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nto　her　sixties。　Oh；　yes；　she　was　one　of　the　world’s　grafters；　Cath　Weedon；　whatever　the　rest　of　the　family　became。’

Howard　was　enjoying　giving　credit　where　credit　was　due。

‘The　husband　lost　his　job　when　they　closed　the　steelworks。　Hard　drinker。　No；　she　didn’t　always　have　it　easy；　Cath。’

Samantha　was　barely　managing　to　look　interested；　but　fortunately　Maureen　interrupted。

‘And　the　Gazette’s　on　to　Dr　Jawanda！’　she　croaked。　‘Imagine　how　she　must　be　feeling；　now　the　paper’s　got　it！　Family’s　kicking　up　a　stink　–　well；　you　can’t　blame　them；　alone　in　that　house　for　three　days。　D’you　know　her；　Howard？　Which　one　is　Danielle　Fowler？’

Shirley　got　up　and　stalked　out　of　the　room　in　her　apron。　Samantha　slugged　a　little　more　wine；　smiling。

‘Let’s　think；　let’s　think；’　said　Howard。　He　prided　himself　on　knowing　almost　everyone　in　Pagford；　but　the　later　generations　of　Weedons　belonged　more　to　Yarvil。　‘Can’t　be　a　daughter；　she　had　four　boys；　Cath。　Granddaughter；　I　expect。’

‘And　she　wants　an　inquiry；’　said　Maureen。　‘Well；　it　was　always　going　to　e　to　this。　It’s　been　on　the　cards。　If　anything；　I’m　surprised　it’s　taken　this　long。　Dr　Jawanda　wouldn’t　give　the　Hubbards’　son　antibiotics　and　he　ended　up　hospitalized　for　his　asthma。　Do　you　know；　did　she　train　in　India；　or—？’

Shirley；　who　was　listening　from　the　kitchen　while　she　stirred　the　gravy；　felt　irritated；　as　she　always　did；　by　Maureen’s　monopolization　of　the　conversation；　that；　at　least；　was　how　Shirley　put　it　to　herself。　Determined　not　to　return　to　the　room　until　Maureen　had　finished；　Shirley　turned　into　the　study　and　checked　to　see　whether　anyone　had　sent　in　apologies　for　the　next　Parish　Council　meeting；　as　secretary；　she　was　already　putting　together　the　agenda。

‘Howard　–　Miles　–　e　and　look　at　this！’

Shirley’s　voice　had　lost　its　usual　soft；　flutey　quality；　it　rang　out　shrilly。

Howard　waddled　out　of　the　sitting　room　followed　by　Miles；　who　was　still　in　the　suit　he　had　worn　all　day　at　work。　Maureen’s　droopy；　bloodshot；　heavily　mascara…ed　eyes　were　fixed　on　the　empty　doorway　like　a　bloodhound’s；　her　hunger　to　know　what　Shirley　had　found　or　seen　was　almost　palpable。　Maureen’s　fingers；　a　clutch　of　bulging　knuckles　covered　in　translucent　leopard…spotted　skin；　slid　the　crucifix　and　wedding　ring　up　and　down　the　chain　around　her　neck。　The　deep　creases　running　from　the　corners　of　Maureen’s　mouth　to　her　chin　always　reminded　Samantha　of　a　ventriloquist’s　dummy。

Why　are　you　always　here？　Samantha　asked　the　older　woman　loudly；　inside　her　own　head。　You　couldn’t　make　me　lonely　enough　to　live　in　Howard　and　Shirley’s　pocket。

‘No；　you　haven’t。　Well；　good；　because　Mum　and　Dad　have　invited　us　over。’　And　before　she　could　protest；　he　had　added　sharply；　‘It’s　nothing　to　do　with　the　council。　It’s　to　discuss　arrangements　for　Dad’s　sixty…fifth。’

Anger　was　almost　a　relief；　it　eclipsed　her　anxiety；　her　fear。　She　had　followed　Miles　out　to　the　car；　cradling　her　sense　of　ill…usage。　When　he　asked；　at　last；　on　the　corner　of　Evertree　Crescent；　‘How　was　your　day？’　she　answered；　‘Absolutely　bloody　fantastic。’

‘Wonder　what’s　up？’　said　Maureen；　breaking　the　silence　in　the　sitting　room。

Samantha　shrugged。　It　was　typical　of　Shirley　to　have　summoned　her　menfolk　and　left　the　women　in　limbo；　Samantha　was　not　going　to　give　her　mother…in…law　the　satisfaction　of　showing　interest。

Howard’s　elephantine　footsteps　made　the　floorboards　under　the　hall　carpet　creak。　Maureen’s　mouth　was　slack　with　anticipation。

‘Well；　well；　well；’　boomed　Howard；　lumbering　back　into　the　room。

‘I　was　checking　the　council　website　for　apologies；’　said　Shirley；　a　little　breathless　in　his　wake。　‘For　the　next　meeting—’

‘Someone’s　posted　accusations　about　Simon　Price；’　Miles　told　Samantha；　pressing　past　his　parents；　seizing　the　role　of　announcer。

‘What　kind　of　accusations？’　asked　Samantha。

Howard’s　laughter　boomed　through　the　room；　Maureen　gave　an　affected　shriek　of　horror；　but　Miles　scowled　and　Shirley　looked　furious。

‘Not　quite　that；　Sammy；　no；’　said　Howard。　‘No；　they’ve　called　themselves　“The　Ghost　of　Barry　Fairbrother”。’

‘Oh；’　said　Samantha；　her　grin　evaporating。　She　did　not　like　that。　After　all；　she　had　been　in　the　ambulance　while　they　had　forced　needles　and　tubes　into　Barry’s　collapsed　body；　she　had　watched　him　dying　beneath　the　plastic　mask；　seen　Mary　clinging　to　his　hand；　heard　her　groans　and　sobs。

‘Oh；　no；　that’s　not　nice；’　said　Maureen；　relish　in　her　bullfrog’s　voice。　‘No；　that’s　nasty。　Putting　words　into　the　mouths　of　the　dead。　Taking　names　in　vain。　That’s　not　right。’

‘No；’　agreed　Howard。　Almost　absent…mindedly；　he　strolled　across　the　room；　picked　up　the　wine　bottle　and　returned　to　Samantha；　topping　up　her　empty　glass。　‘But　someone　out　there　doesn’t　care　about　good　taste　it　seems；　if　they　can　put　Simon　Price　out　of　the　running。’

‘If　you’re　thinking　what　I　think　you’re　thinking；　Dad；’　said　Miles；　‘wouldn’t　they　have　gone　for　me　rather　than　Price？’

‘How　do　you　know　they　haven’t；　Miles？’

‘Meaning？’　asked　Miles　swiftly。

‘Meaning；’　said　Howard；　the　happy　cynosure　of　all　eyes；　‘that　I　got　sent　an　anonymous　letter　about　you　a　couple　of　weeks　ago。　Nothing　specific。　Just　said　you　were　unfit　to　fill　Fairbrother’s　shoes。　I’d　be　very　surprised　if　the　letter　didn’t　e　from　the　same　source　as　the　online　post。　The　Fairbrother　theme　in　both；　you　see？’

Samantha　tilted　her　glass　a　little　too　enthusiastically；　so　that　wine　trickled　down　the　sides　of　her　chin；　exactly　where　her　own　ventriloquist’s　doll　grooves　would　no　doubt　appear　in　time。　She　mopped　her　face　with　her　sleeve。

‘Where　is　this　letter？’　asked　Miles；　striving　not　to　look　rattled。

‘I　shredded　it。　It　was　anonymous；　it　didn’t　count。’

‘We　didn’t　want　to　upset　you；　dear；’　said　Shirley；　and　she　patted　Miles’　arm。

‘Anyway；　they　can’t　have　anything　on　you；’　Howard　reassured　his　son；　‘or　they’d　have　dished　the　dirt；　the　same　as　they　have　on　Price。’

‘Simon　Price’s　wife　is　a　lovely　girl；’　said　Shirley　with　gentle　regret。　‘I　can’t　believe　Ruth　knows　anything　about　it；　if　her　husband’s　been　on　the　fiddle。　She’s　a　friend　from　the　hospital；’　Shirley　elaborated　to　Maureen。　‘An　agency　nurse。’

‘She　wouldn’t　be　the　first　wife　who　hasn’t　spotted　what’s　going　on　under　her　nose；’　retorted　Maureen；　trumping　insider　knowledge　with　worldly　wisdom。

‘But；’　said　Samantha；　‘it　mightn’t　have　anything　to　do　with　Parminder　and　that　lot　at　all。　It　could　be　from　someone　we　don’t　know；　someone　who’s　got　a　grudge　against　Simon　Price。’

‘Oh；　Sam；’　said　Shirley；　with　a　tinkling　laugh；　shaking　her　head。　‘It’s　easy　to　see　you’re　new　to　politics。’

Oh；　fuck　off；　Shirley。

‘So　why　have　they　used　Barry　Fairbrother’s　name；　then？’　asked　Miles；　rounding　on　his　wife。

‘Well；　it’s　on　the　website；　isn’t　it？　It’s　his　vacant　seat。’

‘And　who’s　going　to　trawl　through　the　council　website　for　that　kind　of　information？　No；’　he　said　gravely；　‘this　is　an　insider。’

An　insider　…　Libby　had　once　told　Samantha　that　there　could　be　thousands　of　microscopic　species　inside　one　drop　of　pond　water。　They　were　all　perfectly　ridiculous；　Samantha　thought；　sitting　here　in　front　of　Shirley’s　memorative　plates　as　if　they　were　in　the　Cabi　Room　in　Downing　Street；　as　though　one　bit　of　tittle…tattle　on　a　Parish　Council　website　constituted　an　organized　campaign；　as　though　any　of　it　mattered。

Consciously　and　defiantly；　Samantha　withdrew　her　attention　from　the　lot　of　them。　She　fixed　her　eyes　on　the　window　and　the　clear　evening　sky　beyond；　and　she　thought　about　Jake；　the　muscular　boy　in　Libby’s　favourite　band。　At　lunchtime　today；　Samantha　had　gone　out　for　sandwiches；　and　brought　back　a　music　magazine　in　which　Jake　and　his　bandmates　were　interviewed。　There　were　lots　of　pictures。

‘It’s　for　Libby；’　Samantha　had　told　the　girl　who　helped　her　in　the　shop。

‘Wow；　look　at　that。　I　wouldn’t　kick　him　out　of　bed　for　eating　toast；’　replied　Carly；　pointing　at　Jake；　naked　from　the　waist　up；　his　head　thrown　back　to　reveal　that　thick　strong　neck。　‘Oh；　but　he’s　only　twenty…one；　look。　I’m　not　a　cradle…snatcher。’

Carly　was　twenty…six。　Samantha　did　not　care　to　subtract　Jake’s　age　from　her　own。　She　had　eaten　her　sandwich　and　read　the　interview；　and　studied　all　the　pictures。　Jake　with　his　hands　on　a　bar　above　his　head；　biceps　swelling　under　a　black　T…shirt；　Jake　with　his　white　shirt　open；　abdominal　muscles　chiselled　above　the　loose　waistband　of　his　jeans。

Samantha　drank　Howard’s　wine　and　stared　out　at　the　sky　above　the　black　privet　hedge；　which　was　a　delicate　shade　of　rose　pink；　the　precise　shade　her　nipples　had　been　before　they　had　been　darkened　and　distended　by　pregnancy　and　breast…feeding。　She　imagined　herself　nieen　to　Jake’s　twenty…one；　slender…waisted　again；　taut　curves　in　the　right　places；　and　a　strong　flat　stomach　of　her　own；　fitting　fortably　into　her　white；　size　ten　shorts。　She　vividly　recalled　how　it　felt　to　sit　on　a　young　man’s　lap　in　those　shorts；　with　the　heat　and　roughness　of　sun…warmed　denim　under　her　bare　thighs；　and　big　hands　around　her　lithe　waist。　She　imagined　Jake’s　breath　on　her　neck；　she　imagined　turning　to　look　into　the　blue　eyes；　close　to　the　high　cheekbones　and　that　firm；　carved　mouth　…

‘…　at　the　church　hall；　and　we’re　getting　it　catered　by　Bucknoles；’　said　Howard。　‘We’ve　invited　everyone：　Aubrey　and　Julia　–　everyone。　With　luck　it　will　be　a　double　celebration；　you　on　the　council；　me；　another　year　young　…’

Samantha　felt　tipsy　and　randy。　When　were　they　going　to　eat？　She　realized　that　Shirley　had　left　the　room；　hopefully　to　put　food　on　the　table。

The　telephone　rang　at　Samantha’s　elbow；　and　she　jumped。　Before　any　of　them　could　move；　Shirley　had　bustled　back　in。　She　had　one　hand　in　a　flowery　oven　glove；　and　picked　up　the　receiver　with　the　other。

‘Double…two…five…nine？’　sang　Shirley　on　a　rising　inflection。　‘Oh　…　hello；　Ruth；　dear！’

Howard；　Miles　and　Maureen　became　rigidly　attentive。　Shirley　turned　to　look　at　her　husband　with　intensity；　as　if　she　were　transmitting　Ruth’s　voice　through　her　eyes　into　her　husband’s　mind。

‘Yes；’　fluted　Shirley。　‘Yes　…’

Samantha；　sitting　closest　to　the　receiver；　could　hear　the　other　woman’s　voice　but　not　make　out　the　words。

‘Oh；　really　…？’

Maureen’s　mouth　was　hanging　open　again；　she　was　like　an　ancient　baby　bird；　or　perhaps　a　pterodactyl；　hungering　for　regurgitated　news。

‘Yes；　dear；　I　see　…　oh；　that　shouldn’t　be　a　problem　…　no；　no；　I’ll　explain　to　Howard。　No；　no　trouble　at　all。’

Shirley’s　small　hazel　eyes　had　not　wavered　from　Howard’s　big；　popping　blue　ones。

‘Ruth；　dear；’　said　Shirley；　‘Ruth；　I　don’t　want　to　worry　you；　but　have　you　been　on　the　council　website　today？　…　Well　…　it’s　not　very　nice；　but　I　think　you　ought　to　know　…　somebody’s　posted　something　nasty　about　Simon　…　well；　I　think　you’d　better　read　it　for　yourself；　I　wouldn’t　want　to　…　all　right；　dear。　All　right。　See　you　Wednesday；　I　hope。　Yes。　Bye　bye。’

Shirley　replaced　the　receiver。

‘She　didn’t　know；’　Miles　stated。

Shirley　shook　her　head。

‘Why　was　she　calling？’

‘Her　son；’　Shirley　told　Howard。　‘Your　new　potboy。　He’s　got　a　peanut　allergy。’

‘Very　handy；　in　a　delicatessen；’　said　Howard。

‘She　wanted　to　ask　whether　you　could　store　a　needleful　of　adrenalin　in　the　fridge　for　him；　just　in　case；’　said　Shirley。

Maureen　sniffed。

‘They’ve　all　got　allergies　these　days；　children。’

Shirley’s　ungloved　hand　was　still　clutching　the　receiver。　She　was　subconsciously　hoping　to　feel　tremors　down　the　line　from　Hilltop　House。

V
Ruth　stood　alone　in　her　lamp…lit　sitting　room；　continuing　to　grip　the　telephone　she　had　just　replaced　in　its　cradle。

Hilltop　House　was　small　and　pact。　It　was　always　easy　to　tell　the　location　of　each　of　the　four　Prices；　because　voices；　footfalls　and　the　sounds　of　doors　opening　and　shutting　carried　so　effectively　in　the　old　house。　Ruth　knew　that　her　husband　was　still　in　the　shower；　because　she　could　hear　the　hot　water　boiler　under　the　stairs　hissing　and　clanking。　She　had　waited　for　Simon　to　turn　on　the　water　before　telephoning　Shirley；　worried　that　he　might　think　that　even　her　request