首发偶发空缺 (临时空缺)-第2部分

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They　ate　their　toast　and　drank　fresh　mugs　of　coffee　in　silence。　Some　of　Samantha’s　irritability　lifted　as　she　chewed。　She　remembered　how　she　had　woken　with　a　jerk　in　their　dark　bedroom　in　the　early　hours；　and　had　been　absurdly　relieved　and　grateful　to　feel　Miles　beside　her；　big　and　paunchy；　smelling　of　vetiver　and　old　sweat。　Then　she　imagined　telling　customers　at　the　shop　about　how　a　man　had　dropped　dead　in　front　of　her；　and　about　the　mercy　dash　to　hospital。　She　thought　of　ways　to　describe　various　aspects　of　the　journey；　and　of　the　climactic　scene　with　the　doctor。　The　youth　of　that　self…possessed　woman　had　made　the　whole　thing　seem　worse。　They　ought　to　give　the　job　of　breaking　the　news　to　someone　older。　Then；　with　a　further　lift　of　her　spirits；　she　recollected　that　she　had　an　appointment　with　the　Champêtre　sales　rep　tomorrow；　he　had　been　pleasantly　flirty　on　the　telephone。

‘I’d　better　get　moving；’　said　Miles；　and　he　drained　his　coffee　mug；　his　eyes　on　the　brightening　sky　beyond　the　window。　He　heaved　a　deep　sigh　and　patted　his　wife　on　her　shoulder　as　he　passed　on　the　way　to　the　dishwasher　with　his　empty　plate　and　mug。

‘Christ；　it　puts　everything　in　perspective；　though；　doesn’t　it；　eh？’

Shaking　his　close…cropped；　greying　head；　he　left　the　kitchen。

Samantha　sometimes　found　Miles　absurd　and；　increasingly；　dull。　Every　now　and　then；　though；　she　enjoyed　his　pomposity　in　precisely　the　same　spirit　as　she　liked；　on　formal　occasions；　to　wear　a　hat。　It　was　appropriate；　after　all；　to　be　solemn　and　a　little　worthy　this　morning。　She　finished　her　toast　and　cleared　away　her　breakfast　things；　mentally　refining　the　story　she　planned　to　tell　her　assistant。

II
‘Barry　Fairbrother’s　dead；’　panted　Ruth　Price。

She　had　almost　run　up　the　chilly　garden　path　so　as　to　have　a　few　more　minutes　with　her　husband　before　he　left　for　work。　She　didn’t　stop　in　the　porch　to　take　off　her　coat　but；　still　muffled　and　gloved；　burst　into　the　kitchen　where　Simon　and　their　teenage　sons　were　eating　breakfast。

Her　husband　froze；　a　piece　of　toast　halfway　to　his　lips；　then　lowered　it　with　theatrical　slowness。　The　two　boys；　both　in　school　uniform；　looked　from　one　parent　to　the　other；　mildly　interested。

‘An　aneurysm；　they　think；’　said　Ruth；　still　a　little　breathless　as　she　tweaked　off　her　gloves　finger　by　finger；　unwinding　her　scarf　and　unbuttoning　her　coat。　A　thin　dark　woman　with　heavy；　mournful　eyes；　the　stark　blue　nurse’s　uniform　suited　her。　‘He　collapsed　at　the　golf　club　–　Sam　and　Miles　Mollison　brought　him　in　–　and　then　Colin　and　Tessa　Wall　came　…’

She　darted　out　to　the　porch　to　hang　up　her　things；　and　was　back　in　time　to　answer　Simon’s　shouted　question。

‘What’s　ananeurysm？’

‘An。　Aneurysm。　A　burst　artery　in　the　brain。’

She　flitted　over　to　the　kettle；　switched　it　on；　then　began　to　sweep　crumbs　from　the　work　surface　around　the　toaster；　talking　all　the　while。

‘He’ll　have　had　a　massive　cerebral　haemorrhage。　His　poor；　poor　wife　…　she’s　absolutely　devastated　…’

Momentarily　stricken；　Ruth　gazed　out　of　her　kitchen　window　over　the　crisp　whiteness　of　her　frost…crusted　lawn；　at　the　abbey　across　the　valley；　stark　and　skeletal　against　the　pale　pink　and　grey　sky；　and　the　panoramic　view　that　was　the　glory　of　Hilltop　House。　Pagford；　which　by　night　was　no　more　than　a　cluster　of　twinkling　lights　in　a　dark　hollow　far　below；　was　emerging　into　chilly　sunlight。　Ruth　saw　none　of　it：　her　mind　was　still　at　the　hospital；　watching　Mary　emerge　from　the　room　where　Barry　lay；　all　futile　aids　to　life　removed。　Ruth　Price’s　pity　flowed　most　freely　and　sincerely　for　those　whom　she　believed　to　be　like　herself。　‘No；　no；　no；　no；’　Mary　had　moaned；　and　that　instinctive　denial　had　reverberated　inside　Ruth；　because　she　had　been　afforded　a　glimpse　of　herself　in　an　identical　situation　…　

Hardly　able　to　bear　the　thought；　she　turned　to　look　at　Simon。　His　light…brown　hair　was　still　thick；　his　frame　was　almost　as　wiry　as　it　had　been　in　his　twenties　and　the　crinkles　at　the　corners　of　his　eyes　were　merely　attractive；　but　Ruth’s　return　to　nursing　after　a　long　break　had　confronted　her　anew　with　the　million　and　one　ways　the　human　body　could　malfunction。　She　had　had　more　detachment　when　she　was　young；　now　she　realized　how　lucky　they　all　were　to　be　alive。

‘Couldn’t　they　do　anything　for　him？’　asked　Simon。　‘Couldn’t　they　plug　it　up？’

He　sounded　frustrated；　as　though　the　medical　profession　had；　yet　again；　bungled　the　business　by　refusing　to　do　the　simple　and　obvious　thing。

Andrew　thrilled　with　savage　pleasure。　He　had　noticed　lately　that　his　father　had　developed　a　habit　of　countering　his　mother’s　use　of　medical　terms　with　crude；　ignorant　suggestions。　Cerebral　haemorrhage。　Plug　it　up。　His　mother　didn’t　realize　what　his　father　was　up　to。　She　never　did。　Andrew　ate　his　Weetabix　and　burned　with　hatred。

‘It　was　too　late　to　do　anything　by　the　time　they　got　him　out　to　us；’　said　Ruth；　dropping　teabags　into　the　pot。　‘He　died　in　the　ambulance；　right　before　they　arrived。’

‘Bloody　hell；’　said　Simon。　‘What　was　he；　forty？’

But　Ruth　was　distracted。

‘Paul；　your　hair’s　pletely　matted　at　the　back。　Have　you　brushed　it　at　all？’

She　pulled　a　hairbrush　from　her　handbag　and　pushed　it　into　her　younger　son’s　hand。

‘No　warning　signs　or　anything？’　asked　Simon；　as　Paul　dragged　the　brush　through　the　thick　mop　of　his　hair。

‘He’d　had　a　bad　headache　for　a　couple　of　days；　apparently。’

‘Ah；’　said　Simon；　chewing　toast。　‘And　he　ignored　it？’

‘Oh；　yes；　he　didn’t　think　anything　of　it。’

Simon　swallowed。

‘Goes　to　show；　doesn’t　it？’　he　said　portentously。　‘Got　to　watch　yourself。’

That’s　wise；　thought　Andrew；　with　furious　contempt；　that’s　profound。　So　it　was　Barry　Fairbrother’s　own　fault　his　brain　had　burst　open。　You　self…satisfied　fucker；　Andrew　told　his　father；　loudly；　inside　his　own　head。

Simon　pointed　his　knife　at　his　elder　son　and　said；　‘Oh；　and　by　the　way。　He’s　going　to　be　getting　a　job。　Old　Pizza　Face　there。’

Startled；　Ruth　turned　from　her　husband　to　her　son。　Andrew’s　acne　stood　out；　livid　and　shiny；　from　his　empurpling　cheek；　as　he　stared　down　into　his　bowl　of　beige　mush。

‘Yeah；’　said　Simon。　‘Lazy　little　shit’s　going　to　start　earning　some　money。　If　he　wants　to　smoke；　he　can　pay　for　it　out　of　his　own　wages。　No　more　pocket　money。’

‘Andrew！’　wailed　Ruth。　‘You　haven’t　been—？’

‘Oh；　yes；　he　has。　I　caught　him　in　the　woodshed；’　said　Simon；　his　expression　a　distillation　of　spite。

‘Andrew！’

‘No　more　money　from　us。　You　want　fags；　you　buy　’em；’　said　Simon。

‘But　we　said；’　whimpered　Ruth；　‘we　said；　with　his　exams　ing—’

‘Judging　by　the　way　he　fucked　up　his　mocks；　we’ll　be　lucky　if　he　gets　any　qualifications。　He　can　get　himself　out　to　McDonald’s　early；　get　some　experience；’　said　Simon；　standing　up　and　pushing　in　his　chair；　relishing　the　sight　of　Andrew’s　hanging　head；　the　dark　pimpled　edge　of　his　face。　‘Because　we’re　not　supporting　you　through　any　resits；　pal。　It’s　now　or　never。’

‘Oh；　Simon；’　said　Ruth　reproachfully。

‘What？’

Simon　took　two　stamping　steps　towards　his　wife。　Ruth　shrank　back　against　the　sink。　The　pink　plastic　brush　fell　out　of　Paul’s　hand。

‘I’m　not　going　to　fund　the　little　fucker’s　filthy　habit！　Fucking　cheek　of　him；　puffing　away　in　my　fucking　shed！’

Simon　hit　himself　on　the　chest　on　the　word　‘my’；　the　dull　thunk　made　Ruth　wince。

‘I　was　bringing　home　a　salary　when　I　was　that　spotty　little　shit’s　age。　If　he　wants　fags；　he　can　pay　for　them　himself；　all　right？　All　right？’

He　had　thrust　his　face　to　within　six　inches　of　Ruth’s。

‘Yes；　Simon；’　she　said　very　quietly。

Andrew’s　bowels　seemed　to　have　bee　liquid。　He　had　made　a　vow　to　himself　not　ten　days　previously：　had　the　moment　arrived　so　soon？　But　his　father　stepped　away　from　his　mother　and　marched　out　of　the　kitchen　towards　the　porch。　Ruth；　Andrew　and　Paul　remained　quite　still；　they　might　have　promised　not　to　move　in　his　absence。

‘Did　you　fill　up　the　tank？’　Simon　shouted；　as　he　always　did　when　she　had　been　working　a　night　shift。

‘Yes；’　Ruth　called　back；　striving　for　brightness；　for　normality。

The　front　door　rattled　and　slammed。

Ruth　busied　herself　with　the　teapot；　waiting　for　the　billowing　atmosphere　to　shrink　back　to　its　usual　proportions。　Only　when　Andrew　was　about　to　leave　the　room　to　clean　his　teeth　did　she　speak。

‘He　worries　about　you；　Andrew。　About　your　health。’

Like　fuck　he　does；　the　cunt。

Inside　his　head；　Andrew　matched　Simon　obscenity　for　obscenity。　Inside　his　head；　he　could　take　Simon　in　a　fair　fight。

Aloud；　to　his　mother；　he　said；　‘Yeah。　Right。’

III
Evertree　Crescent　was　a　sickle　moon　of　1930s　bungalows；　which　lay　two　minutes　from　Pagford’s　main　square。　In　number　thirty…six；　a　house　tenanted　longer　than　any　other　in　the　street；　Shirley　Mollison　sat；　propped　up　against　her　pillows；　sipping　the　tea　that　her　husband　had　brought　her。　The　reflection　facing　her　in　the　mirrored　doors　of　the　built…in　wardrobe　had　a　misty　quality；　due　partly　to　the　fact　that　she　was　not　wearing　glasses；　and　partly　to　the　soft　glow　cast　over　the　room　by　her　rose…patterned　curtains。　In　this　flattering；　hazy　light；　the　dimpled　pink　and　white　face　beneath　the　short　silver　hair　was　cherubic。

The　bedroom　was　just　large　enough　to　acmodate　Shirley’s　single　bed　and　Howard’s　double；　crammed　together；　non…identical　twins。　Howard’s　mattress；　which　still　bore　his　prodigious　imprint；　was　empty。　The　soft　purr　and　hiss　of　the　shower　was　audible　from　where　Shirley　and　her　rosy　reflection　sat　facing　each　other；　savouring　the　news　that　seemed　still　to　effervesce　in　the　atmosphere；　like　bubbling　champagne。
。　
Barry　Fairbrother　was　dead。　Snuffed　out。　Cut　down。　No　event　of　national　importance；　no　war；　no　stock…market　collapse；　no　terrorist　attack；　could　have　sparked　in　Shirley　the　awe；　the　avid　interest　and　feverish　speculation　that　currently　consumed　her。

She　had　hated　Barry　Fairbrother。　Shirley　and　her　husband；　usually　as　one　in　all　their　friendships　and　enmities；　had　been　a　little　out　of　step　in　this。　Howard　had　sometimes　confessed　himself　entertained　by　the　bearded　little　man　who　opposed　him　so　relentlessly　across　the　long　scratched　tables　in　Pagford　Church　Hall；　but　Shirley　made　no　distinction　between　the　political　and　the　personal。　Barry　had　opposed　Howard　in　the　central　quest　of　his　life；　and　this　made　Barry　Fairbrother　her　bitter　enemy。

Loyalty　to　her　husband　was　the　main；　but　not　the　only；　reason　for　Shirley’s　passionate　dislike。　Her　instincts　about　people　were　finely　honed　in　one　direction　only；　like　a　dog　that　has　been　trained　to　sniff　out　narcotics。　She　was　perennially　aquiver　to　detect　condescension；　and　had　long　detected　its　reek　in　the　attitudes　of　Barry　Fairbrother　and　his　cronies　on　the　Parish　Council。　The　Fairbrothers　of　the　world　assumed　that　their　university　education　made　them　better　than　people　like　her　and　Howard；　that　their　views　counted　for　more。　Well；　their　arrogance　had　received　a　nasty　blow　today。　Fairbrother’s　sudden　death　bolstered　Shirley　in　the　long…held　belief　that；　whatever　he　and　his　followers　might　have　thought；　he　had　been　of　a　lower　and　weaker　order　than　her　husband；　who；　in　addition　to　all　his　other　virtues；　had　manage