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‘You　know　what　I　mean！’　said　Colin；　his　face　growing　red。

‘D’you　mean；　am　I　shagging　her？’　asked　Fats。

Tessa’s　little　cry　of　‘Stu！’　was　drowned　by　Colin　shouting；　‘How　bloody　dare　you！’

Fats　merely　looked　at　Colin；　smirking。　Everything　about　him　was　a　taunt　and　a　challenge。

‘What？’　said　Fats。

‘Are　you　–’　Colin　was　struggling　to　find　the　words；　growing　redder　all　the　time；　‘–　are　you　sleeping　with　Krystal　Weedon？’

‘It　wouldn’t　be　a　problem　if　I　was；　would　it？’　Fats　asked；　and　he　glanced　at　his　mother　as　he　said　it。　‘You’re　all　for　helping　Krystal；　aren’t　you？’

‘Helping—’

‘Aren’t　you　trying　to　keep　that　addiction　clinic　open　so　you　can　help　Krystal’s　family？’

‘What’s　that　got　to　do—？’

‘I　can’t　see　what　the　problem　is　with　me　going　out　with　her。’

‘And　are　you　going　out　with　her？’　asked　Tessa　sharply。　If　Fats　wanted　to　take　the　row　into　this　territory；　she　would　meet　him　there。　‘Do　you　actually　go　anywhere　with　her；　Stuart？’

His　smirk　sickened　her。　He　was　not　prepared　even　to　pretend　to　some　decency。

‘Well；　we　don’t　do　it　in　either　of　our　houses；　do—’

Colin　had　raised　one　of　his　stiff；　clench…fisted　arms　and　swung　it。　He　connected　with　Fats’　cheek；　and　Fats；　whose　attention　had　been　on　his　mother；　was　caught　off　guard；　he　staggered　sideways；　hit　the　desk　and　slid；　momentarily；　to　the　floor。　A　moment　later　he　had　jumped　to　his　feet　again；　but　Tessa　had　already　placed　herself　between　the　pair　of　them；　facing　her　son。

Behind　her；　Colin　was　repeating；　‘You　little　bastard。　You　little　bastard。’

‘Yeah？’　said　Fats；　and　he　was　no　longer　smirking。　‘I’d　rather　be　a　little　bastard　than　be　you；　you　arsehole！’

‘No！’　shouted　Tessa。　‘Colin；　get　out。　Get　out！’

Horrified；　furious　and　shaken；　Colin　lingered　for　a　moment；　then　marched　from　the　room；　they　heard　him　stumble　a　little　on　the　stairs。

‘How　could　you？’　Tessa　whispered　to　her　son。

‘How　could　I　fucking　what？’　said　Stuart；　and　the　look　on　his　face　alarmed　her　so　much　that　she　hurried　to　close　and　bar　the　bedroom　door。

‘You’re　taking　advantage　of　that　girl；　Stuart；　and　you　know　it；　and　the　way　you　just　spoke　to　your—’

‘The　fuck　I　am；’　said　Fats；　pacing　up　and　down；　every　semblance　of　cool　gone。　‘The　fuck　I’m　taking　advantage　of　her。　She　knows　exactly　what　she　wants　–　just　because　she　lives　in　the　fucking　Fields；　it　doesn’t　–　the　truth　is；　you　and　Cubby　don’t　want　me　to　shag　her　because　you　think　she’s　beneath—’

‘That’s　not　true！’　said　Tessa；　even　though　it　was；　and　for　all　her　concern　about　Krystal；　she　would　still　have　been　glad　to　know　that　Fats　had　sense　enough　to　wear　a　condom。

‘You’re　fucking　hypocrites；　you　and　Cubby；’　he　said；　still　pacing　the　length　of　the　bedroom。　‘All　the　bollocks　the　pair　of　you　spout　about　wanting　to　help　the　Weedons；　but　you　don’t　want—’

‘That’s　enough！’　shouted　Tessa。　‘Don’t　you　dare　speak　to　me　like　that！　Don’t　you　realise　–　don’t　you　understand　–　are　you　so　damn　selfish　…？’

Words　failed　her。　She　turned；　tugged　open　his　door　and　was　gone；　slamming　it　behind　her。

Her　exit　had　an　odd　effect　on　Fats；　who　stopped　pacing　and　stared　at　the　closed　door　for　several　seconds。　Then　he　searched　his　pockets；　drew　out　a　cigarette　and　lit　it；　not　bothering　to　blow　the　smoke　out　of　the　skylight。　Round　and　round　his　room　he　walked；　and　he　had　no　control　of　his　own　thoughts：　jerky；　unedited　images　filled　his　brain；　sweeping　past　on　a　tide　of　fury。

He　remembered　the　Friday　evening；　nearly　a　year　previously；　when　Tessa　had　e　up　here　to　his　bedroom　to　tell　him　that　his　father　wanted　to　take　him　out　to　play　football　with　Barry　and　his　sons　next　day。

（‘What？’　Fats　had　been　staggered。　The　suggestion　was　unprecedented。

‘For　fun。　A　kick…around；’　Tessa　had　said；　avoiding　Fats’　glare　by　scowling　down　at　the　clothes　littering　the　floor。

‘Why？’

‘Because　Dad　thought　it　might　be　nice；’　said　Tessa；　bending　to　pick　up　a　school　shirt。　‘Declan　wants　a　practice；　or　something。　He’s　got　a　match。’

Fats　was　quite　good　at　football。　People　found　it　surprising；　they　expected　him　to　dislike　sport；　to　disdain　teams。　He　played　as　he　talked；　skilfully；　with　many　a　feint；　fooling　the　clumsy；　daring　to　take　chances；　unconcerned　if　they　did　not　e　off。

‘I　didn’t　even　know　he　could　play。’

‘Dad　can　play　very　well；　he　was　playing　twice　a　week　when　we　met；’　said　Tessa；　riled。　‘Ten　o’clock　tomorrow　morning；　all　right？　I’ll　wash　your　tracksuit　bottoms。’）

Fats　sucked　on　his　cigarette；　remembering　against　his　will。　Why　had　he　gone　along　with　it？　Today；　he　would　have　simply　refused　to　participate　in　Cubby’s　little　charade；　but　remained　in　bed　until　the　shouting　died　away。　A　year　ago　he　had　not　yet　understood　about　authenticity。

（Instead　he　had　left　the　house　with　Cubby　and　endured　a　silent　five…minute　walk；　each　equally　aware　of　the　enormous　shortfall　that　filled　all　the　space　between　them。

The　playing　field　belonged　to　St　Thomas’s。　It　had　been　sunny　and　deserted。　They　had　divided　into　two　teams　of　three；　because　Declan　had　a　friend　staying　for　the　weekend。　The　friend；　who　clearly　hero…worshipped　Fats；　had　joined　Fats　and　Cubby’s　team。

Fats　and　Cubby　passed　to　each　other　in　silence；　while　Barry；　easily　the　worst　player；　had　yelled；　cajoled　and　cheered　in　his　Yarvil　accent　as　he　tore　up　and　down　the　pitch　they　had　marked　out　with　sweatshirts。　When　Fergus　scored；　Barry　had　run　at　him　for　a　flying　chest　bump；　mistimed　it　and　smashed　Fergus　on　the　jaw　with　the　top　of　his　head。　The　two　of　them　had　fallen　to　the　ground；　Fergus　groaning　in　pain　and　laughing；　while　Barry　sat　apologizing　through　his　roars　of　mirth。　Fats　had　found　himself　grinning；　then　heard　Cubby’s　awkward；　booming　laugh　and　turned　away；　scowling。

And　then　had　e　that　moment；　that　cringeworthy；　pitiful　moment；　with　the　scores　equal　and　nearly　time　to　go；　when　Fats　had　successfully　wrested　the　ball　from　Fergus；　and　Cubby　had　shouted；　‘e　on；　Stu；　lad！’

‘Lad。’　Cubby　had　never　said　‘lad’　in　his　life。　It　sounded　pitiful；　hollow　and　unnatural。　He　was　trying　to　be　like　Barry；　imitating　Barry’s　easy；　unself…conscious　encouragement　of　his　sons；　trying　to　impress　Barry。

The　ball　had　flown　like　a　cannon　ball　from　Fats’　foot　and　there　was　time；　before　it　hit　Cubby　full　in　his　unsuspecting；　foolish　face；　before　his　glasses　cracked；　and　a　single　drop　of　blood　bloomed　beneath　his　eye；　to　realize　his　own　intent；　to　know　that　he　had　hoped　to　hit　Cubby；　and　that　the　ball　had　been　dispatched　for　retribution。）

They　had　never　played　football　again。　The　doomed　little　experiment　in　father…son　togetherness　had　been　shelved；　like　a　dozen　before　it。

And　I　never　wanted　him　at　all！

He　was　sure　he　had　heard　it。　Cubby　must　have　been　talking　about　him。　They　had　been　in　his　room。　Who　else　could　Cubby　have　been　talking　about？

Like　I　give　a　shit；　thought　Fats。　It　was　what　he’d　always　suspected。　He　did　not　know　why　this　sensation　of　spreading　cold　had　filled　his　chest。

Fats　pulled　the　puter　chair　back　into　position；　from　the　place　where　it　had　been　knocked　when　Cubby　had　hit　him。　The　authentic　reaction　would　have　been　to　shove　his　mother　out　of　the　way　and　punch　Cubby　in　the　face。　Crack　his　glasses　again。　Make　him　bleed。　Fats　was　disgusted　with　himself　that　he　had　not　done　it。

But　there　were　other　ways。　He　had　overheard　things　for　years。　He　knew　much　more　about　his　father’s　ludicrous　fears　than　they　thought。

Fats’　fingers　were　clumsier　than　usual。　Ash　spilt　onto　the　keyboard　from　the　cigarette　in　his　mouth　as　he　brought　up　the　Parish　Council　website。　Weeks　previously；　he　had　looked　up　SQL　injections　and　found　the　line　of　code　that　Andrew　had　refused　to　share。　After　studying　the　council　message　board　for　a　few　minutes；　he　logged　himself　in；　without　difficulty；　as　Betty　Rossiter；　changed　her　username　to　The_Ghost_of_Barry_Fairbrother；　and　began　to　type。

V
Shirley　Mollison　was　convinced　that　her　husband　and　son　were　over…stating　the　danger　to　the　council　of　leaving　the　Ghost’s　posts　online。　She　could　not　see　how　the　messages　were　worse　than　gossip；　and　that；　she　knew；　was　not　yet　punishable　by　law；　nor　did　she　believe　that　the　law　would　be　foolish　and　unreasonable　enough　to　punish　her　for　what　somebody　else　had　written：　that　would　be　monstrously　unfair。　Proud　as　she　was　of　Miles’　law　degree；　she　was　sure　that　he　must　have　this　bit　wrong。

She　was　checking　the　message　boards　even　more　frequently　than　Miles　and　Howard　had　advised；　but　not　because　she　was　afraid　of　legal　consequences。　Certain　as　she　was　that　Barry　Fairbrother’s　Ghost　had　not　yet　finished　his　self…appointed　task　of　crushing　the　pro…Fielders；　she　was　eager　to　be　the　first　to　set　eyes　on　his　next　post。　Several　times　a　day　she　scurried　into　Patricia’s　old　room；　and　clicked　on　the　web　page。　Sometimes　a　little　frisson　would　run　through　her　while　she　was　hoovering　or　peeling　potatoes　and　she　would　race　to　the　study；　only　to　be　disappointed　again。

Shirley　felt　a　special；　secret　kinship　with　the　Ghost。　He　had　chosen　her　website　as　the　forum　where　he　would　expose　the　hypocrisy　of　Howard’s　opponents；　and　this；　she　felt；　entitled　her　to　the　pride　of　the　naturalist　who　has　constructed　a　habitat　in　which　a　rare　species　deigns　to　nest。　But　there　was　more　to　it　than　that。　Shirley　relished　the　Ghost’s　anger；　his　savagery　and　his　audacity。　She　wondered　who　he　might　be；　visualizing　a　strong；　shadowy　man　standing　behind　herself　and　Howard；　on　their　side；　cutting　a　path　for　them　through　the　opponents　who　crumpled　as　he　slayed　them　with　their　own　ugly　truths。

Somehow；　none　of　the　men　in　Pagford　seemed　worthy　to　be　the　Ghost；　she　would　have　felt　disappointed　to　learn　that　it　was　any　of　the　anti…Fielders　she　knew。

‘That’s　if　it’s　a　man；’　said　Maureen。

‘Good　point；’　said　Howard。

‘I　think　it’s　a　man；’　said　Shirley　coolly。

When　Howard　left　for　the　café　on　Sunday　morning；　Shirley；　still　in　her　dressing　gown；　and　holding　her　cup　of　tea；　padded　automatically　to　the　study　and　brought　up　the　website。

Fantasies　of　a　Deputy　Headmaster　posted　by　The_Ghost_of_Barry_Fairbrother。

She　set　down　her　tea　with　trembling　hands；　clicked　on　the　post　and　read　it；　open…mouthed。　Then　she　ran　to　the　lounge；　seized　the　telephone　and　called　the　café；　but　the　number　was　engaged。

A　mere　five　minutes　later；　Parminder　Jawanda；　who　had　also　developed　a　habit　of　looking　at　the　council　message　boards　much　more　frequently　than　usual；　opened　up　the　site　and　saw　the　post。　Like　Shirley；　her　immediate　reaction　was　to　seize　a　telephone。

The　Walls　were　breakfasting　without　their　son；　who　was　still　asleep　upstairs。　When　Tessa　picked　up；　Parminder　cut　across　her　friend’s　greeting。

‘There’s　a　post　about　Colin　on　the　council　website。　Don’t　let　him　see　it；　whatever　you　do。’

Tessa’s　frightened　eyes　swivelled　to　her　husband；　but　he　was　a　mere　three　feet　from　the　receiver　and　had　already　heard　every　word　that　Parminder　had　spoken　so　loudly　and　clearly。

‘I’ll　call　you　back；’　said　Tessa　urgently。　‘Colin；’　she　said；　fumbling　to　replace　the　receiver；　‘Colin；　wait—’

But　he　had　already　stalked　out　of　the　room；　bobbing　up　and　down；　his　arms　stiff　by　his　side；　and　Tessa　had　to　jog　to　catch　him　up。

‘Perhaps　it’s　better　not　to　look；’　she　urged　him；　as　his　big；　knobble…knuckled　hand　moved　the　mouse　across　the　desk；　‘or　I　can　read　it　and—’

Fantasies　of　a　Deputy　Headmaster

One　of　the　men　hoping　to　represent　the　munity　at　Parish　Council　level　is　Colin　Wall；　Deputy　Headmaster　at　Winterdown　prehensive　School。　Voters　might　be　interested　to　know　that　Wall；　a　strict　disciplinarian；　has　a　very　unusual　fantasy　life。　Mr　Wall　is　so　frightened　that　a　pupil　might　accuse　him　of　inappropriate　sexual　behaviour　that　he　has　often　needed　time　off　work　to　calm　himself　down　again。　Whether　Mr　Wall　has　actually　fondled　a　first　year；　the　Ghost　can　only　guess。　The　fervour　of　his　feverish　fantasies　suggests　that；　even　if　he　hasn’t；　he　would　like　to。

Stuart　wrote　that；　thought　Tessa；　at　once。

Colin’s　face　was　ghastly　in　the　light　pouring　out　of　the　monitor。　It　was　how　she　imagined　he　would　look　if　he　had　had　a　stroke。

‘Colin—’

‘I　suppose　Fiona　Shawcross　has　told　people；’　he　whispered