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e　a　fairy…tale　character；　as　beautiful　and　mysterious　as　the　dead　man　in　Terri’s　bathroom。

Nana　Cath’s　lips　moved。

‘Wha’？’　said　Krystal；　bending　low；　half　scared；　half　elated。

‘D’yeh　wan’　somethin’；　Nana　Cath？’　asked　Cheryl；　so　loudly　that　whispering　guests　at　other　beds　stared　over。

Krystal　could　hear　a　wheezing；　rattling　noise；　but　Nana　Cath　seemed　to　be　making　a　definite　attempt　to　form　a　word。　Cheryl　was　leaning　over　the　other　side；　one　hand　gripping　the　metal　bars　at　the　head　of　the　bed。

‘…　Oh　…　mm；’　said　Nana　Cath。

‘Wha’？’　said　Krystal　and　Cheryl　together。

The　eyes　had　moved　millimetres：　rheumy；　filmy　eyes；　looking　at　Krystal’s　smooth　young　face；　her　open　mouth；　as　she　leaned　over　her　great…grandmother；　puzzled；　eager　and　fearful。

‘…　owin　…’　said　the　cracked　old　voice。

‘She　dunno　wha’　she’s　sayin’；’　Cheryl　shouted　over　her　shoulder　at　the　timid　couple　visiting　at　the　next　bed。　‘Three　days　lef’　on　the　fuckin’　floor；　’s’not　surprisin’；　is　it？’

But　tears　had　blurred　Krystal’s　eyes。　The　ward　with　its　high　windows　dissolved　into　white　light　and　shadow；　she　seemed　to　see　a　flash　of　bright　sunlight　on　dark　green　water；　fragmented　into　brilliant　shards　by　the　splashing　rise　and　fall　of　oars。

‘Yeah；’　she　whispered　to　Nana　Cath。　‘Yeah；　I　goes　rowin’；　Nana。’

But　it　was　no　longer　true；　because　Mr　Fairbrother　was　dead。

VI
‘The　fuck　have　you　done　to　your　face？　e　off　the　bike　again？’　asked　Fats。

‘No；’　said　Andrew。　‘Si…Pie　hit　me。　I　was　trying　to　tell　the　stupid　cunt　he’d　got　it　wrong　about　Fairbrother。’

He　and　his　father　had　been　in　the　woodshed；　filling　the　baskets　that　sat　on　either　side　of　the　wood…burner　in　the　sitting　room。　Simon　had　hit　Andrew　around　the　head　with　a　log；　knocking　him　into　the　pile　of　wood；　grazing　his　acne…covered　cheek。

D’you　think　you　know　more　about　what　goes　on　than　I　do；　you　spotty　little　shit？　If　I　hear　you’ve　breathed　a　word　of　what　goes　on　in　this　house—

I　haven’t—

I’ll　fucking　skin　you　alive；　d’you　hear　me？　How　do　you　know　Fairbrother　wasn’t　on　the　fiddle　too；　eh？　And　the　other　fucker　was　the　only　one　dumb　enough　to　get　caught？

And　then；　whether　out　of　pride　or　defiance；　or　because　his　fantasies　of　easy　money　had　taken　too　strong　a　hold　on　his　imagination　to　bee　dislodged　by　facts；　Simon　had　sent　in　his　application　forms。　Humiliation；　for　which　the　whole　family　would　surely　pay；　was　a　certainty。

Sabotage。　Andrew　brooded　on　the　word。　He　wanted　to　bring　his　father　crashing　down　from　the　heights　to　which　his　dreams　of　easy　money　had　raised　him；　and　he　wanted　to　do　it；　if　at　all　possible　（for　he　preferred　glory　without　death）；　in　such　a　way　that　Simon　would　never　know　whose　manoeuvrings　had　brought　his　ambitions　to　rubble。

He　confided　in　nobody；　not　even　Fats。　He　told　Fats　nearly　everything；　but　the　few　omissions　were　the　vast　topics；　the　ones　that　occupied　nearly　all　his　interior　space。　It　was　one　thing　to　sit　in　Fats’　room　with　hard…ons　and　look　up　‘girl…on…girl　action’　on　the　inter：　quite　another　to　confess　how　obsessively　he　pondered　ways　of　engaging　Gaia　Bawden　in　conversation。　Likewise；　it　was　easy　to　sit　in　the　Cubby　Hole　and　call　his　father　a　cunt；　but　never　would　he　have　told　how　Simon’s　rages　turned　his　hands　cold　and　his　stomach　queasy。

But　then　came　the　hour　that　changed　everything。　It　started　with　nothing　more　than　a　yearning　for　nicotine　and　beauty。　The　rain　had　passed　off　at　last；　and　the　pale　spring　sun　shone　brightly　on　the　fish…scale　dirt　on　the　school…bus　windows　as　it　jerked　and　lurched　through　the　narrow　streets　of　Pagford。　Andrew　was　sitting　near　the　back；　unable　to　see　Gaia；　who　was　hemmed　in　at　the　front　by　Sukhvinder　and　the　fatherless　Fairbrother　girls；　newly　returned　to　school。　He　had　barely　seen　Gaia　all　day　and　faced　a　barren　evening　with　only　stale　Facebook　pictures　to　console　him。

As　the　bus　approached　Hope　Street；　it　struck　Andrew　that　neither　of　his　parents　was　at　home　to　notice　his　absence。　Three　cigarettes　that　Fats　had　given　him　resided　in　his　inside　pocket；　and　Gaia　was　getting　up；　holding　tightly　to　the　bar　on　the　back　of　the　seat；　readying　herself　to　descend；　still　talking　to　Sukhvinder　Jawanda。

Why　not？　Why　not？

So　he　got　up　too；　swung　his　bag　over　his　shoulder；　and　when　the　bus　stopped　walked　briskly　up　the　aisle　after　the　two　girls　as　they　got　out。

‘See　you　at　home；’　he　threw　out　to　a　startled　Paul　as　he　passed。

He　reached　the　sunny　pavement　and　the　bus　rumbled　away。　Lighting　up；　he　watched　Gaia　and　Sukhvinder　over　the　top　of　his　cupped　hands。　They　were　not　heading　towards　Gaia’s　house　in　Hope　Street；　but　ambling　up　towards　the　Square。　Smoking　and　scowling　slightly　in　unconscious　imitation　of　the　most　unself…conscious　person　he　knew　–　Fats　–　Andrew　followed　them；　his　eyes　feasting　on　Gaia’s　copper…brown　hair　as　it　bounced　on　her　shoulder　blades；　the　swing　of　her　skirt　as　her　hips　swayed　beneath　it。

The　two　girls　slowed　down　as　they　approached　the　Square；　advancing　towards　Mollison　and　Lowe；　which　had　the　most　impressive　fa？ade　of　them　all：　blue　and　gold　lettering　across　the　front　and　four　hanging　baskets。　Andrew　hung　back。　The　girls　paused　to　examine　a　small　white　sign　pasted　to　the　window　of　the　new　café；　then　disappeared　into　the　delicatessen。

Andrew　walked　once　around　the　Square；　past　the　Black　Canon　and　the　George　Hotel；　and　stopped　at　the　sign。　It　was　a　hand…lettered　advertisement　for　weekend　staff。

Hyperconscious　of　his　acne；　which　was　particularly　virulent　at　the　moment；　he　knocked　out　the　end　of　his　cigarette；　put　the　long　stub　back　into　his　pocket　and　followed　Gaia　and　Sukhvinder　inside。

The　girls　were　standing　beside　a　little　table　piled　high　with　boxed　oatcakes　and　crackers；　watching　the　enormous　man　in　the　deerstalker　behind　the　counter　talking　to　an　elderly　customer。　Gaia　looked　around　when　the　bell　over　the　door　tinkled。

‘Hi；’　Andrew　said；　his　mouth　dry。

‘Hi；’　she　replied。

Blinded　by　his　own　daring；　Andrew　walked　nearer；　and　the　school　bag　over　his　shoulder　bumped　into　the　revolving　stand　of　guides　to　Pagford　and　Traditional　West　Country　Cooking。　He　seized　the　stand　and　steadied　it；　then　hastily　lowered　his　bag。

‘You　after　a　job？’　Gaia　asked　him　quietly；　in　her　miraculous　London　accent。

‘Yeah；’　he　said。　‘You？’

She　nodded。

‘Flag　it　up　on　the　suggestion　page；　Eddie；’　Howard　was　booming　at　the　customer。　‘Post　it　on　the　website；　and　I’ll　get　it　on　the　agenda　for　you。　Pagford　Parish　Council　–　all　one　word　–　dot　co；　dot　UK；　slash；　Suggestion　Page。　Or　follow　the　link。　Pagford　…’　He　reiterated　slowly；　as　the　man　pulled　out　paper　and　a　pen　with　a　quivering　hand　‘…　Parish　…’

Howard’s　eyes　flicked　over　the　three　teenagers　waiting　quietly　beside　the　savoury　biscuits。　They　were　wearing　the　half…hearted　uniform　of　Winterdown；　which　permitted　so　much　laxity　and　variation　that　it　was　barely　a　uniform　at　all　（unlike　that　of　St　Anne’s；　which　prised　a　neat　tartan　skirt　and　a　blazer）。　For　all　that；　the　white　girl　was　stunning；　a　precision…cut　diamond　set　off　by　the　plain　Jawanda　daughter；　whose　name　Howard　did　not　know；　and　a　mouse…haired　boy　with　violently　erupted　skin。

The　customer　creaked　out　of　the　shop；　the　bell　tinkled。

‘Can　I　help　you？’　Howard　asked；　his　eyes　on　Gaia。

‘Yeah；’　she　said；　moving　forwards。　‘Um。　About　the　jobs。’　She　pointed　at　the　small　sign　in　the　window。

‘Ah；　yes；’　said　Howard；　beaming。　His　new　weekend　waiter　had　let　him　down　a　few　days　previously；　thrown　over　the　café　for　Yarvil　and　a　supermarket　job。　‘Yes；　yes。　Fancy　waitressing；　do　you？　We’re　offering　minimum　wage　–　nine　to　half…past　five；　Saturdays　–　twelve　to　half…past　five；　Sundays。　Opening　two　weeks　from　today；　training　provided。　How　old　are　you；　my　love？’

She　was　perfect；　perfect；　exactly　what　he　had　been　imagining：　fresh…faced　and　curvy；　he　could　just　imagine　her　in　a　figure…hugging　black　dress　with　a　lace…edged　white　apron。　He　would　teach　her　to　use　the　till；　and　show　her　around　the　stockroom；　there　would　be　a　bit　of　banter；　and　perhaps　a　little　bonus　on　days　when　the　takings　were　up。

Howard　sidled　out　from　behind　the　counter　and；　ignoring　Sukhvinder　and　Andrew；　took　Gaia　by　the　upper　arm；　and　led　her　through　the　arch　in　the　dividing　wall。　There　were　no　tables　and　chairs　there　yet；　but　the　counter　had　been　installed　and　so　had　a　tiled　black　and　cream　mural　on　the　wall　behind　it；　which　showed　the　Square　in　Yesteryear。　Crinolined　women　and　men　in　top　hats　swarmed　everywhere；　a　brougham　carriage　had　drawn　up　outside　a　clearly　marked　Mollison　and　Lowe；　and　beside　it　was　the　little　café；　The　Copper　Kettle。　The　artist　had　improvised　an　ornamental　pump　instead　of　the　war　memorial。

Andrew　and　Sukhvinder　were　left　behind；　awkward　and　vaguely　antagonistic　to　each　other。

‘Yes？　Can　I　help　you？’

A　stooping　woman　with　a　jet…black　bouffant　had　emerged　from　out　of　a　back　room。　Andrew　and　Sukhvinder　muttered　that　they　were　waiting；　and　then　Howard　and　Gaia　reappeared　in　the　archway。　When　he　saw　Maureen；　Howard　dropped　Gaia’s　arm；　which　he　had　been　holding　absent…mindedly　while　he　explained　to　her　what　a　waitress’s　duties　would　be。

‘I　might　have　found　us　some　more　help　for　the　Kettle；　Mo；’　he　said。

‘Oh；　yes？’　said　Maureen；　switching　her　hungry　gaze　to　Gaia。　‘Have　you　got　experience？’

But　Howard　boomed　over　her；　telling　Gaia　all　about　the　delicatessen　and　how　he　liked　to　think　it　was　a　bit　of　a　Pagford　institution；　a　bit　of　a　landmark。

‘Thirty…five　years；　it’s　been；’　said　Howard；　with　a　majestic　disdain　of　his　own　mural。　‘The　young　lady’s　new　to　town；　Mo；’　he　added。

‘And　you　two　are　after　jobs　as　well；　are　you？’　Maureen　asked　Sukhvinder　and　Andrew。

Sukhvinder　shook　her　head；　Andrew　made　an　equivocal　movement　with　his　shoulders；　but　Gaia　said；　with　her　eyes　on　the　girl；　‘Go　on。　You　said　you　might。’

Howard　considered　Sukhvinder；　who　would　most　certainly　not　appear　to　advantage　in　a　tight　black　dress　and　frilly　apron；　but　his　fertile　and　flexible　mind　was　firing　in　all　directions。　A　pliment　to　her　father　–　something　of　a　hold　over　her　mother　–　an　unasked　favour　granted；　there　were　matters　beyond　the　purely　aesthetic　that　ought；　perhaps；　to　be　considered　here。

‘Well；　if　we　get　the　business　we’re　expecting；　we　could　probably　do　with　two；’　he　said；　scratching　his　chins　with　his　eyes　on　Sukhvinder；　who　had　blushed　unattractively。

‘I　don’t　…’　she　said；　but　Gaia　urged　her。

‘Go　on。　Together。’

Sukhvinder　was　flushed；　and　her　eyes　were　watering。

‘I　…’

‘Go　on；’　whispered　Gaia。

‘I　…　all　right。’

‘We’ll　give　you　a　trial；　then；　Miss　Jawanda；’　said　Howard。

Doused　in　fear；　Sukhvinder　could　hardly　breathe。　What　would　her　mother　say？

‘And　I　suppose　you’re　wanting　to　be　potboy；　are　you？’　Howard　boomed　at　Andrew。

Potboy？

‘It’s　heavy　lifting　we　need；　my　friend；’　said　Howard；　while　Andrew　blinked　at　him　nonplussed：　he　had　only　read　the　large　type　at　the　top　of　the　sign。　‘Pallets　into　the　stockroom；　crates　of　milk　up　from　the　cellar　and　rubbish　bagged　up　at　the　back。　Proper　manual　labour。　Do　you　think　you　can　handle　that？’

‘Yeah；’　said　Andrew。　Would　he　be　there　when　Gaia　was　there？　That　was　all　that　mattered。

‘We’ll　need　you　early。　Eight　o’clock；　probably。　We’ll　say　eight　till　three；　and　see　how　it　goes。　Trial　period　of　two　weeks。’

‘Yeah；　fine；’　said　Andrew。

‘What’s　your　name？’

When　Howard　heard　it；　he　raised　his　eyebrows。

‘Is　your　father　Simon？　Simon　Price？’

‘Yeah。’

Andrew　was　unnerved。　Nobody　knew　who　his　father　was；　usually。

Howard　told　the　two　girls　to　e　back　on　Sunday　afternoon；　when　the　till　was　to　be　delivered；　and　he　would　be　at　liberty　to　instruct　them；　then；　though　he　showed　an　inclination　to　keep　Gaia　in　conversation；　a　customer　entered；　and　the　teenagers　took　their　chance　to　slip　outside。

Andrew　could　think　of　nothing　to　say　once　they　found　themselves　on　the　other　side　of　the　tinkling　glass　door；　but　before　he　could　marshal　his　thoughts；　Gaia　threw　him　a　careless　‘bye’；　and　walked　away　with　Sukhvinder。　Andrew　lit　up　the　second　of　Fats’　three　fags　（this　was　no　time　for　a　half…smoked　stub）；　which　gave　him　an　excuse　to　remain　stationary　while　he　watched