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nd　of　the　line　had　wanted　to　talk　about　Krystal　Weedon。

Had　he　touched　her？

Colin　had　told　the　woman　that　the　school　could　not　possibly　discuss　a　pupil　and　that　Krystal　must　be　approached　through　her　parents。

‘I’ve　already　talked　to　Krystal；’　said　the　voice　on　the　end　of　the　line。　‘I　only　wanted　to　get　your—’

But　he　had　put　the　receiver　down；　and　terror　had　blotted　out　everything。

Why　did　they　want　to　talk　about　Krystal？　Why　had　they　called　him？　Had　he　done　something？　Had　he　touched　her？　Had　she　plained？

The　psychologist　had　taught　him　not　to　try　and　confirm　or　disprove　the　content　of　such　thoughts。　He　was　supposed　to　acknowledge　their　existence；　then　carry　on　as　normal；　but　it　was　like　trying　not　to　scratch　the　worst　itch　you　had　ever　known。　The　public　unveiling　of　Simon　Price’s　dirty　secrets　on　the　council　website　had　stunned　him：　the　terror　of　exposure；　which　had　dominated　so　much　of　Colin’s　life；　now　wore　a　face；　its　features　those　of　an　ageing　cherub；　with　a　demonic　brain　seething　beneath　a　deerstalker　on　tight　grey　curls；　behind　bulging　inquisitive　eyes。　He　kept　remembering　Barry’s　tales　of　the　delicatessen　owner’s　formidable　strategic　brain；　and　of　the　intricate　web　of　alliances　that　bound　the　sixteen　members　of　Pagford　Parish　Council。

Colin　had　often　imagined　how　he　would　find　out　that　the　game　was　up：　a　guarded　article　in　the　paper；　faces　turned　away　from　him　when　he　entered　Mollison　and　Lowe’s；　the　headmistress　calling　him　into　her　office　for　a　quiet　word。　He　had　visualized　his　downfall　a　thousand　times：　his　shame　exposed　and　hung　around　his　neck　like　a　leper’s　bell；　so　that　no　concealment　would　be　possible；　ever　again。　He　would　be　sacked。　He　might　end　up　in　prison。

‘Colin；’　Tessa　prompted　quietly；　Vikram　was　offering　him　wine。

She　knew　what　was　going　on　inside　that　big　domed　forehead；　not　the　specifics；　but　the　theme　of　his　anxiety　had　been　constant　for　years。　She　knew　that　Colin　could　not　help　it；　it　was　the　way　he　was　made。　Many　years　before；　she　had　read；　and　recognized　as　true；　the　words　of　W。　B。　Yeats：　‘A　pity　beyond　all　telling　is　hid　at　the　heart　of　love。’　She　had　smiled　over　the　poem；　and　stroked　the　page；　because　she　had　known　both　that　she　loved　Colin；　and　that　passion　formed　a　huge　part　of　her　love。

Sometimes；　though；　her　patience　wore　thin。　Sometimes　she　wanted　a　little　concern　and　reassurance　too。　Colin　had　erupted　into　a　predictable　panic　when　she　had　told　him　that　she　had　received　a　firm　diagnosis　of　Type　2　diabetes；　but　once　she　had　convinced　him　that　she　was　not　in　imminent　danger　of　dying；　she　had　been　taken　aback　by　how　quickly　he　dropped　the　subject；　how　pletely　he　reimmersed　himself　in　his　election　plans。

（That　morning；　at　breakfast；　she　had　tested　her　blood　sugar　with　the　glueter　for　the　first　time；　then　taken　out　the　prefilled　needle　and　inserted　it　into　her　own　belly。　It　had　hurt　much　more　than　when　deft　Parminder　did　it。

Fats　had　seized　his　cereal　bowl　and　swung　round　in　his　chair　away　from　her；　sloshing　milk　over　the　table；　the　sleeve　of　his　school　shirt　and　onto　the　kitchen　floor。　Colin　had　let　out　an　inchoate　shout　of　annoyance　as　Fats　spat　his　mouthful　of　cornflakes　back　into　his　bowl；　and　demanded　of　his　mother；　‘Have　you　got　to　do　that　at　the　bloody　table？’

‘Don’t　be　so　damn　rude　and　disgusting！’　shouted　Colin。　‘Sit　up　properly！　Wipe　up　that　mess！　How　dare　you　speak　to　your　mother　like　that？　Apologize！’

Tessa　withdrew　the　needle　too　fast；　she　had　made　herself　bleed。

‘I’m　sorry　that　you　shooting　up　at　breakfast　makes　me　want　to　puke；　Tess；’　said　Fats　from　under　the　table；　where　he　was　wiping　the　floor　with　a　bit　of　kitchen　roll。

‘Your　mother　isn’t　“shooting　up”；　she’s　got　a　medical　condition！’　shouted　Colin。　‘And　don’t　call　her　“Tess”！’

‘I　know　you　don’t　like　needles；　Stu；’　said　Tessa；　but　her　eyes　were　stinging；　she　had　hurt　herself；　and　felt　shaken　and　angry　with　both　of　them；　feelings　that　were　still　with　her　this　evening。）

Tessa　wondered　why　Parminder　did　not　appreciate　Vikram’s　concern。　Colin　never　noticed　when　she　was　stressed。　Perhaps；　Tessa　thought　angrily；　there’s　something　in　this　arranged　marriage　business　…　my　mother　certainly　wouldn’t　have　chosen　Colin　for　me　…

Parminder　was　shoving　bowls　of　cut　fruit　across　the　table　for　pudding。　Tessa　wondered　a　little　resentfully　what　she　would　have　offered　a　guest　who　was　not　diabetic；　and　forted　herself　with　the　thought　of　a　bar　of　chocolate　lying　at　home　in　the　fridge。

Parminder；　who　had　talked　five　times　as　much　as　anybody　else　all　through　supper；　had　started　ranting　about　her　daughter；　Sukhvinder。　She　had　already　told　Tessa　on　the　telephone　about　the　girl’s　betrayal；　she　went　through　it　all　again　at　the　table。

‘Waitressing　with　Howard　Mollison。　I　don’t；　I　really　don’t　know　what　she’s　thinking。　But　Vikram—’

‘They　don’t　think；　Minda；’　Colin　proclaimed；　breaking　his　long　silence。　‘That’s　teenagers。　They　don’t　care。　They’re　all　the　same。’

‘Colin；　what　rubbish；’　snapped　Tessa。　‘They　aren’t　all　the　same　at　all。　We’d　be　delighted　if　Stu　went　and　got　himself　a　Saturday　job　–　not　that　there’s　the　remotest　chance　of　that。’

‘—but　Vikram　doesn’t　mind；’　Parminder　pressed　on；　ignoring　the　interruption。　‘He　can’t　see　anything　wrong　with　it；　can　you？’

Vikram　answered　easily：　‘It’s　work　experience。　She　probably　won’t　make　university；　there’s　no　shame　in　it。　It’s　not　for　everyone。　I　can　see　Jolly　married　early；　quite　happy。’

‘Waitressing　　…’

‘Well；　they　can’t　all　be　academic；　can　they？’

‘No；　she　certainly　isn’t　academic；’　said　Parminder；　who　was　almost　quivering　with　anger　and　tension。　‘Her　marks　are　absolutely　atrocious　–　no　aspiration；　no　ambition　–　waitressing　–　“let’s　face　it；　I’m　not　going　to　get　into　uni”　–　no；　you　certainly　won’t；　with　that　attitude　–　with　Howard　Mollison　…　oh；　he　must　have　absolutely　loved　it　–　my　daughter　going　cap　in　hand　for　a　job。　What　was　she　thinking　–　what　was　she　thinking？’

‘You　wouldn’t　like　it　if　Stu　took　a　job　with　someone　like　Mollison；’　Colin　told　Tessa。

‘I　wouldn’t　care；’　said　Tessa。　‘I’d　be　thrilled　he　was　showing　any　kind　of　work　ethic。　As　far　as　I　can　tell；　all　he　seems　to　care　about　is　puter　games　and—’

But　Colin　did　not　know　that　Stuart　smoked；　she　broke　off；　and　Colin　said；　‘Actually；　this　would　be　exactly　the　kind　of　thing　Stuart　would　do。　Insinuate　himself　with　somebody　he　knew　we　didn’t　like；　to　get　at　us。　He’d　love　that。’

‘For　goodness　sake；　Colin；　Sukhvinder　isn’t　trying　to　get　at　Minda；’　said　Tessa。

‘So　you　think　I’m　being　unreasonable？’　Parminder　shot　at　Tessa。

‘No；　no；’　said　Tessa；　appalled　at　how　quickly　they　had　been　sucked　into　the　family　row。　‘I’m　just　saying；　there　aren’t　many　places　for　kids　to　work　in　Pagford；　are　there？’

‘And　why　does　she　need　to　work　at　all？’　said　Parminder；　raising　her　hands　in　a　gesture　of　furious　exasperation。　‘Don’t　we　give　her　enough　money？’

‘Money　you　earn　yourself　is　always　different；　you　know　that；’　said　Tessa。

Tessa’s　chair　faced　a　wall　that　was　covered　in　photographs　of　the　Jawanda　children。　She　had　sat　here　often；　and　had　counted　how　many　appearances　each　child　made：　Jaswant；　eighteen；　Rajpal；　nieen；　and　Sukhvinder；　nine。　There　was　only　one　photograph　on　the　wall　celebrating　Sukhvinder’s　individual　achievements：　the　picture　of　the　Winterdown　rowing　team　on　the　day　that　they　had　beaten　St　Anne’s。　Barry　had　given　all　the　parents　an　enlarged　copy　of　this　picture；　in　which　Sukhvinder　and　Krystal　Weedon　were　in　the　middle　of　the　line　of　eight；　with　their　arms　around　each　other’s　shoulders；　beaming　and　jumping　up　and　down　so　that　they　were　both　slightly　blurred。

Barry；　she　thought；　would　have　helped　Parminder　see　things　the　right　way。　He　had　been　a　bridge　between　mother　and　daughter；　both　of　whom　had　adored　him。

Not　for　the　first　time；　Tessa　wondered　how　much　difference　it　made　that　she　had　not　given　birth　to　her　son。　Did　she　find　it　easier　to　accept　him　as　a　separate　individual　than　if　he　had　been　made　from　her　flesh　and　blood？　Her　glucose…heavy；　tainted　blood　…

Fats　had　recently　stopped　calling　her　‘Mum’。　She　had　to　pretend　not　to　care；　because　it　made　Colin　so　angry；　but　every　time　Fats　said　‘Tessa’　it　was　like　a　needle　jab　to　her　heart。

The　four　of　them　finished　their　cold　fruit　in　silence。
。　
VIII
Up　in　the　little　white　house　that　sat　high　above　the　town；　Simon　Price　fretted　and　brooded。　Days　passed。　The　accusatory　post　had　vanished　from　the　message　boards；　but　Simon　remained　paralysed。　To　withdraw　his　candidacy　might　seem　like　an　admission　of　guilt。　The　police　had　not　e　knocking　about　the　puter；　Simon　half　regretted　throwing　it　off　the　old　bridge　now。　On　the　other　hand；　he　could　not　decide　whether　he　had　imagined　a　knowing　grin　from　the　man　behind　the　till　when　he　handed　over　his　credit　card　in　the　garage　at　the　foot　of　the　hill。　There　was　a　lot　of　talk　about　redundancies　at　work；　and　Simon　was　still　afraid　of　the　contents　of　that　post　ing　to　the　bosses’　ears；　that　they　might　save　themselves　redundancy　pay　by　sacking　himself；　Jim　and　Tommy。
Ｚei8。电子书
Andrew　watched　and　waited；　losing　hope　every　day。　He　had　tried　to　show　the　world　what　his　father　was；　and　the　world；　it　seemed；　had　merely　shrugged。　Andrew　had　imagined　that　someone　from　the　printworks　or　the　council　would　rise　up　and　tell　Simon　firmly；　‘no’；　that　he　was　not　fit　to　set　himself　up　in　petition　with　other　people；　that　he　was　unsuitable　and　sub…standard；　and　must　not　disgrace　himself　or　his　family。　Yet　nothing　had　happened；　except　that　Simon　stopped　talking　about　the　council　or　making　telephone　calls　in　the　hope　of　garnering　votes；　and　the　leaflets　that　he　had　had　printed　out　of　hours　at　work　sat　untouched　in　a　box　in　the　porch。

Then；　without　warning　or　fanfare；　came　victory。　Heading　down　the　dark　stairs　in　search　of　food　on　Friday　evening；　Andrew　heard　Simon　talking　stiffly　on　the　telephone　in　the　sitting　room；　and　paused　to　listen。

‘…　withdraw　my　candidacy；’　he　was　saying。　‘Yes。　Well；　my　personal　circumstances　have　changed。　Yes。　Yes。　Yeah；　that’s　right。　OK。　Thank　you。’

Andrew　heard　Simon　replace　the　receiver。

‘Well；　that’s　that；’　his　father　said　to　his　mother。　‘I’m　well　out　of　it；　if　that’s　the　kind　of　shit　they’re　throwing　around。’

He　heard　his　mother　return　some　muffled；　approving　rejoinder；　and　before　Andrew　had　time　to　move；　Simon　had　emerged　into　the　hall　below；　drawn　breath　into　his　lungs　and　yelled　the　first　syllable　of　Andrew’s　name；　before　realizing　that　his　son　was　right　in　front　of　him。

‘What　are　you　doing？’

Simon’s　face　was　half　in　shadow；　lit　only　by　the　light　escaping　the　sitting　room。

‘I　wanted　a　drink；’　Andrew　lied；　his　father　did　not　like　the　boys　helping　themselves　to　food。

‘You　start　work　with　Mollison　this　weekend；　don’t　you？’

‘Yeah。’

‘Right；　well；　you　listen　to　me。　I　want　anything　you　can　get　on　that　bastard；　d’you　hear　me？　All　the　dirt　you　can　get。　And　on　his　son；　if　you　hear　anything。’

‘All　right；’　said　Andrew。

‘And　I’ll　put　it　up　on　the　fucking　website　for　them；’　said　Simon；　and　he　walked　back　into　the　sitting　room。　‘Barry　Fairbrother’s　fucking　ghost。’

As　he　scavenged　an　assortment　of　food　that　might　not　be　missed；　skimming　off　slices　here；　handfuls　there；　a　jubilant　jingle　ran　through　Andrew’s　mind：　I　stopped　you；　you　bastard。　I　stopped　you。

He　had　done　exactly　what　he　had　set　out　to　do：　Simon　had　no　idea　who　had　brought　his　ambitions　to　dust。　The　silly　sod　was　even　demanding　Andrew’s　help　in　getting　his　revenge；　a　plete　about…turn；　because　when　Andrew　had　first　told　his　parents　that　he　had　a　job　at　the　delicatessen；　Simon　had　been　furious。

‘You　stupid　little　tit。　What　about　your　fucking　allergy？’

‘I　thought　I’d　try　not　eating　any　of　the　nuts；’　said　Andrew。

‘Don’t　get　smart　with　me；　Pizza　Face。　What　if　you　eat　one　accidentally；　like　at　St　Thomas’s？　D’you　think　we　want　to　go　through　that　crap　again？’

But　Ruth　had　supported　Andrew；　telling　Simon　that　Andrew　was　old　enough　to　take　care；　to　know　better。　When　Simon　had　left　the　room；　she　had　tried　to　tell　Andrew　that　Simon　was　only　worried　about　him。

‘The　only　thing　he’s