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It　had　taken　her　a　few　days　to　summon　the　courage　to　accuse　him；　and　he　was　prepared。

‘No；’　he　said。

Perhaps　it　would　have　been　more　authentic　to　say　yes；　but　he　had　preferred　not　to；　and　he　did　not　see　why　he　should　have　to　justify　himself。

‘You　didn’t？’　she　repeated；　with　no　change　of　tone　or　expression。

‘No；’　he　repeated。

‘Because　very；　very　few　people　know　what　Dad　…　what　he　worries　about。’

‘Well；　it　wasn’t　me。’

‘The　post　went　up　the　same　evening　that　Dad　and　you　had　the　row；　and　Dad　hit—’

‘I’ve　told　you；　I　didn’t　do　it。’

‘You　know　he’s　ill；　Stuart。’

‘Yeah；　so　you　keep　telling　me。’

‘I　keep　telling　you　because　it’s　true！　He　can’t　help　it　–　he’s　got　a　serious　mental　illness　that　causes　him　untold　distress　and　misery。’

Fats’　mobile　had　beeped；　and　he　had　glanced　down　at　a　text　from　Andrew。　He　read　it　and　experienced　an　air　punch　to　the　midriff：　Arf　leaving　for　good。

‘I’m　talking　to　you；　Stuart—’

‘I　know　–　what？’

‘All　these　posts　–　Simon　Price；　Parminder；　Dad　–　these　are　all　people　you　know。　If　you’re　behind　all　this—’

‘I’ve　told　you；　I’m　not。’

‘—you’re　causing　untold　damage。　Serious；　awful　damage；　Stuart；　to　people’s　lives。’

Fats　was　trying　to　imagine　life　without　Andrew。　They　had　known　each　other　since　they　were　four。

‘It’s　not　me；’　he　had　said。）

Serious；　awful　damage　to　people’s　lives。

They　had　made　their　lives；　Fats　thought　scornfully　as　he　turned　into　Foley　Road。　The　victims　of　the　Ghost　of　Barry　Fairbrother　were　mired　in　hypocrisy　and　lies；　and　they　didn’t　like　the　exposure。　They　were　stupid　bugs　running　from　bright　light。　They　knew　nothing　about　real　life。

He　could　see　a　house　ahead　that　had　a　bald　tyre　lying　on　the　grass　in　front　of　it。　He　had　a　strong　suspicion　that　that　was　Krystal’s；　and　when　he　saw　the　number；　he　knew　he　was　right。　He　had　never　been　here　before。　He　would　never　have　agreed　to　meet　her　at　her　home　during　the　lunch　hour　a　couple　of　weeks　ago；　but　things　changed。　He　had　changed。

They　said　that　her　mother　was　a　prostitute。　She　was　certainly　a　junkie。　Krystal　had　told　him　that　the　house　would　be　empty　because　her　mother　would　be　at　Bellchapel　Addiction　Clinic；　receiving　her　allotted　amount　of　methadone。　Fats　walked　up　the　garden　path　without　slowing；　but　with　unexpected　trepidation。

Krystal　had　been　on　the　watch　for　him；　from　her　bedroom　window。　She　had　closed　the　doors　of　every　room　downstairs；　so　that　all　he　would　see　was　the　hall；　she　had　thrown　everything　that　had　spilt　into　it　back　into　the　sitting　room　and　kitchen。　The　carpet　was　gritty　and　burnt　in　places；　and　the　wallpaper　stained；　but　she　could　do　nothing　about　that。　There　had　been　none　of　the　pine…scented　disinfectant　left；　but　she　had　found　some　bleach　and　sloshed　that　around　the　kitchen　and　bathroom；　both　of　them　sources　of　the　worst　smells　in　the　house。

When　he　knocked；　she　ran　downstairs。　They　did　not　have　long；　Terri　would　probably　be　back　with　Robbie　at　one。　Not　long　to　make　a　baby。

‘Hiya；’　she　said；　when　she　opened　the　door。

‘All　right？’　said　Fats；　blowing　out　smoke　through　his　nostrils。

He　did　not　know　what　he　had　expected。　His　first　glimpse　of　the　interior　of　the　house　was　of　a　grimy　bare　box。　There　was　no　furniture。　The　closed　doors　to　his　left　and　ahead　were　strangely　ominous。

‘Are　we　the　only　ones　here？’　he　asked　as　he　crossed　the　threshold。

‘Yeah；’　said　Krystal。　‘We　c’n　go　upstairs。　My　room。’

She　led　the　way。　The　deeper　inside　they　went；　the　worse　the　smell　became：　mingled　bleach　and　filth。　Fats　tried　not　to　care。　All　doors　were　closed　on　the　landing；　except　one。　Krystal　went　inside。

Fats　did　not　want　to　be　shocked；　but　there　was　nothing　in　the　room　except　a　mattress；　which　was　covered　with　a　sheet　and　a　bare　duvet；　and　a　small　pile　of　clothes　heaped　up　in　a　corner。　A　few　pictures　ripped　from　tabloid　newspapers　were　sellotaped　to　the　wall；　a　mixture　of　pop　stars　and　celebrities。

Krystal　had　made　her　collage　the　previous　day；　in　imitation　of　the　one　on　Nikki’s　bedroom　wall。　Knowing　that　Fats　was　ing　over；　she　had　wanted　to　make　the　room　more　hospitable。　She　had　drawn　the　thin　curtains。　They　gave　a　blueish　tinge　to　daylight。

‘Gimme　a　fag；’　she　said。　‘I’m　gasping。’

He　lit　it　for　her。　She　was　more　nervous　than　he　had　ever　seen　her；　he　preferred　her　cocky　and　worldly。

‘We　ain’　got　long；’　she　told　him；　and　with　the　cigarette　in　her　mouth；　she　began　to　strip。　‘Me　mum’ll　be　back。’

‘Yeah；　at　Bellchapel；　isn’t　she？’　said　Fats；　somehow　trying　to　harden　Krystal　up　again　in　his　mind。

‘Yeah；’　said　Krystal；　sitting　on　the　mattress　and　pulling　off　her　tracksuit　bottoms。

‘What　if　they　close　it？’　asked　Fats；　taking　off　his　blazer。　‘I　heard　they’re　thinking　about　it。’

‘I　dunno；’　said　Krystal；　but　she　was　frightened。　Her　mother’s　willpower；　fragile　and　vulnerable　as　a　fledgling　chick；　could　fail　at　the　slightest　provocation。

She　had　already　stripped　to　her　underwear。　Fats　was　taking　off　his　shoes　when　he　noticed　something　nestled　beside　her　heaped　clothes：　a　small　plastic　jewellery　box　lying　open；　and　curled　inside；　a　familiar　watch。

‘Is　that　my　mum’s？’　he　said；　in　surprise。

‘What？’　Krystal　panicked。　‘No；’　she　lied。　‘It　was　my　Nana　Cath’s。　Don’t—！’

But　he　had　already　pulled　it　out　of　the　box。

‘It　is　hers；’　he　said。　He　recognized　the　strap。

‘It　fuckin’　ain’t！’

She　was　terrified。　She　had　almost　forgotten　that　she　had　stolen　it；　where　it　had　e　from。　Fats　was　silent；　and　she　did　not　like　it。

The　watch　in　Fats’　hand　seemed　to　be　both　challenging　and　reproaching　him。　In　quick　succession　he　imagined　walking　out；　slipping　it　casually　into　his　pocket；　or　handing　it　back　to　Krystal　with　a　shrug。

‘It’s　mine；’　she　said。

He　did　not　want　to　be　a　policeman。　He　wanted　to　be　lawless。　But　it　took　the　recollection　that　the　watch　had　been　Cubby’s　gift　to　make　him　hand　it　back　to　her　and　carry　on　taking　off　his　clothes。　Scarlet　in　the　face；　Krystal　tugged　off　bra　and　pants　and　slipped；　naked；　beneath　the　duvet。

Fats　approached　her　in　his　boxer　shorts；　a　wrapped　condom　in　his　hand。

‘We　don’　need　that；’　said　Krystal　thickly。　‘I’m　takin’　the　pill　now。’

‘Are　you？’

She　moved　over　on　the　mattress　for　him。　Fats　slid　under　the　duvet。　As　he　pulled　off　his　boxers；　he　wondered　whether　she　was　lying　about　the　pill；　like　the　watch。　But　he　had　wanted　to　try　without　a　condom　for　a　while。

‘Go　on；’　she　whispered；　and　she　tugged　the　little　foil　square　out　of　his　hand　and　threw　it　on　top　of　his　blazer；　crumpled　on　the　floor。

He　imagined　Krystal　pregnant　with　his　child；　the　faces　of　Tessa　and　Cubby　when　they　heard。　His　kid　in　the　Fields；　his　flesh　and　blood。　It　would　be　more　than　Cubby　had　ever　managed。

He　climbed　on　top　of　her；　this；　he　knew；　was　real　life。

VIII
At　half…past　six　that　evening；　Howard　and　Shirley　Mollison　entered　Pagford　Church　Hall。　Shirley　was　carrying　an　armful　of　papers　and　Howard　was　wearing　the　chain　of　office　decorated　with　the　blue　and　white　Pagford　crest。

The　floorboards　creaked　beneath　Howard’s　massive　weight　as　he　moved　to　the　head　of　the　scratched　tables　that　had　already　been　set　end　to　end。　Howard　was　almost　as　fond　of　this　hall　as　he　was　of　his　own　shop。　The　Brownies　used　it　on　Tuesdays；　and　the　Women’s　Institute　on　Wednesdays。　It　had　hosted　jumble　sales　and　Jubilee　celebrations；　wedding　receptions　and　wakes；　and　it　smelt　of　all　of　these　things：　of　stale　clothes　and　coffee　urns；　and　the　ghosts　of　home…baked　cakes　and　meat　salads；　of　dust　and　human　bodies；　but　primarily　of　aged　wood　and　stone。　Beaten…brass　lights　hung　from　the　rafters　on　thick　black　flexes；　and　the　kitchen　was　reached　through　ornate　mahogany　doors。

Shirley　bustled　from　place　to　place；　setting　out　papers。　She　adored　council　meetings。　Quite　apart　from　the　pride　and　enjoyment　she　derived　from　listening　to　Howard　chair　them；　Maureen　was　necessarily　absent；　with　no　official　role；　she　had　to　be　content　with　the　pickings　Shirley　deigned　to　share。

Howard’s　fellow　councillors　arrived　singly　and　in　pairs。　He　boomed　out　greetings；　his　voice　echoing　from　the　rafters。　The　full　plement　of　sixteen　councillors　rarely　attended；　he　was　expecting　twelve　of　them　today。

The　table　was　half　full　when　Aubrey　Fawley　arrived；　walking；　as　he　always　did；　as　if　into　a　high　wind；　with　an　air　of　reluctant　forcefulness；　slightly　stooped；　his　head　bowed。

‘Aubrey！’　called　Howard　joyfully；　and　for　the　first　time　he　moved　forward　to　greet　the　newer。　‘How　are　you？　How’s　Julia？　Did　you　get　my　invitation？’

‘Sorry；　I　don’t—’

‘To　my　sixty…fifth？　Here　–　Saturday　–　day　after　the　election。’

‘Oh；　yes；　yes。　Howard；　there’s　a　young　woman　outside　–　she　says　she’s　from　the　Yarvil　and　District　Gazette。　Alison　something？’

‘Oh；’　said　Howard。　‘Strange。　I’ve　just　sent　her　my　article；　you　know；　the　one　answering　Fairbrother’s　…　Maybe　it’s　something　to　do　…　I’ll　go　and　see。’

He　waddled　away；　full　of　vague　misgivings。　Parminder　Jawanda　entered　as　he　approached　the　door；　scowling　as　usual；　she　walked　straight　past　without　greeting　him；　and　for　once　Howard　did　not　ask　‘how’s　Parminder？’。

Out　on　the　pavement　he　found　a　young　blonde　woman；　stocky　and　square；　with　an　aura　of　impermeable　cheerfulness　that　Howard　recognized　immediately　as　determination　of　his　own　brand。　She　was　holding　a　notebook　and　looking　up　at　the　Sweetlove　initials　carved　over　the　double　doors。

‘Hello；　hello；’　said　Howard；　his　breathing　a　little　laboured。　‘Alison；　is　it？　Howard　Mollison。　Have　you　e　all　this　way　to　tell　me　I　can’t　write　for　toffee？’

She　beamed；　and　shook　the　hand　he　proffered。

‘Oh；　no；　we　like　the　article；’　she　assured　him。　‘I　thought；　as　things　are　getting　so　interesting；　I’d　e　and　sit　in　on　the　meeting。　You　don’t　mind？　Press　are　allowed；　I　think。　I’ve　looked　up　all　the　regulations。’

She　was　moving　towards　the　door　as　she　spoke。

‘Yes；　yes；　press　are　allowed；’　said　Howard；　following　her　and　pausing　courteously　at　the　entrance　to　let　her　through　first。　‘Unless　we　have　to　deal　with　anything　in　camera；　that　is。’

She　glanced　back　at　him；　and　he　could　make　out　her　teeth；　even　in　the　fading　light。

‘Like　all　those　anonymous　accusations　on　your　message　board？　From　the　Ghost　of　Barry　Fairbrother？’

‘Oh　dear；’　wheezed　Howard；　smiling　back　at　her。　‘They’re　not　news；　surely？　A　couple　of　silly　ments　on　the　inter？’

‘Has　it　only　been　a　couple？　Somebody　told　me　the　bulk　of　them　had　been　taken　off　the　site。’

‘No；　no；　somebody’s　got　that　wrong；’　said　Howard。　‘There　have　only　been　two　or　three；　to　my　knowledge。　Nasty　nonsense。　Personally；’　he　said；　improvising　on　the　spot；　‘I　think　it’s　some　kid。’

‘A　kid？’

‘You　know。　Teenager　having　fun。’

‘Would　teenagers　target　Parish　councillors？’　she　asked；　still　smiling。　‘I　heard；　actually；　that　one　of　the　victims　has　lost　his　job。　Possibly　as　a　result　of　the　allegations　made　against　him　on　your　site。’

‘News　to　me；’　said　Howard　untruthfully。　Shirley　had　seen　Ruth　at　the　hospital　the　previous　day　and　reported　back　to　him。

‘I　see　on　the　agenda；’　said　Alison；　as　the　pair　of　them　entered　the　brightly　lit　hall；　‘that　you’ll　be　discussing　Bellchapel。　You　and　Mr　Fairbrother　made　good　points　on　both　sides　of　the　argument　in　your　articles　…　we　had　quite　a　few　letters　to　the　paper　after　we　printed　Mr　Fairbrother’s　piece。　My　editor　liked　that。　Anything　that　makes　people　write　letters　…’

‘Yes；　I　saw　those；’　said　Howard。　‘Nobody　seemed　to　have　much　good　to　say　about　the　clinic；　did　they？’

The　councillors　at　the　table　were　watching　the　pair　of　them。　Alison　Jenkins　returned　their　gaze；　still　smiling　imperturbably。

‘Let　me　get　you　a　chair；’　said　Howard；　puffing　slightly　as　he　lifted　one　down　from　a　nearby　stack　and　settling　Alison　some　twelve　feet　from　the　table。

‘Thank　you。’　She　pulled　it　six　feet　forward。

‘Ladies　and　gentlemen；’　called　Howard；　‘we’ve　got　a　press　gallery　here　tonight。　Miss　Alison　Jenkins　of　the　Yarvil　and　District　Gazette。’

A　few　of　them　seemed　interested　and　gratified　by　Alison’s　appearance；　but　most　looked　suspicious。　Howard　stumped　back　to　the　head　of　the　table；　where　Aubrey　and　S