　away　and　never　return。

Kay’s　bathroom　smelt　of　mould　and　damp　sponges。　A　number　of　hairs　were　stuck　to　the　side　of　the　small　bath。　Paint　was　peeling　off　the　walls。

‘It　needs　some　work；’　Kay　had　said。

Gavin　had　been　careful　not　to　volunteer　any　help。　The　things　he　had　not　said　to　her　were　his　talisman　and　safeguard；　he　strung　them　together　in　his　mind　and　checked　them　off　like　beads　on　a　rosary。　He　had　never　said　‘love’。　He　had　never　talked　about　marriage。　He　had　never　asked　her　to　move　to　Pagford。　And　yet；　here　she　was；　and　somehow；　she　made　him　feel　responsible。

His　face　stared　back　at　him　from　out　of　the　tarnished　mirror。　There　were　purple　shadows　under　his　eyes；　and　his　thinning　blond　hair　was　wispy　and　dry。　The　naked　bulb　overhead　lit　the　weak；　goaty　face　with　forensic　cruelty。

Thirty…four；　he　thought；　and　I　look　at　least　forty。

He　lifted　the　razor　and　delicately　strafed　off　those　two　thick　blond　hairs　that　grew　either　side　of　his　prominent　Adam’s　apple。

Fists　pummelled　the　bathroom　door。　Gavin’s　hand　slipped　and　blood　dripped　from　his　thin　neck　to　speckle　his　clean　white　shirt。

‘Your　boyfriend；’　came　a　furious　female　scream；　‘is　still　in　the　bathroom　and　I　am　going　to　be　late！’

‘I’ve　finished！’　he　shouted。

The　gash　stung；　but　what　did　that　matter？　Here　was　his　excuse；　ready…made：　Look　what　your　daughter　made　me　do。　I’ll　have　to　go　home　and　change　my　shirt　before　work。　With　an　almost　light　heart　he　grabbed　the　tie　and　jacket　he　had　hung　over　the　hook　on　the　back　of　the　door；　and　unlocked　it。

Gaia　pushed　past；　slammed　the　door　behind　her　and　rammed　the　lock　home。　Out　on　the　tiny　landing；　which　was　thick　with　an　unpleasant　smell　of　burnt　rubber；　Gavin　remembered　the　headboard