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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　traffic。　There　were　threads　entitled：　refuse　collection　–　a　Query　and　school　catchment　areas　in　Crampton　and　Little　manning？　Every　tenth　entry　or　so　was　a　posting　from　the　Administrator；　attaching　Minutes　of　the　Last　Council　Meeting。　Right　at　the　bottom　of　the　page　was　a　thread　entitled：　Death　of　Cllr　Barry　Fairbrother。　This　had　received　152　views　and　forty…three　responses。　Then；　on　the　second　page　of　the　message　board；　he　found　what　he　hoped　to　find：　a　post　from　the　dead　man。

A　couple　of　months　previously；　Andrew’s　puting　set　had　been　supervised　by　a　young　supply　teacher。　He　had　been　trying　to　look　cool；　trying　to　get　the　class　onside。　He　shouldn’t　have　mentioned　SQL　injections　at　all；　and　Andrew　was　quite　sure　that　he　had　not　been　the　only　one　who　went　straight　home　and　looked　them　up。　He　pulled　out　the　piece　of　paper　on　which　he　had　written　the　code　he　had　researched　in　odd　moments　at　school；　and　brought　up　the　log…in　page　on　the　council　website。　Everything　hinged　on　the　premise　that　the　site　had　been　set　up　by　an　amateur　a　long　time　ago；　that　it　had　never　been　protected　from　the　simplest　of　classical　hacks。

Carefully；　using　only　his　index　finger；　he　input　the　magic　line　of　characters。

He　read　them　through　twice；　making　sure　that　every　apostrophe　was　where　it　should　be；　hesitated　for　a　second　on　the　brink；　his　breathing　shallow；　then　pressed　return。

He　gasped；　as　gleeful　as　a　small　child；　and　had　to　fight　the　urge　to　shout　out　or　punch　the　air。　He　had　perated　the　tin…pot　site　at　his　first　attempt。　There；　on　the　screen　in　front　of　him；　were　Barry　Fairbrother’s　user　details：　his　name；　his　password；　his　entire　profile。

Andrew　smoothed　out　the　magic　paper　he　had　kept　under　his　pillow　all　week；　and　set　to　work。　Typing　up　his　next　paragraph；　with　its　many　crossings　out　and　reworkings；　was　a　much　more　laborious　process。

He　had　been　trying　for　a　style　that　was　as　impersonal　and　imperable　as　possible；　for　the　dispassionate　tone　of　a　broadsheet　journalist。

Aspiring　Parish　Councillor　Simon　Price　hopes　to　stand　on　a　platform　of　cutting　wasteful　council　spending。　Mr　Price　is　certainly　no　stranger　to　keeping　down　costs；　and　should　be　able　to　give　the　council　the　benefit　of　his　many　useful　contacts。　He　saves　money　at　home　by　furnishing　it　with　stolen　goods　–　most　recently　a　PC　–　and　he　is　the　go…to　man　for　any　cut…price　printing　jobs　that　may　need　doing　for　cash；　once　senior　management　has　gone　home；　at　the　Harcourt…Walsh　Printworks。

Andrew　read　the　message　through　twice。　He　had　been　over　it　time　and　again　in　his　mind。　There　were　many　accusations　he　could　have　levelled　at　Simon；　but　the　court　did　not　exist　in　which　Andrew　could　have　laid　the　real　charges　against　his　father；　in　which　he　would　have　presented　as　evidence　memories　of　physical　terror　and　ritual　humiliation。　All　he　had　were　the　many　petty　infractions　of　the　law　of　which　he　had　heard　Simon　boast；　and　he　had　selected　these　two　specific　examples　–　the　stolen　puter　and　the　out…of…hours　printing　jobs　done　on　the　sly　–　because　both　were　firmly　connected　to　Simon’s　workplace。　People　at　the　printer’s　knew　that　Simon　did　these　things；　and　they　could　have　talked　to　anybody：　their　friends；　their　families。

His　guts　were　juddering；　the　way　they　did　when　Simon　truly　lost　control　and　laid　about　anyone　within　reach。　Seeing　his　betrayal　in　black　and　white　on　the　screen　was　terrifying。

‘What　the　fuck　are　you　doing？’　asked　Fats’　quiet　voice　in　his　ear。

The　stinking；　middle…aged　man　had　gone；　Fats　had　moved　up；　he　was　reading　what　Andrew　had　written。

‘Fucking　hell；’　said　Fats。

Andrew’s　mouth　was　dry。　His　hand　lay　quiescent　on　the　mouse。

‘How’d　you　get　in？’　Fats　whispered。

‘SQL　injection；’　said　Andrew。　‘It’s　all　on　the　。　Their　security’s　shit。’

Fats　looked　exhilarated；　wildly　impressed。　Andrew　was　half　pleased；　half　scared；　by　the　reaction。

‘You’ve　gotta　keep　this　to—’

‘Lemme　do　one　about　Cubby！’

‘No！’

Andrew’s　hand　on　the　mouse　skidded　away　from　Fats’　reaching　fingers。　This　ugly　act　of　filial　disloyalty　had　sprung　from　the　primordial　soup　of　anger；　frustration　and　fear　that　had　slopped　inside　him　all　his　rational　life；　but　he　knew　no　better　way　to　convey　this　to　Fats　than　by　saying；　‘I’m　not　just　having　a　laugh。’

He　read　the　message　through　a　third　time；　then　added　a　title　to　the　message。　He　could　feel　Fats’　excitement　beside　him；　as　if　they　were　having　another　porn　session。　Andrew　was　seized　by　a　desire　to　impress　further。

‘Look；’　he　said；　and　he　changed　Barry’s　username　to　The_Ghost_　of_Barry_Fairbrother。

Fats　laughed　loudly。　Andrew’s　fingers　twitched　on　the　mouse。　He　rolled　it　sideways。　Whether　he　would　have　gone　through　with　it　if　Fats　had　not　been　watching；　he　would　never　know。　With　a　single　click；　a　new　thread　appeared　at　the　top　of　the　Pagford　Parish　Council　message　board：　Simon　Price　Unfit　to　Stand　for　Council。

Outside　on　the　pavement；　they　faced　each　other；　breathless　with　laughter；　slightly　overawed　by　what　had　happened。　Then　Andrew　borrowed　Fats’　matches；　set　fire　to　the　piece　of　paper　on　which　he　had　drafted　the　message；　and　watched　it　disintegrate　into　fragile　black　flakes；　which　drifted　onto　the　dirty　pavement　and　vanished　under　passing　feet。

X
Andrew　left　Yarvil　at　half…past　three；　to　be　sure　of　getting　back　to　Hilltop　House　before　five。　Fats　acpanied　him　to　the　bus　stop　and　then；　apparently　on　a　whim；　told　Andrew　that　he　thought　he　would　stay　in　town　for　a　bit；　after　all。

Fats　had　made　a　loose　arrangement　to　meet　Krystal　in　the　shopping　centre。　He　strolled　back　towards　the　shops；　thinking　about　what　Andrew　had　done　in　the　inter　café；　and　trying　to　disentangle　his　own　reactions。

He　had　to　admit　that　he　was　impressed；　in　fact；　he　felt　somewhat　upstaged。　Andrew　had　thought　the　business　through；　and　kept　it　to　himself；　and　executed　it　efficiently：　all　of　this　was　admirable。　Fats　experienced　a　twinge　of　pique　that　Andrew　had　formulated　the　plan　without　saying　a　word　to　him；　and　this　led　Fats　to　wonder　whether；　perhaps；　he　ought　not　to　deplore　the　undercover　nature　of　Andrew’s　attack　on　his　father。　Was　there　not　something　slippery　and　over…sophisticated　about　it；　would　it　not　have　been　more　authentic　to　threaten　Simon　to　his　face　or　to　take　a　swing　at　him？

Yes；　Simon　was　a　shit；　but　he　was　undoubtedly　an　authentic　shit；　he　did　what　he　wanted；　when　he　wanted；　without　submitting　to　societal　constraints　or　conventional　morality。　Fats　asked　himself　whether　his　sympathies　ought　not　to　lie　with　Simon；　whom　he　liked　entertaining　with　crude；　crass　humour　focused　mainly　on　people　making　tits　of　themselves　or　suffering　slapstick　injuries。　Fats　often　told　himself　that　he　would　rather　have　Simon；　with　his　volatility；　his　unpredictable　picking　of　fights　–　a　worthy　opponent；　an　engaged　adversary　–　than　Cubby。

On　the　other　hand；　Fats　had　not　forgotten　the　falling　tin　of　creosote；　Simon’s　brutish　face　and　fists；　the　terrifying　noise　he　had　made；　the　sensation　of　hot　wet　piss　running　down　his　own　legs；　and　（perhaps　most　shameful　of　all）　his　whole…hearted；　desperate　yearning　for　Tessa　to　e　and　take　him　away　to　safety。　Fats　was　not　yet　so　invulnerable　that　he　was　unsympathetic　to　Andrew’s　desire　for　retribution。

So　Fats　came　full　circle：　Andrew　had　done　something　daring；　ingenious　and　potentially　explosive　in　its　consequences。　Again　Fats　experienced　a　small　pang　of　chagrin　that　it　had　not　been　he　who　had　thought　of　it。　He　was　trying　to　rid　himself　of　his　own　acquired　middle…class　reliance　on　words；　but　it　was　difficult　to　forgo　a　sport　at　which　he　excelled；　and　as　he　trod　the　polished　tiles　of　the　shopping　centre　forecourt；　he　found　himself　turning　phrases　that　would　blow　Cubby’s　self…important　pretensions　apart　and　strip　him　naked　before　a　jeering　public　…

He　spotted　Krystal　among　a　small　crowd　of　Fields　kids；　grouped　around　the　benches　in　the　middle　of　the　thoroughfare　between　shops。　Nikki；　Leanne　and　Dane　Tully　were　among　them。　Fats　did　not　hesitate；　nor　appear　to　gather　himself　in　the　slightest；　but　continued　to　walk　at　the　same　speed；　his　hands　in　his　pockets；　into　the　battery　of　curious　critical　eyes；　raking　him　from　the　top　of　his　head　to　his　trainers。

‘All　righ’；　Fatboy？’　called　Leanne。

‘All　right？’　responded　Fats。　Leanne　muttered　something　to　Nikki；　who　cackled。　Krystal　was　chewing　gum　energetically；　colour　high　in　her　cheeks；　throwing　back　her　hair　so　that　her　earrings　danced；　tugging　up　her　tracksuit　bottoms。

‘All　right？’　Fats　said　to　her；　individually。

‘Yeah；’　she　said。

‘Duz　yer　mum　know　yer　out；　Fats？’　asked　Nikki。

‘Yeah；　she　brought　me；’　said　Fats　calmly；　into　the　greedy　silence。　‘She’s　waiting　outside　in　the　car；　she　says　I　can　have　a　quick　shag　before　we　go　home　for　tea。’

They　all　burst　out　laughing　except　Krystal；　who　squealed；　‘Fuck　off；　you　cheeky　bastard！’　but　looked　gratified。

‘You　smokin’　rollies？’　grunted　Dane　Tully；　his　eyes　on　Fats’　breast　pocket。　He　had　a　large　black　scab　on　his　lip。

‘Yeah；’　said　Fats。

‘Me　uncle　smokes　them；’　said　Dane。　‘Knackered　his　fuckin’　lungs。’

He　picked　idly　at　the　scab。

‘Where’re　you　two　goin’？’　asked　Leanne；　squinting　from　Fats　to　Krystal。

‘Dunno；’　said　Krystal；　chewing　her　gum；　glancing　sideways　at　Fats。

He　did　not　enlighten　either　of　them；　but　indicated　the　exit　of　the　shopping　centre　with　a　jerk　of　his　thumb。

‘Laters；’　Krystal　said　loudly　to　the　rest。

Fats　gave　them　a　careless　half…raised　hand　in　farewell　and　walked　away；　Krystal　striding　along　beside　him。　He　heard　more　laughter　in　their　wake；　but　did　not　care。　He　knew　that　he　had　acquitted　himself　well。

‘Where’re　we　goin’？’　asked　Krystal。

‘Dunno；’　said　Fats。　‘Where　d’you　usually　go？’

She　shrugged；　walking　and　chewing。　They　left　the　shopping　centre　and　walked　on　down　the　high　street。　They　were　some　distance　from　the　recreation　ground；　where　they　had　previously　gone　to　find　privacy。

‘Didjer　mum　really　drop　yeh？’　Krystal　asked。

‘Course　she　bloody　didn’t。　I　got　the　bus　in；　didn’t　I？’

Krystal　accepted　the　rebuke　without　rancour；　glancing　sideways　into　the　shop　windows　at　their　paired　reflections。　Stringy　and　strange；　Fats　was　a　school　celebrity。　Even　Dane　thought　he　was　funny。

‘He’s　on’y　usin’　yeh；　yeh　stupid　bitch；’　Ashlee　Mellor　had　spat　at　her；　three　days　ago；　on　the　corner　of　Foley　Road；　‘because　yer　a　fuckin’　whore；　like　yer　mum。’

Ashlee　had　been　a　member　of　Krystal’s　gang　until　the　two　of　them　had　clashed　over　another　boy。　Ashlee　was　notoriously　not　quite　right　in　the　head；　she　was　prone　to　outbursts　of　rage　and　tears；　and　divided　most　of　her　time　between　learning　support　and　guidance　when　at　Winterdown。　If　further　proof　were　needed　of　her　inability　to　think　through　consequences；　she　had　challenged　Krystal　on　her　home　turf；　where　Krystal　had　back…up　and　she　had　none。　Nikki；　Jemma　and　Leanne　had　helped　corner　and　hold　Ashlee；　and　Krystal　had　pummelled　and　slapped　her　everywhere　she　could　reach；　until　her　knuckles　came　away　bloody　from　the　other　girl’s　mouth。

Krystal　was　not　worried　about　repercussions。

‘Soft　as　shite　an’　twice　as　runny；’　she　said　of　Ashlee　and　her　family。

But　Ashlee’s　words　had　stung　a　tender；　infected　place　in　Krystal’s　psyche；　so　it　had　been　balm　to　her　when　Fats　had　sought　her　out　at　school　the　next　day　and　asked　her；　for　the　first　time；　to　meet　him　over　the　weekend。　She　had　told　Nikki　and　Leanne　immediately　that　she　was　going　out　with　Fats　Wall　on　Saturday；　and　had　been　gratified　by　their　looks　of　surprise。　And　to　cap　it　all；　he　had　turned　up　when　he　had　said　he　would　（or　within　half　an　hour　of　it）　right　in　front　of　all　her　mates；　and　walked　away　with　her。　It　was　like　they　were　properly　going　out。

‘So　what’ve　you　been　up　to？’　Fats　asked；　after　they　had　walked　fifty　yards　in　silence；　back　past　the　inter　café。　He　knew　a　conventional　need　to　keep　some　form　of　munication　going；　even　while　he　wondered　whether　they　would　find　a　private　place　before　the　rec；　a　half…hour’s　walk　away。　He　wanted　to　screw　her　while　they　were　both　stoned；　he　was　curious　to　know　what　that　was　like。