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

‘Yeah；　I　probably　e　from　a　family　like　yours；’　said　Fats。

But　Krystal　was　not　listening；　she　wanted　to　talk。

‘I　gottan　older　sister　an’　an　older　brother；　Liam；　but　they　wuz　taken　away　before　I　wuz　born。’

‘Why？’　asked　Fats。

He　was　suddenly　paying　close　attention。

‘Me　mum　was　with　Ritchie　Adams　then；’　said　Krystal。　She　took　a　deep　drag　on　the　joint　and　blew　out　the　smoke　in　a　long　thin　jet。　‘He’s　a　proper　psycho。　He’s　doin’　life。　He　killed　a　bloke。　Proper　violent　to　Mum　an’　the　kids；　an’　then　John　an’　Sue　came　an’　took　’em；　and　the　social　got　involved　an’　it　ended　up　John　an’　Sue　kept　’em。’

She　drew　on　the　joint　again；　considering　this　period　of　her　pre…life；　which　was　doused　in　blood；　fury　and　darkness。　She　had　heard　things　about　Ritchie　Adams；　mainly　from　her　aunt　Cheryl。　He　had　stubbed　out　cigarettes　on　one…year…old　Anne…Marie’s　arms；　and　kicked　her　until　her　ribs　cracked。　He　had　broken　Terri’s　face；　her　left　cheekbone　was　still　receded；　pared　to　the　right。　Terri’s　addiction　had　spiralled　catastrophically。　Aunt　Cheryl　was　matter　of　fact　about　the　decision　to　remove　the　two　brutalized；　neglected　children　from　their　parents。

‘It　’ad　to　’appen；’　said　Cheryl。

John　and　Sue　were　distant；　childless　relatives。　Krystal　had　never　known　where　or　how　they　fitted　in　her　plex　family　tree；　or　how　they　had　effected　what；　to　hear　Terri　tell　it；　sounded　like　kidnap。　After　much　wrangling　with　the　authorities；　they　had　been　allowed　to　adopt　the　children。　Terri；　who　had　remained　with　Ritchie　until　his　arrest；　never　saw　Anne…Marie　or　Liam；　for　reasons　Krystal　did　not　entirely　understand；　the　whole　story　was　clotted　and　festering　with　hatred　and　unforgivable　things　said　and　threatened；　restraining　orders；　lots　more　social　workers。

‘Who’s　your　dad；　then？’　asked　Fats。

‘Banger；’　said　Krystal。　She　struggled　to　recall　his　real　name。　‘Barry；’　she　muttered；　though　she　had　a　suspicion　that　was　not　right。　‘Barry　Coates。　O’ny　I　uses　me　mum’s　name；　Weedon。’

The　memory　of　the　dead　young　man　who　had　overdosed　in　Terri’s　bathroom　floated　back　to　her　through　the　sweet；　heavy　smoke。　She　passed　the　joint　back　to　Fats　and　leaned　her　head　against　the　stone　wall；　looking　up　at　the　sliver　of　sky；　mottled　with　dark　leaves。

Fats　was　thinking　about　Ritchie　Adams；　who　had　killed　a　man；　and　considering　the　possibility　that　his　own　biological　father　was　in　prison　somewhere　too；　tattooed；　like　Pikey；　spare　and　muscled。　He　mentally　pared　Cubby　with　this　strong；　hard　authentic　man。　Fats　knew　that　he　had　been　parted　from　his　biological　mother　as　a　very　small　baby；　because　there　were　pictures　of　Tessa　holding　him；　frail　and　bird…like；　with　a　woolly　white　cap　on　his　head。　He　had　been　premature。　Tessa　had　told　him　a　few　things；　though　he　had　never　asked。　His　real　mother　had　been　very　young　when　she　had　him；　he　knew　that。　Perhaps　she　had　been　like　Krystal；　the　school　bike　…

He　was　properly　stoned　now。　He　put　his　hand　behind　Krystal’s　neck　and　pulled　her　towards　him；　kissing　her；　sticking　his　tongue　into　her　mouth。　With　his　other　hand；　he　groped　for　her　breast。　His　brain　was　fuzzy　and　his　limbs　were　heavy；　even　his　sense　of　touch　seemed　affected。　He　fumbled　a　little　to　get　his　hand　inside　her　T…shirt；　to　force　it　under　her　bra。　Her　mouth　was　hot　and　tasted　of　tobacco　and　dope；　her　lips　were　dry　and　chapped。　His　excitement　was　slightly　blunted；　he　seemed　to　be　receiving　all　sensory　information　through　an　invisible　blanket。　It　took　longer　than　the　last　time　to　prise　her　clothes　loose　from　her　body；　and　the　condom　was　difficult；　because　his　fingers　had　bee　stiff　and　slow；　then　he　accidentally　placed　his　elbow；　with　all　his　weight　behind　it；　on　her　soft　fleshy　underarm　and　she　shrieked　in　pain。

She　was　drier　than　before；　he　forced　his　way　inside　her；　determined　to　acplish　what　he　had　e　for。　Time　was　glue…like　and　slow；　but　he　could　hear　his　own　rapid　breathing；　and　it　made　him　edgy；　because　he　imagined　someone　else；　crouching　in　the　dark　space　with　them；　watching；　panting　in　his　ear。　Krystal　moaned　a　little。　With　her　head　thrown　back；　her　nose　became　broad　and　snout…like。　He　pushed　up　her　T…shirt　to　look　at　the　smooth　white　breasts；　jiggling　a　little；　beneath　the　loose　constraint　of　the　undone　bra。　He　came　without　expecting　it；　and　his　own　grunt　of　satisfaction　seemed　to　belong　to　the　crouching　eavesdropper。

He　rolled　off　her；　peeled　off　the　condom　and　threw　it　aside；　then　zipped　himself　up；　feeling　jittery；　looking　around　to　check　that　they　were　definitely　alone。　Krystal　was　dragging　her　pants　up　with　one　hand；　pulling　down　her　T…shirt　with　the　other；　reaching　behind　herself　to　do　up　her　bra。

It　had　bee　cloudy　and　darker　while　they　had　sat　behind　the　bushes。　There　was　a　distant　buzzing　in　Fats’　ears；　he　was　very　hungry；　his　brain　was　working　slowly；　while　his　ears　were　hypersensitive。　The　fear　that　they　had　been　watched；　perhaps　over　the　top　of　the　wall　behind　them；　would　not　leave　him。　He　wanted　to　go。

‘Let’s　…’　he　muttered；　and　without　waiting　for　her；　he　crawled　out　between　the　bushes　and　got　to　his　feet；　brushing　himself　down。　There　was　an　elderly　couple　a　hundred　yards　away；　crouching　at　a　graveside。　He　wanted　to　get　right　away　from　phantom　eyes　that　might；　or　might　not；　have　watched　him　screw　Krystal　Weedon；　but　at　the　same　time；　the　process　of　finding　the　right　bus　stop　and　getting　on　the　bus　to　Pagford　seemed　almost　unbearably　onerous。　He　wished　he　could　simply　be　transported；　this　instant；　to　his　attic　bedroom。

Krystal　had　staggered　out　behind　him。　She　was　pulling　down　the　bottom　of　her　T…shirt　and　staring　down　at　the　grassy　ground　at　her　feet。

‘Fuck；’　she　mumbled。

‘What？’　said　Fats。　‘C’mon；　let’s　go。’

‘’S　Mr　Fairbrother；’　she　said；　without　moving。

‘What？’

She　pointed　at　the　mound　in　front　of　them。　There　was　no　headstone　yet；　but　fresh　flowers　lay　all　along　it。

‘See？’　she　said；　crouching　over　and　indicating　cards　stapled　to　the　cellophane。　‘Tha’　sez　Fairbrother。’　She　recognized　the　name　easily　from　all　those　letters　that　had　gone　home　from　school；　asking　her　mother　to　give　permission　for　her　to　go　away　on　the　minibus。　‘“Ter　Barry”；’　she　read　carefully；　‘an’　this　sez；　“Ter　Dad”；’　she　sounded　out　the　words　slowly；　‘“from　…　”’

But　Niamh　and　Siobhan’s　names　defeated　her。

‘So？’　demanded　Fats；　but　in　truth；　the　news　gave　him　the　creeps。　That　wickerwork　coffin　lay　feet　below　them；　and　inside　it　the　short　body　and　cheery　face　of　Cubby’s　dearest　friend；　so　often　seen　in　their　house；　rotting　away　in　the　earth。　The　Ghost　of　Barry　Fairbrother　…　he　was　unnerved。　It　seemed　like　some　kind　of　retribution。

‘C’mon；’　he　said；　but　Krystal　did　not　move。　‘What’s　the　matter？’

‘I　rowed　for　’im；　di’n　I？’　snapped　Krystal。

‘Oh；　yeah。’

Fats　was　fidgeting　like　a　restive　horse；　edging　backwards。

Krystal　stared　down　at　the　mound；　hugging　herself。　She　felt　empty；　sad　and　dirty。　She　wished　they　had　not　done　it　there；　so　close　to　Mr　Fairbrother。　She　was　cold。　Unlike　Fats；　she　had　no　jacket。

‘C’mon；’　said　Fats　again。

She　followed　him　out　of　the　cemetery；　and　they　did　not　speak　to　each　other　once。　Krystal　was　thinking　about　Mr　Fairbrother。　He　had　always　called　her　‘Krys’；　which　nobody　else　had　ever　done。　She　had　liked　being　Krys。　He　had　been　a　good　laugh。　She　wanted　to　cry。

Fats　was　thinking　about　how　he　would　be　able　to　work　this　into　a　funny　story　for　Andrew；　about　being　stoned　and　fucking　Krystal　and　getting　paranoid　and　thinking　they　were　being　watched　and　crawling　out　almost　onto　old　Barry　Fairbrother’s　grave。　But　it　did　not　feel　funny　yet；　not　yet。

I
‘…　ran　out　of　here；　screaming　blue　murder；　calling　her　a　Paki　bitch　–　and　now　the　paper’s　called　for　a　ment；　because　she’s　…’

Parminder　heard　the　receptionist’s　voice；　barely　louder　than　a　whisper；　as　she　passed　the　door　of　the　staff　meeting　room；　which　was　ajar。　One　swift　light　step；　and　Parminder　had　pulled　it　open　to　reveal　one　of　the　receptionists　and　the　practice　nurse　in　close　proximity。　Both　jumped　and　spun　round。

‘Doct’　Jawan—’

‘You　understand　the　confidentiality　agreement　you　signed　when　you　took　this　job；　don’t　you；　Karen？’

The　receptionist　looked　aghast。

‘Yeah；　I　–　I　wasn’t　–　Laura　already　–　I　was　ing　to　give　you　this　note。　The　Yarvil　and　District　Gazette’s　rang。　Mrs　Weedon’s　died　and　one　of　her　granddaughters　is　saying—’

‘And　are　those　for　me？’　asked　Parminder　coldly；　pointing　at　the　patient　records　in　Karen’s　hand。

‘Oh　–　yeah；’　said　Karen；　flustered。　‘He　wanted　to　see　Dr　Crawford；　but—’

‘You’d　better　get　back　to　the　front　desk。’

Parminder　took　the　patient　records　and　strode　back　out　to　reception；　fuming。　Once　there；　and　facing　the　patients；　she　realized　that　she　did　not　know　whom　to　call；　and　glanced　down　at　the　folder　in　her　hand。

‘Mr　–　Mr　Mollison。’

Howard　heaved　himself　up；　smiling；　and　walked　towards　her　with　his　familiar　rocking　gait。　Dislike　rose　like　bile　in　Parminder’s　throat。　She　turned　and　walked　back　to　her　surgery；　Howard　following　her。

‘All　well　with　Parminder？’　he　asked；　as　he　closed　her　door　and　settled　himself；　without　invitation；　on　the　patient’s　chair。

It　was　his　habitual　greeting；　but　today　it　felt　like　a　taunt。

‘What’s　the　problem？’　she　asked　brusquely。

‘Bit　of　an　irritation；’　he　said。　‘Just　here。　Need　a　cream；　or　something。’

He　tugged　his　shirt　out　of　his　trousers　and　lifted　it　a　few　inches。　Parminder　saw　an　angry　red　patch　of　skin　at　the　edge　of　the　fold　where　his　stomach　spilt　out　over　his　upper　legs。

‘You’ll　need　to　take　your　shirt　off；’　she　said。

‘It’s　only　here　that’s　itching。’

‘I　need　to　see　the　whole　area。’

He　sighed　and　got　to　his　feet。　As　he　unbuttoned　his　shirt　he　said；　‘Did　you　get　the　agenda　I　sent　through　this　morning？’

‘No；　I　haven’t　checked　emails　today。’

This　was　a　lie。　Parminder　had　read　his　agenda　and　was　furious　about　it；　but　this　was　not　the　moment　to　tell　him　so。　She　resented　his　trying　to　bring　council　business　into　her　surgery；　his　way　of　reminding　her　that　there　was　a　place　where　she　was　his　subordinate；　even　if　here；　in　this　room；　she　could　order　him　to　strip。

‘Could　you；　please　–　I　need　to　look　under　…’

He　hoisted　the　great　apron　of　flesh　upwards；　the　upper　legs　of　his　trousers　were　revealed；　and　finally　the　waistband。　With　his　arms　full　of　his　own　fat　he　smiled　down　at　her。　She　drew　her　chair　nearer；　her　head　level　with　his　belt。

An　ugly　scaly　rash　had　spread　in　the　hidden　crease　of　Howard’s　belly：　a　bright　scalded　red；　it　stretched　from　one　side　to　the　other　of　his　torso　like　a　huge；　smeared　smile。　A　whiff　of　rotting　meat　reached　her　nostrils。

‘Intertrigo；’　she　said；　‘and　lichen　simplex　there；　where　you’ve　scratched。　All　right；　you　can　put　your　shirt　back　on。’

He　dropped　his　belly　and　reached　for　his　shirt；　unfazed。

‘You’ll　see　I’ve　put　the　Bellchapel　building　on　the　agenda。　It’s　generating　a　bit　of　press　interest　at　the　moment。’

She　was　tapping　something　into　the　puter；　and　did　not　reply。

‘Yarvil　and　District　Gazette；’　Howard　said。　‘I’m　doing　them　an　article。　Both　sides；’　he　said；　buttoning　up　his　shirt；　‘of　the　question。’

She　was　trying　not　to　listen　to　him；　but　the　sound　of　the　newspaper’s　name　caused　the　knot　in　her　stomach　to　tighten。

‘When　did　you　last　have　your　blood　pressure　done；　Howard？　I’m　not　seeing　a　test　in　the　last　six　months。’

‘It’ll　be　fine。　I’m　on　medication　for　it。’

‘We　should　check；　though。　As　you’re　here。’

He　sighed　again；　and　laboriously　rolled　up　his　sleeve。

‘They’ll　be　printing　Barry’s　article　before　mine；’　he　said。　‘You　know　he　sent　them　an　article？　About　the　Fields？’

‘Yes；’　she　said；　against　her　own　better　judgement。

‘Haven’t　got　a　copy；　have　you？　So　I　don’t　duplicate　anything　he’s　said？’

Her　fingers　trembled　a　little　on　the　cuff。　It　would　not　meet　around　Howard’s　arm。　She　unfastened　it　and　got　up　to　fetch　a　bigger　one。

‘No；’　she　said；　her　back　to　him。　‘I　never　saw　it。’

He　watched　her　work　the　pump；　and　observed　the　pressure　dial　with　the　indulgent