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turday　morning　sun；　turning　Simon　into　a　silhouette。　His　shadow　rippled　up　the　stairs；　just　touching　the　one　on　which　Andrew　stood。

‘Into　town　with　Fats。’

‘Homework　all　finished；　is　it？’

‘Yeah。’

It　was　a　lie；　but　Simon　would　not　bother　to　check。

‘Ruth？　Ruth！’

She　appeared　at　the　kitchen　door；　wearing　an　apron；　flushed；　with　her　hands　covered　in　flour。

‘What？’

‘Do　we　need　anything　from　town？’

‘What？　No；　I　don’t　think　so。’

‘Taking　my　bike；　are　you？’　demanded　Simon　of　Andrew。

‘Yeah；　I　was　going　to—’

‘Leaving　it　at　Fats’　house？’

‘Yeah。’

‘What　time　do　we　want　him　back？’　Simon　asked；　turning　to　Ruth　again。

‘Oh；　I　don’t　know；　Si；’　said　Ruth　impatiently。　The　furthest　she　ever　went　in　irritation　with　her　husband　was　on　occasions　when　Simon；　though　basically　in　a　good　mood；　started　laying　down　the　law　for　the　fun　of　it。　Andrew　and　Fats　often　went　into　town　together；　on　the　vague　understanding　that　Andrew　would　return　before　it　became　dark。

‘Five　o’clock；　then；’　said　Simon　arbitrarily。　‘Any　later　and　you’re　grounded。’

‘Fine；’　Andrew　replied。

He　kept　his　right　hand　in　his　jacket　pocket；　clenched　over　a　tightly　folded　wad　of　paper；　intensely　aware　of　it；　like　a　ticking　grenade。　The　fear　of　losing　this　piece　of　paper；　on　which　was　inscribed　a　line　of　meticulously　written　code；　and　a　number　of　crossed…out；　reworked　and　heavily　edited　sentences；　had　been　plaguing　him　for　a　week。　He　had　been　keeping　it　on　him　at　all　times；　and　sleeping　with　it　inside　his　pillowcase。

Simon　barely　moved　aside；　so　that　Andrew　had　to　edge　past　him　into　the　porch；　his　fingers　clamped　over　the　paper。　He　was　terrified　that　Simon　would　demand　that　he　turn　out　his　pockets；　ostensibly　looking　for　cigarettes。

‘Bye；　then。’

Simon　did　not　answer。　Andrew　proceeded　into　the　garage；　where　he　took　out　the　note；　unfolded　it　and　read　it。　He　knew　that　he　was　being　irrational；　that　mere　proximity　to　Simon　could　not　have　magically　switched　the　papers；　but　still　he　made　sure。　Satisfied　that　all　was　safe；　he　refolded　it；　tucked　it　deeper　into　his　pocket；　which　fastened　with　a　stud；　then　wheeled　the　racing　bike　out　of　the　garage　and　down　through　the　gate　into　the　lane。　He　could　tell　that　his　father　was　watching　him　through　the　glass　door　of　the　porch；　hoping；　Andrew　was　sure；　to　see　him　fall　off　or　mistreat　the　bicycle　in　some　way。

Pagford　lay　below　Andrew；　slightly　hazy　in　the　cool　spring　sun；　the　air　fresh　and　tangy。　Andrew　sensed　the　point　at　which　Simon’s　eyes　could　no　longer　follow　him；　it　felt　as　though　pressure　had　been　removed　from　his　back。

Down　the　hill　into　Pagford　he　streaked；　not　touching　the　brakes；　then　he　turned　into　Church　Row。　Approximately　halfway　along　the　street　he　slowed　down　and　cycled　decorously　into　the　drive　of　the　Walls’　house；　taking　care　to　avoid　Cubby’s　car。

‘Hello；　Andy；’　said　Tessa；　opening　the　front　door　to　him。

‘Hi；　Mrs　Wall。’

Andrew　accepted　the　convention　that　Fats’　parents　were　laughable。　Tessa　was　plump　and　plain；　her　hairstyle　was　odd　and　her　dress　sense　embarrassing；　while　Cubby　was　ically　uptight；　yet　Andrew　could　not　help　but　suspect　that　if　the　Walls　had　been　his　parents；　he　might　have　been　tempted　to　like　them。　They　were　so　civilized；　so　courteous。　You　never　had　the　feeling；　in　their　house；　that　the　floor　might　suddenly　give　way　and　plunge　you　into　chaos。

Fats　was　sitting　on　the　bottom　stair；　putting　on　his　trainers。　A　packet　of　loose　tobacco　was　clearly　visible；　peeking　out　of　the　breast　pocket　of　his　jacket。

‘Arf。’

‘Fats。’

‘D’you　want　to　leave　your　father’s　bicycle　in　the　garage；　Andy？’

‘Yeah；　thanks；　Mrs　Wall。’

（She　always；　he　reflected；　said　‘your　father’；　never　‘your　dad’。　Andrew　knew　that　Tessa　detested　Simon；　it　was　one　of　the　things　that　made　him　pleased　to　overlook　the　horrible　shapeless　clothes　she　wore；　and　the　unflattering　blunt…cut　fringe。

Her　antipathy　dated　from　that　horrific　epoch…making　occasion；　years　and　years　before；　when　a　six…year…old　Fats　had　e　to　spend　Saturday　afternoon　at　Hilltop　House　for　the　first　time。　Balancing　precariously　on　top　of　a　box　in　the　garage；　trying　to　retrieve　a　couple　of　old　badminton　racquets；　the　two　boys　had　accidentally　knocked　down　the　contents　of　a　rickety　shelf。

Andrew　remembered　the　tin　of　creosote　falling；　smashing　onto　the　roof　of　the　car　and　bursting　open；　and　the　terror　that　had　engulfed　him；　and　his　inability　to　municate　to　his　giggling　friend　what　they　had　brought　upon　themselves。

Simon　had　heard　the　crash。　He　ran　out　to　the　garage　and　advanced　on　them　with　his　jaw　jutting；　making　his　low；　moaning　animal　noise；　before　starting　to　roar　threats　of　dire　physical　punishment；　his　fists　clenched　inches　from　their　small；　upturned　faces。

Fats　had　wet　himself。　A　stream　of　urine　had　spattered　down　the　inside　of　his　shorts　onto　the　garage　floor。　Ruth；　who　had　heard　the　yelling　from　the　kitchen；　had　run　from　the　house　to　intervene：　‘No；　Si　–　Si；　no　–　it　was　an　accident。’　Fats　was　white　and　shaking；　he　wanted　to　go　home　straight　away；　he　wanted　his　mum。

Tessa　had　arrived；　and　Fats　had　run　to　her　in　his　soaking　shorts；　sobbing。　It　was　the　only　time　in　his　life　that　Andrew　had　seen　his　father　at　a　loss；　backing　down。　Somehow　Tessa　had　conveyed　white…hot　fury　without　raising　her　voice；　without　threatening；　without　hitting。　She　had　written　out　a　cheque　and　forced　it　into　Simon’s　hand；　while　Ruth　said；　‘No；　no；　there’s　no　need；　there’s　no　need。’　Simon　had　followed　her　to　her　car；　trying　to　laugh　it　all　off；　but　Tessa　had　given　him　a　look　of　contempt　while　loading　the　still…sobbing　Fats　into　the　passenger　seat；　and　slammed　the　driver’s　door　in　Simon’s　smiling　face。　Andrew　had　seen　his　parents’　expressions：　Tessa　was　taking　away　with　her；　down　the　hill　into　the　town；　something　that　usually　remained　hidden　in　the　house　on　top　of　the　hill。）
Ｚei8。电子书
Fats　courted　Simon　these　days。　Whenever　he　came　up　to　Hilltop　House；　he　went　out　of　his　way　to　make　Simon　laugh；　and　in　return；　Simon　weled　Fats’　visits；　enjoyed　his　crudest　jokes；　liked　hearing　about　his　antics。　Still；　when　alone　with　Andrew；　Fats　concurred　wholeheartedly　that　Simon　was　a　Grade　A；　24…carat　cunt。

‘I　reckon　she’s　a　lezzer；’　said　Fats；　as　they　walked　past　the　Old　Vicarage；　dark　in　the　shadow　of　the　Scots　pine；　with　ivy　covering　its　front。

‘Your　mum？’　asked　Andrew；　barely　listening；　lost　in　his　own　thoughts。

‘What？’　yelped　Fats；　and　Andrew　saw　that　he　was　genuinely　outraged。　‘Fuck　off！　Sukhvinder　Jawanda。’

‘Oh；　yeah。　Right。’

Andrew　laughed；　and　so；　a　beat　later；　did　Fats。

The　bus　into　Yarvil　was　crowded；　Andrew　and　Fats　had　to　sit　next　to　each　other；　rather　than　in　two　double　seats；　as　they　preferred。　As　they　passed　the　end　of　Hope　Street；　Andrew　glanced　along　it；　but　it　was　deserted。　He　had　not　run　into　Gaia　outside　school　since　the　afternoon　when　they　had　both　secured　Saturday　jobs　at　the　Copper　Kettle。　The　café　would　open　the　following　weekend；　he　experienced　waves　of　euphoria　every　time　he　thought　of　it。

‘Si…Pie’s　election　campaign　on　track；　is　it？’　asked　Fats；　busy　making　roll…ups。　One　long　leg　was　stuck　out　at　an　angle　into　the　aisle　of　the　bus；　people　were　stepping　over　it　rather　than　asking　him　to　move。　‘Cubby’s　cacking　it　already；　and　he’s　only　making　his　pamphlet。’

‘Yeah；　he’s　busy；’　said　Andrew；　and　he　bore　without　flinching　a　silent　eruption　of　panic　in　the　pit　of　his　stomach。

He　thought　of　his　parents　at　the　kitchen　table；　as　they　had　been；　nightly；　for　the　past　week；　of　a　box　of　stupid　pamphlets　Simon　had　had　printed　at　work；　of　the　list　of　talking　points　Ruth　had　helped　Simon　pile；　which　he　used　as　he　made　telephone　calls；　every　evening；　to　every　person　he　knew　within　the　electoral　boundary。　Simon　did　all　of　it　with　an　air　of　immense　effort。　He　was　tightly　wound　at　home；　displaying　heightened　aggression　towards　his　sons；　he　might　have　been　shouldering　a　burden　that　they　had　shirked。　The　only　topic　of　conversation　at　meals　was　the　election；　with　Simon　and　Ruth　speculating　about　the　forces　ranged　against　Simon。　They　took　it　very　personally　that　other　candidates　were　standing　for　Barry　Fairbrother’s　old　seat；　and　seemed　to　assume　that　Colin　Wall　and　Miles　Mollison　spent　most　of　their　time　plotting　together；　staring　up　at　Hilltop　House；　focused　entirely　on　defeating　the　man　who　lived　there。

Andrew　checked　his　pocket　again　for　the　folded　paper。　He　had　not　told　Fats　what　he　intended　to　do。　He　was　afraid　that　Fats　might　broadcast　it；　Andrew　was　not　sure　how　to　impress　upon　his　friend　the　necessity　for　absolute　secrecy；　how　to　remind　Fats　that　the　maniac　who　had　made　little　boys　piss　themselves　was　still　alive　and　well；　and　living　in　Andrew’s　house。

‘Cubby’s　not　too　worried　about　Si…Pie；’　said　Fats。　‘He　thinks　the　big　petition　is　Miles　Mollison。’

‘Yeah；’　said　Andrew。　He　had　heard　his　parents　discussing　it。　Both　of　them　seemed　to　think　that　Shirley　had　betrayed　them；　that　she　ought　to　have　forbidden　her　son　from　challenging　Simon。

‘This　is　a　holy　fucking　crusade　for　Cubby；　y’know；’　said　Fats；　rolling　a　cigarette　between　forefinger　and　thumb。　‘He’s　picking　up　the　regimental　flag　for　his　fallen　rade。　Ole　Barry　Fairbrother。’

He　poked　strands　of　tobacco　into　the　end　of　the　roll…up　with　a　match。

‘Miles　Mollison’s　wife’s　got　gigantic　tits；’　said　Fats。

An　elderly　woman　sitting　in　front　of　them　turned　her　head　to　glare　at　Fats。　Andrew　began　to　laugh　again。

‘Humungous　bouncing　jubblies；’　Fats　said　loudly；　into　the　scowling；　crumpled　face。　‘Great　big　juicy　double…F　mams。’

She　turned　her　red　face　slowly　to　face　the　front　of　the　bus　again。　Andrew　could　barely　breathe。

They　got　off　the　bus　in　the　middle　of　Yarvil；　near　the　precinct　and　main　pedestrian…only　shopping　street；　and　wove　their　way　through　the　shoppers；　smoking　Fats’　roll…ups。　Andrew　had　virtually　no　money　left：　Howard　Mollison’s　wages　would　be　very　wele。

The　bright…orange　sign　of　the　inter　café　seemed　to　blaze　at　Andrew　from　a　distance；　beckoning　him　on。　He　could　not　concentrate　on　what　Fats　was　saying。　Are　you　going　to？　he　kept　asking　himself。　Are　you　going　to？

He　did　not　know。　His　feet　kept　moving；　and　the　sign　was　growing　larger　and　larger；　luring　him；　leering　at　him。

If　I　find　out　you’ve　breathed　a　word　about　what’s　said　in　this　house；　I’ll　skin　you　alive。

But　the　alternative　…　the　humiliation　of　having　Simon　show　what　he　was　to　the　world；　the　toll　it　would　take　on　the　family　when；　after　weeks　of　anticipation　and　idiocy；　he　was　defeated；　as　he　must　be。　Then　would　e　rage　and　spite；　and　a　determination　to　make　everybody　else　pay　for　his　own　lunatic　decisions。　Only　the　previous　evening　Ruth　had　said　brightly；　‘The　boys　will　go　through　Pagford　and　post　your　pamphlets　for　you。’　Andrew　had　seen；　in　his　peripheral　vision；　Paul’s　look　of　horror　and　his　attempt　to　make　eye　contact　with　his　brother。

‘I　wanna　go　in　here；’　mumbled　Andrew；　turning　right。

They　bought　tickets　with　codes　on　them；　and　sat　down　at　different　puters；　two　occupied　seats　apart。　The　middle…aged　man　on　Andrew’s　right　stank　of　body　odour　and　old　fags；　and　kept　sniffing。

Andrew　logged　onto　the　inter；　and　typed　in　the　name　of　the　website：　Pagford　…　Parish　…　Council　…　dot　…　co　…　dot　…　uk　…

The　homepage　bore　the　council　arms　in　blue　and　white；　and　a　picture　of　Pagford　that　had　been　taken　from　a　point　close　to　Hilltop　House；　with　Pargetter　Abbey　silhouetted　against　the　sky。　The　site；　as　Andrew　already　knew；　from　looking　at　it　on　a　school　puter；　looked　dated　and　amateurish。　He　had　not　dared　go　near　it　on　his　own　laptop；　his　father　might　be　immensely　ignorant　about　the　inter；　but　Andrew　did　not　rule　out　the　possibility　that　Simon　might　find　somebody　at　work　who　could　help　him　investigate；　once　the　thing　was　done　…

Even　in　this　bustling　anonymous　place；　there　was　no　avoiding　the　fact　that　today’s　date　would　be　on　the　posting；　or　of　pretending　that　he　had　not　been　in　Yarvil　when　it　happened；　but　Simon　had　never　visited　an　inter　café　in　his　life；　and　might　not　be　aware　that　they　existed。

The　rapid　contraction　of　Andrew’s　heart　was　painful。　Swiftly；　he　scrolled　down　the　message　board；　which　did　not　seem　to　enjoy　a　lot　of　tr