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　both　stoned；　he　was　curious　to　know　what　that　was　like。

‘I　bin　ter　see　my　Nana　in　hospital　this　mornin’；　she’s　’ad　a　stroke；’　said　Krystal。

Nana　Cath　had　not　tried　to　speak　this　time；　but　Krystal　thought　she　had　known　that　she　was　there。　As　Krystal　had　expected；　Terri　was　refusing　to　visit；　so　Krystal　had　sat　beside　the　bed　on　her　own　for　an　hour　until　it　was　time　to　leave　for　the　precinct。

Fats　was　curious　about　the　minutiae　of　Krystal’s　life；　but　only　in　so　far　as　she　was　an　entry　point　to　the　real　life　of　the　Fields。　Particulars　such　as　hospital　visits　were　of　no　interest　to　him。

‘An’；’　Krystal　added；　with　an　irrepressible　spurt　of　pride；　‘I’ve　gave　an　interview　to　the　paper。’

‘What？’　said　Fats；　startled。　‘Why？’

‘Jus’　about　the　Fields；’　said　Krystal。　‘What　it’s　like　growin’　up　there。’

（The　journalist　had　found　her　at　home　at　last；　and　when　Terri　had　given　her　grudging　permission；　taken　her　to　a　café　to　talk。　She　had　kept　asking　her　whether　being　at　St　Thomas’s　had　helped　Krystal；　whether　it　had　changed　her　life　in　any　way。　She　had　seemed　a　little　impatient　and　frustrated　by　Krystal’s　answers。

‘How　are　your　marks　at　school？’　she　had　said；　and　Krystal　had　been　evasive　and　defensive。

‘Mr　Fairbrother　said　that　he　thought　it　broadened　your　horizons。’

Krystal　did　not　know　what　to　say　about　horizons。　When　she　thought　of　St　Thomas’s；　it　was　of　her　delight　in　the　playing　field　with　the　big　chestnut　tree；　which　rained　enormous　glossy　conkers　on　them　every　year；　she　had　never　seen　conkers　before　she　went　to　St　Thomas’s。　She　had　liked　the　uniform　at　first；　liked　looking　the　same　as　everybody　else。　She　had　been　excited　to　see　her　great…grandfather’s　name　on　the　war　memorial　in　the　middle　of　the　Square：　Pte　Samuel　Weedon。　Only　one　other　boy　had　his　surname　on　the　war　memorial；　and　that　was　a　farmer’s　son；　who　had　been　able　to　drive　a　tractor　at　nine；　and　who　had　once　brought　a　lamb　into　class　for　Show　and　Tell。　Krystal　had　never　forgotten　the　sensation　of　the　lamb’s　fleece　under　her　hand。　When　she　told　Nana　Cath　about　it；　Nana　Cath　had　said　that　their　family　had　been　farm　labourers　once。

Krystal　had　loved　the　river；　green　and　lush；　where　they　had　gone　for　nature　walks。　Best　of　all　had　been　rounders　and　athletics。　She　was　always　first　to　be　picked　for　any　kind　of　sporting　team；　and　she　had　delighted　in　the　groan　that　went　up　from　the　other　team　whenever　she　was　chosen。　And　she　thought　sometimes　of　the　special　teachers　she　had　been　given；　especially　Miss　Jameson；　who　had　been　young　and　trendy；　with　long　blonde　hair。　Krystal　had　always　imagined　Anne…Marie　to　be　a　little　bit　like　Miss　Jameson。

Then　there　were　snippets　of　information　that　Krystal　had　retained　in　vivid；　accurate　detail。　Volcanoes：　they　were　made　by　plates　shifting　in　the　ground；　they　had　made　model　ones　and　filled　them　with　bicarbonate　of　soda　and　washing…up　liquid；　and　they　had　erupted　onto　plastic　trays。　Krystal　had　loved　that。　She　knew　about　Vikings　too：　they　had　longships　and　horned　helmets；　though　she　had　forgotten　when　they　arrived　in　Britain；　or　why。

But　other　memories　of　St　Thomas’s　included　the　muttered　ments　made　about　her　by　little　girls　in　her　class；　one　or　two　of　whom　she　had　slapped。　When　Social　Services　had　allowed　her　to　go　back　to　her　mother；　her　uniform　became　so　tight；　short　and　grubby　that　letters　were　sent　from　school；　and　Nana　Cath　and　Terri　had　a　big　row。　The　other　girls　at　school　had　not　wanted　her　in　their　groups；　except　for　their　rounders　teams。　She　could　still　remember　Lexie　Mollison　handing　everyone　in　the　class　a　little　pink　envelope　containing　a　party　invitation；　and　walking　past　Krystal　with　–　as　Krystal　remembered　it　–　her　nose　in　the　air。

Only　a　couple　of　people　had　asked　her　to　parties。　She　wondered　whether　Fats　or　his　mother　remembered　that　she　had　once　attended　a　birthday　party　at　their　house。　The　whole　class　had　been　invited；　and　Nana　Cath　had　bought　Krystal　a　party　dress。　So　she　knew　that　Fats’　huge　back　garden　had　a　pond　and　a　swing　and　an　apple　tree。　They　had　eaten　jelly　and　had　sack　races。　Tessa　had　told　Krystal　off　because；　trying　desperately　hard　to　win　a　plastic　medal；　she　had　pushed　other　children　out　of　the　way。　One　of　them　had　had　a　nosebleed。

‘You　enjoyed　St　Thomas’s；　though；　did　you？’　the　journalist　had　asked。

‘Yeah；’　said　Krystal；　but　she　knew　that　she　had　not　conveyed　what　Mr　Fairbrother　had　wanted　her　to　convey；　and　wished　he　could　have　been　there　with　her　to　help。　‘Yeah；　I　enjoyed　it。’）

‘How　e　they　wanted　to　talk　to　you　about　the　Fields？’　asked　Fats。

‘It　were　Mr　Fairbrother’s　idea；’　said　Krystal。

After　another　few　minutes；　Fats　asked；　‘D’you　smoke？’

‘Wha’；　like　spliffs？　Yeah；　I　dunnit　with　Dane。’

‘I’ve　got　some　on　me；’　said　Fats。

‘Get　it　off　Skye　Kirby；　didja？’　asked　Krystal。　He　wondered　whether　he　imagined　a　trace　of　amusement　in　her　voice；　because　Skye　was　the　soft；　safe　option；　the　place　the　middle…class　kids　went。　If　so；　Fats　liked　her　authentic　derision。

‘Where　d’you　get　yours；　then？’　he　asked；　interested　now。

‘I　dunno；　it　were　Dane’s；’　she　said。

‘From　Obbo？’　suggested　Fats。

‘Tha’　fuckin’　tosser。’

‘What’s　wrong　with　him？’

But　Krystal　had　no　words　for　what　was　wrong　with　Obbo；　and　even　if　she　had；　she　would　not　have　wanted　to　talk　about　him。　Obbo　made　her　flesh　crawl；　sometimes　he　came　round　and　shot　up　with　Terri；　at　other　times　he　fucked　her；　and　Krystal　would　meet　him　on　the　stairs；　tugging　up　his　filthy　fly；　smiling　at　her　through　his　bottle…bottom　glasses。　Often　Obbo　had　little　jobs　to　offer　Terri；　like　hiding　the　puters；　or　giving　strangers　a　place　to　stay　for　a　night；　or　agreeing　to　perform　services　of　which　Krystal　did　not　know　the　nature；　but　which　took　her　mother　out　of　the　house　for　hours。

Krystal　had　had　a　nightmare；　not　long　ago；　in　which　her　mother　had　bee　stretched；　spread　and　tied　on　a　kind　of　frame；　she　was　mostly　a　vast；　gaping　hole；　like　a　giant；　raw；　plucked　chicken；　and　in　the　dream；　Obbo　was　walking　in　and　out　of　this　cavernous　interior；　and　fiddling　with　things　in　there；　while　Terri’s　tiny　head　was　frightened　and　grim。　Krystal　had　woken　up　feeling　sick　and　angry　and　disgusted。

‘’E’s　a　fucker；’　said　Krystal。

‘Is　he　a　tall　bloke　with　a　shaved　head　and　tattoos　all　up　the　back　of　his　neck？’　asked　Fats；　who　had　truanted　for　a　second　time　that　week；　and　sat　on　a　wall　for　an　hour　in　the　Fields；　watching。　The　bald　man　had　interested　him；　fiddling　around　in　the　back　of　an　old　white　van。

‘Nah；　tha’s　Pikey　Pritchard；’　said　Krystal；　‘if　yeh　saw　him　down　Tarpen　Road。’

‘What　does　he　do？’

‘I　dunno；’　said　Krystal。　‘Ask　Dane；　’e’s　mates　with　Pikey’s　brother。’

But　she　liked　his　genuine　interest；　he　had　never　shown　this　much　inclination　to　talk　to　her　before。

‘Pikey’s　on　probation。’

‘What　for？’

‘He　glassed　a　bloke　down　the　Cross　Keys。’

‘Why？’

‘’Ow　the　fuck　do　I　know？　I　weren’t　there；’　said　Krystal。

She　was　happy；　which　always　made　her　cocky。　Setting　aside　her　worry　about　Nana　Cath　（who　was；　after　all；　still　alive；　so　might　yet　recover）；　it　had　been　a　good　couple　of　weeks。　Terri　was　adhering　to　the　Bellchapel　regime　again；　and　Krystal　was　making　sure　that　Robbie　went　to　nursery。　His　bottom　had　mostly　healed　over。　The　social　worker　seemed　as　pleased　as　her　sort　ever　did。　Krystal　had　been　to　school　every　day　too；　though　she　had　not　attended　either　her　Monday　or　her　Wednesday　morning　guidance　sessions　with　Tessa。　She　did　not　know　why。　Sometimes　you　got　out　of　the　habit。

She　glanced　sideways　at　Fats　again。　She　had　never　once　thought　of　fancying　him；　not　until　he　had　targeted　her　at　the　disco　in　the　drama　hall。　Everyone　knew　Fats；　some　of　his　jokes　were　passed　around　like　funny　stuff　that　happened　on　the　telly。　（Krystal　pretended　to　everyone　that　they　had　a　television　at　home。　She　watched　enough　at　friends’　houses；　and　at　Nana　Cath’s；　to　be　able　to　bluff　her　way　through。　‘Yeah；　it　were　shit；　weren’t　it？’　‘I　know；　I　nearly　pissed　meself；’　she　would　say；　when　the　others　talked　about　programmes　they　had　seen。）

Fats　was　imagining　how　it　would　feel　to　be　glassed；　how　the　jagged　shard　would　slice　through　the　tender　flesh　on　his　face；　he　could　feel　the　searing　nerves　and　the　sting　of　the　air　against　his　ripped　skin；　the　warm　wetness　as　blood　gushed。　He　felt　a　tickly　over…sensitivity　in　the　skin　around　his　mouth；　as　if　it　was　already　scarred。

‘Is　he　still　carrying　a　blade；　Dane？’　he　asked。

‘’Ow　d’you　know　’e’s　gotta　blade？’　demanded　Krystal。

‘He　threatened　Kevin　Cooper　with　it。’

‘Oh；　yeah；’　Krystal　conceded。　‘Cooper’s　a　twat；　innee？’

‘Yeah；　he　is；’　said　Fats。

‘Dane’s　on’y　carryin’　’cos　o’　the　Riordon　brothers；’　said　Krystal。

Fats　liked　the　matter…of…factness　of　Krystal’s　tone；　her　acceptance　of　the　need　for　a　knife；　because　there　was　a　grudge　and　a　likelihood　of　violence。　This　was　the　raw　reality　of　life；　these　were　things　that　actually　mattered　…　before　Arf　had　arrived　at　the　house　that　day；　Cubby　had　been　importuning　Tessa　to　give　him　an　opinion　on　whether　his　campaign　leaflet　should　be　printed　on　yellow　or　white　paper　…

‘What　about　in　there？’　suggested　Fats；　after　a　while。

To　their　right　was　a　long　stone　wall；　its　gates　open　to　reveal　a　glimpse　of　green　and　stone。

‘Yeah；　all　righ’；’　said　Krystal。　She　had　been　in　the　cemetery　once　before；　with　Nikki　and　Leanne；　they　had　sat　on　a　grave　and　split　a　couple　of　cans；　a　little　self…conscious　about　what　they　were　doing；　until　a　woman　had　shouted　at　them　and　called　them　names。　Leanne　had　lobbed　an　empty　can　back　at　the　woman　as　they　left。

But　it　was　too　exposed；　Fats　thought；　as　he　and　Krystal　walked　up　the　broad　concreted　walkway　between　the　graves：　green　and　flat；　the　headstones　offering　virtually　no　cover。　Then　he　saw　barberry　hedges　along　the　wall　on　the　far　side。　He　cut　a　path　right　across　the　cemetery；　and　Krystal　followed；　hands　in　her　pockets；　as　they　picked　their　way　between　rectangular　gravel　beds；　headstones　cracked　and　illegible。　It　was　a　large　cemetery；　wide　and　well　tended。　Gradually　they　reached　the　newer　graves　of　highly　polished　black　marble　with　gold　lettering；　places　where　fresh　flowers　had　been　laid　for　the　recently　dead。

To　Lyndsey　Kyle；　September　15　1960–March　26　2008；　
Sleep　Tight　Mum。

‘Yeah；　we’ll　be　all　right　in　there；’　said　Fats；　eyeing　the　dark　gap　between　the　prickly；　yellow…flowered　bushes　and　the　cemetery　wall。

They　crawled　into　the　damp　shadows；　onto　the　earth；　their　backs　against　the　cold　wall。　The　headstones　marched　away　from　them　between　the　bushes’　trunks；　but　there　were　no　human　forms　among　them。　Fats　skinned　up　expertly；　hoping　that　Krystal　was　watching；　and　was　impressed。

But　she　was　gazing　out　under　the　canopy　of　glossy　dark　leaves；　thinking　about　Anne…Marie；　who　（Aunt　Cheryl　had　told　her）　had　e　to　visit　Nana　Cath　on　Thursday。　If　only　she　had　skipped　school　and　gone　at　the　same　time；　they　could　have　met　at　last。　She　had　fantasized；　many　times；　about　how　she　would　meet　Anne…Marie；　and　say　to　her；　‘I’m　yer　sister。’　Anne…Marie；　in　these　fantasies；　was　always　delighted；　and　they　saw　each　other　all　the　time　after　that；　and　eventually　Anne…Marie　suggested　that　Krystal　move　in。　The　imaginary　Anne…Marie　had　a　house　like　Nana　Cath’s；　neat　and　clean；　except　that　it　was　much　more　modern。　Lately；　in　her　fantasies；　Krystal　had　added　a　sweet　little　pink　baby　in　a　frilly　crib。

‘There　you　go；’　said　Fats；　handing　Krystal　the　joint。　She　inhaled；　held　the　smoke　in　her　lungs　for　a　few　seconds；　and　her　expression　softened　into　dreaminess　as　the　cannabis　worked　its　magic。

‘You　ain’　got　brothers　an’　sisters；’　she　asked；　‘’ave　yeh？’

‘No；’　said　Fats；　checking　his　pocket　for　the　condoms　he　had　brought。

Krystal　handed　back　the　joint；　her　head　swimming　pleasantly。　Fats　took　an　enormous　drag　and　blew　smoke　rings。

‘I’m　adopted；’　he　said；　after　a　while。

Krystal　goggled　at　Fats。

‘Are　yeh　adopted；　are　yeh？’

With　the　senses　a　little　muffled　and　cushioned；　confidences　peeled　easily　away；　everything　became　easy。

‘My　sister　wuz　adopted；’　said　Krystal；　marvelling　at　the　coincidence；　delighted　to　talk　about　Anne…Marie。

‘Yeah；　I　proba