首发偶发空缺 (临时空缺)-第55部分

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thought　of　it　made　her　retch。

I　gotta　get　out　of　here。

She　thought　fleetingly　of　Kay；　and　then　discarded　her：　as　bad　as　the　police；　to　tell　a　social　worker　that　Obbo　walked　in　and　out　of　their　house；　raping　people。　She　would　take　Robbie　for　sure；　if　she　knew　that。

A　clear　lucid　voice　in　Krystal’s　head　was　speaking　to　Mr　Fairbrother；　who　was　the　only　adult　who　had　ever　talked　to　her　the　way　she　needed；　unlike　Mrs　Wall；　so　well…intentioned　and　so　blinkered；　and　Nana　Cath；　refusing　to　hear　the　whole　truth。

I　gotta　get　Robbie　out　of　here。　How　can　I　get　away？　I　gotta　get　away。

Her　one　sure　refuge；　the　little　house　in　Hope　Street；　was　already　being　gobbled　up　by　squabbling　relatives　…

She　scurried　around　a　corner　underneath　a　street　lamp；　looking　over　her　shoulder　in　case　he　was　watching　her；　following。

And　then　the　answer　came　to　her；　as　though　Mr　Fairbrother　had　shown　her　the　way。

If　she　got　knocked　up　by　Fats　Wall；　she　would　be　able　to　get　her　own　place　from　the　council。　She　would　be　able　to　take　Robbie　to　live　with　her　and　the　baby　if　Terri　used　again。　And　Obbo　would　never　enter　her　house；　not　ever。　There　would　be　bolts　and　chains　and　locks　on　the　door；　and　her　house　would　be　clean；　always　clean；　like　Nana　Cath’s　house。

Half　running　along　the　dark　street；　Krystal’s　sobs　slowed　and　subsided。

The　Walls　would　probably　give　her　money。　They　were　like　that。　She　could　imagine　Tessa’s　plain；　concerned　face；　bending　over　a　cot。　Krystal　would　have　their　grandchild。

She　would　lose　Fats　in　getting　pregnant；　they　always　went；　once　you　were　expecting；　she　had　watched　it　happen　nearly　every　time　in　the　Fields。　But　perhaps　he　would　be　interested；　he　was　so　strange。　It　did　not　much　matter　to　her　either　way。　Her　interest　in　him；　except　as　the　essential　ponent　in　her　plan；　had　dwindled　to　almost　nothing。　What　she　wanted　was　the　baby：　the　baby　was　more　than　a　means　to　an　end。　She　liked　babies；　she　had　always　loved　Robbie。　She　would　keep　the　two　of　them　safe；　together；　she　would　be　like　a　better；　kinder；　younger　Nana　Cath　to　her　family。

Anne…Marie　might　e　and　visit；　once　she　was　away　from　Terri。　Their　children　would　be　cousins。　A　very　vivid　image　of　herself　and　Anne…Marie　came　to　Krystal；　they　were　standing　at　the　school　gates　of　St　Thomas’s　in　Pagford；　waving　off　two　little　girls　in　pale　blue　dresses　and　ankle　socks。

The　lights　were　on　in　Nikki’s　house；　as　they　always　were。　Krystal　broke　into　a　run。

I
Samantha　Mollison　had　now　bought　herself　all　three　of　the　DVDs　released　by　Libby’s　favourite　boy　band。　She　kept　them　hidden　in　her　socks　and　tights　drawer；　beside　her　diaphragm。　She　had　her　story　ready；　if　Miles　spotted　them：　they　were　a　gift　for　Libby。　Sometimes　at　work；　where　business　was　slower　than　ever；　she　searched　the　inter　for　pictures　of　Jake。　It　was　during　one　of　these　trawling　sessions　–　Jake　in　a　suit　but　with　no　shirt；　Jake　in　jeans　and　a　white　vest　–　that　she　discovered　that　the　band　was　playing　at　Wembley　in　a　fortnight’s　time。

She　had　a　friend　from　university　who　lived　in　West　Ealing。　She　could　stay　over；　sell　it　to　Libby　as　a　treat；　a　chance　to　spend　time　together。　With　more　genuine　excitement　than　she　had　felt　in　a　long　time；　Samantha　managed　to　buy　two　very　expensive　tickets　for　the　concert。　When　she　let　herself　into　the　house　that　evening；　she　glowed　with　a　delicious　secret；　almost　as　though　she　were　ing　home　from　a　date。

Miles　was　already　in　the　kitchen；　still　in　his　work　suit；　with　the　phone　in　his　hand。　He　stared　at　her　as　she　entered；　and　his　expression　was　strange；　difficult　to　read。

‘What？’　said　Samantha；　a　little　defensively。

‘I　can’t　get　hold　of　Dad；’　said　Miles。　‘His　bloody　phone’s　engaged。　There’s　been　another　post。’

And　when　Samantha　looked　nonplussed；　he　said　with　a　trace　of　impatience；　‘Barry　Fairbrother’s　Ghost！　Another　message！　On　the　council　website！’

‘Oh；’　said　Samantha；　unwinding　her　scarf。　‘Right。’

‘Yeah；　I　met　Betty　Rossiter　just　now；　ing　up　the　street；　she　was　full　of　it。　I’ve　checked　the　message　board；　but　I　can’t　see　it。　Mum　must’ve　taken　it　down　already　–　well；　I　bloody　hope　she　has；　she’ll　be　in　the　firing　line　if　Bends…Your…Ear　goes　to　a　lawyer。’

‘About　Parminder　Jawanda；　was　it？’　asked　Samantha；　her　tone　deliberately　casual。　She　did　not　ask　what　the　accusation　had　been；　first；　because　she　was　determined　not　to　be　a　nosy；　gossiping　old　bag　like　Shirley　and　Maureen；　and　secondly；　because　she　thought　she　already　knew：　that　Parminder　had　caused　the　death　of　old　Cath　Weedon。　After　a　moment　or　two；　she　asked；　sounding　vaguely　amused；　‘Did　you　say　your　mother　might　be　in　the　firing　line？’

‘Well；　she’s　the　site　administrator；　so　she’s　liable　if　she　doesn’t　get　rid　of　defamatory　or　potentially　defamatory　statements。　I’m　not　sure　she　and　Dad　understand　how　serious　this　could　be。’

‘You　could　defend　your　mother；　she’d　like　that。’

But　Miles　had　not　heard；　he　was　pressing　redial　and　scowling；　because　his　father’s　mobile　was　still　engaged。

‘This　is　getting　serious；’　he　said。

‘You　were　all　quite　happy　when　it　was　Simon　Price　who　was　getting　attacked。　Why’s　this　any　different？’

‘If　it’s　a　campaign　against　anyone　on　the　council；　or　standing　for　council　…’

Samantha　turned　away　to　hide　her　grin。　His　concern　was　not　about　Shirley　after　all。

‘But　why　would　anyone　write　stuff　about　you？’　she　asked　innocently。　‘You　haven’t　got　any　guilty　secrets。’

You　might　be　more　bloody　interesting　if　you　had。

‘What　about　that　letter？’

‘What　letter？’

‘For　God’s　–　Mum　and　Dad　said　there　was　a　letter；　an　anonymous　letter　about　me！　Saying　I　wasn’t　fit　to　fill　Barry　Fairbrother’s　shoes！’

Samantha　opened　the　freezer　and　stared　at　the　unappetizing　contents；　aware　that　Miles　could　no　longer　see　her　expression　with　the　door　open。

‘You　don’t　think　anyone’s　got　anything　on　you；　do　you？’　she　asked。

‘No　–　but　I’m　a　lawyer；　aren’t　I？　There　might　be　people　with　a　grudge。　I　don’t　think　this　kind　of　anonymous　stuff　…　I　mean；　so　far　it’s　all　about　the　other　side；　but　there　could　be　reprisals　…　I　don’t　like　the　way　this　thing’s　going。’

‘Well；　that’s　politics；　Miles；’　said　Samantha；　openly　amused。　‘Dirty　business。’

Miles　stalked　out　of　the　room；　but　she　did　not　care；　her　thoughts　had　already　returned　to　chiselled　cheekbones；　winged　eyebrows　and　taut；　tight　abdominal　muscles。　She　could　sing　along　with　most　of　the　songs　now。　She　would　buy　a　band　T…shirt　to　wear　–　and　one　for　Libby　too。　Jake　would　be　undulating　mere　yards　away　from　her。　It　would　be　more　fun　than　she　had　had　in　years。

Howard；　meanwhile；　was　pacing　up　and　down　the　closed　delicatessen　with　his　mobile　phone　clamped　to　his　ear。　The　blinds　were　down；　the　lights　were　on；　and　through　the　archway　in　the　wall　Shirley　and　Maureen　were　busy　in　the　soon…to…be…opened　café；　unpacking　china　and　glasses；　talking　in　excited　undertones　and　half　listening　to　Howard’s　almost　monosyllabic　contributions　to　his　conversation。

‘Yes　…　mm；　hmm　…　yes　…’

‘Screaming　at　me；’　said　Shirley。　‘Screaming　and　swearing。　“Take　it　bloody　down；”　she　said。　I　said；　“I’m　taking　it　down；　Dr　Jawanda；　and　I’ll　thank　you　not　to　swear　at　me。”’

‘I’d’ve　left　it　up　there　for　another　couple　of　hours　if　she’d　sworn　at　me；’　said　Maureen。

Shirley　smiled。　As　it　happened；　she　had　chosen　to　go　and　make　herself　a　cup　of　tea；　leaving　the　anonymous　post　about　Parminder　up　on　the　site　for　an　extra　forty…five　minutes　before　removing　it。　She　and　Maureen　had　already　picked　over　the　topic　of　the　post　until　it　was　ragged　and　bare；　there　was　plenty　of　scope　for　further　dissection；　but　the　immediate　urge　was　sated。　Instead；　Shirley　looked　ahead；　greedily；　to　Parminder’s　reaction　to　having　her　secret　spilt　in　public。

‘It　can’t　have　been　her　who　did　that　post　about　Simon　Price；　after　all；’　said　Maureen。

‘No；　obviously　not；’　said　Shirley；　as　she　wiped　over　the　pretty　blue　and　white　china　that　she　had　chosen；　overruling　Maureen’s　preference　for　pink。　Sometimes；　though　not　directly　involved　in　the　business；　Shirley　liked　to　remind　Maureen　that　she　still　had　huge　influence；　as　Howard’s　wife。

‘Yes；’　said　Howard；　on　the　telephone。　‘But　wouldn’t　it　be　better　to　…？　Mm；　hmm　…’

‘So　who　do　you　think　it　is？’　asked　Maureen。

‘I　really　don’t　know；’　said　Shirley；　in　a　genteel　voice；　as　though　such　knowledge　or　suspicions　were　beneath　her。

‘Someone　who　knows　the　Prices　and　the　Jawandas；’　said　Maureen。

‘Obviously；’　said　Shirley　again。

Howard　hung　up　at　last。

‘Aubrey　agrees；’　he　told　the　two　women；　waddling　through　into　the　café。　He　was　clutching　today’s　edition　of　the　Yarvil　and　District　Gazette。　‘Very　weak　piece。　Very　weak　indeed。’

It　took　the　two　women　several　seconds　to　recollect　that　they　were　supposed　to　be　interested　in　the　posthumous　article　by　Barry　Fairbrother　in　the　local　newspaper。　His　ghost　was　so　much　more　interesting。

‘Oh；　yes；　well；　I　thought　it　was　very　poor　when　I　read　it；’　said　Shirley；　hurriedly　catching　up。

‘The　interview　with　Krystal　Weedon　was　funny；’　guffawed　Maureen。　‘Making　out　she　enjoyed　art。　I　suppose　that’s　what　she　calls　graffiti…ing　the　desks。’

Howard　laughed。　As　an　excuse　to　turn　her　back；　Shirley　picked　up　Andrew　Price’s　spare　EpiPen　from　the　counter；　which　Ruth　had　dropped　into　the　delicatessen　that　morning。　Shirley　had　looked　up　EpiPens　on　her　favourite　medical　website；　and　felt　fully　petent　to　explain　how　adrenalin　worked。　Nobody　asked；　though；　so　she　put　the　small　white　tube　away　in　the　cupboard　and　closed　the　door　as　noisily　as　she　could　to　try　and　disrupt　Maureen’s　further　witticisms。

The　phone　in　Howard’s　huge　hand　rang。

‘Yes；　hello？　Oh；　Miles；　yes　…　yes；　we　know　all　about　it　…　Mum　saw　it　this　morning　…’　He　laughed。　‘Yes；　she’s　taken　it　down　…　I　don’t　know　…　I　think　it　was　posted　yesterday　…　Oh；　I　wouldn’t　say　that　…　we’ve　all　known　about　Bends…Your…Ear　for　years　…’

But　Howard’s　jocularity　faded　as　Miles　talked。　After　a　while　he　said；　‘Ah　…　yes；　I　see。　Yes。　No；　I　hadn’t　considered　it　from　…　perhaps　we　should　get　someone　to　have　a　look　at　security　…’

The　sound　of　a　car　in　the　darkening　square　outside　went　virtually　unremarked　by　the　three　in　the　delicatessen；　but　its　driver　noticed　the　enormous　shadow　of　Howard　Mollison　moving　behind　the　cream　blinds。　Gavin　put　his　foot　down；　eager　to　get　to　Mary。　She　had　sounded　desperate　on　the　telephone。

‘Who’s　doing　this？　Who’s　doing　it？　Who　hates　me　this　much？’

‘Nobody　hates　you；’　he　had　said。　‘Who　could　hate　you？　Stay　there　…　I’m　ing　over。’

He　parked　outside　the　house；　slammed　the　door　and　hurried　up　the　footpath。　She　opened　the　front　door　before　he　had　even　knocked。　Her　eyes　were　puffy　with　tears　again；　and　she　was　wearing　a　floor…length　woollen　dressing　gown　that　dwarfed　her。　It　was　not　at　all　seductive；　the　very　antithesis　of　Kay’s　scarlet　kimono；　but　its　homeliness；　its　very　shabbiness；　represented　a　new　level　of　intimacy。

Mary’s　four　children　were　all　in　the　sitting　room。　Mary　gestured　him　through　into　the　kitchen。

‘Do　they　know？’　he　asked　her。

‘Fergus　does。　Somebody　at　school　told　him。　I’ve　asked　him　not　to　tell　the　others。　Honestly；　G