首发偶发空缺 (临时空缺)-第8部分

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an’　keeled　over　an’　died　in　the　car　park。’

‘Yeah；　I　heard；’　said　Simon；　massaging　the　last　note　between　his　fingers　before　he　passed　it　over；　to　make　sure　there　were　not　two　stuck　together。

‘Bent　councillor；　he　was。　The　bloke　who　died。　He　was　takin’　backhanders。　Grays　was　paying　him　to　keep　them　on　as　contractors。’

‘Yeah？’　said　Simon；　but　he　was　immensely　interested。

Barry　Fairbrother；　who’d　have　thought　it？

‘I’ll　get　back　ter　yeh；　then；’　said　the　boy；　shoving　the　eighty　pounds　deep　into　his　back　pocket。　‘And　we’ll　go　an’　get　it；　Wednesday。’

The　office　door　closed。　Simon　forgot　his　headache；　which　was　really　no　more　than　a　twinge；　in　his　fascination　at　the　revelation　of　Barry　Fairbrother’s　crookedness。　Barry　Fairbrother；　so　busy　and　sociable；　so　popular　and　cheerful：　and　all　the　time；　trousering　bribes　from　Grays。

The　news　did　not　rock　Simon　as　it　would　have　done　nearly　everybody　else　who　had　known　Barry；　nor　did　it　diminish　Barry　in　his　eyes；　on　the　contrary；　he　felt　an　increased　respect　for　the　dead　man。　Anyone　with　any　brains　was　working；　constantly　and　covertly；　to　grab　as　much　as　they　could；　Simon　knew　that。　He　gazed　unseeingly　at　the　spreadsheet　on　his　puter　screen；　deaf　once　more　to　the　grinding　of　the　printworks　beyond　his　dusty　window。

There　was　no　choice　but　to　work　from　nine　to　five　if　you　had　a　family；　but　Simon　had　always　known　that　there　were　other；　better　ways；　that　a　life　of　ease　and　plenty　dangled　over　his　head　like　a　great　bulging　pi？ata；　which　he　might　smash　open　if　only　he　had　a　stick　big　enough；　and　the　knowledge　of　when　to　strike。

Supernatural　tip…offs　had　accounted　for　several　apparently　quixotic　decisions　in　Simon’s　past。　Years　previously；　when　still　a　lowly　apprentice　at　the　printworks；　with　a　mortgage　he　could　barely　afford　and　a　newly　pregnant　wife；　he　had　bet　one　hundred　pounds　on　a　well…favoured　Grand　National　runner　called　Ruthie’s　Baby；　which　had　fallen　at　the　second　last。　Shortly　after　they　had　bought　Hilltop　House；　Simon　had　sunk　twelve　hundred　pounds；　which　Ruth　had　been　hoping　to　use　for　curtains　and　carpets；　into　a　time…share　scheme　run　by　a　flash；　fiddling　old　acquaintance　from　Yarvil。　Simon’s　investment　had　vanished　with　the　pany　director；　but　although　he　had　raged　and　sworn　and　kicked　his　younger　son　halfway　down　the　stairs　for　getting　in　his　way；　he　had　not　contacted　the　police。

Set　against　these　calamities；　though；　were　strokes　of　luck；　dodges　that　worked；　hunches　that　paid　off；　and　Simon　gave　great　weight　to　these　when　totalling　his　score；　they　were　the　reason　that　he　kept　faith　with　his　stars；　that　reinforced　him　in　his　belief　that　the　universe　had　more　in　store　for　him　than　the　mug’s　game　of　working　for　a　modest　salary　until　he　retired　or　died。　Scams　and　short…cuts；　leg…ups　and　back…scratches；　everyone　was　at　it；　even；　as　it　turned　out；　little　Barry　Fairbrother。

There；　in　his　poky　office；　Simon　Price　gazed　covetously　on　a　vacancy　among　the　ranks　of　insiders　to　a　place　where　cash　was　now　trickling　down　onto　an　empty　chair　with　no　lap　waiting　to　catch　it。

I
Pagford　Parish　Council　was；　for　its　size；　an　impressive　force。　It　met　once　a　month　in　a　pretty　Victorian　church　hall；　and　attempts　to　cut　its　budget；　annex　any　of　its　powers　or　absorb　it　into　some　newfangled　unitary　authority　had　been　strenuously　and　successfully　resisted　for　decades。　Of　all　the　local　councils　under　the　higher　authority　of　Yarvil　District　Council；　Pagford　prided　itself　on　being　the　most　obstreperous；　the　most　vocal　and　the　most　independent。

Until　Sunday　evening；　it　had　prised　sixteen　local　men　and　women。　As　the　town’s　electorate　tended　to　assume　that　a　wish　to　serve　on　the　Parish　Council　implied　petence　to　do　so；　all　sixteen　councillors　had　gained　their　seats　unopposed。

Yet　this　amicably　appointed　body　was　currently　in　a　state　of　civil　war。　An　issue　that　had　been　causing　fury　and　resentment　in　Pagford　for　sixty…odd　years　had　reached　a　definitive　phase；　and　factions　had　rallied　behind　two　charismatic　leaders。

To　grasp　fully　the　cause　of　the　dispute　it　was　necessary　to　prehend　the　precise　depth　of　Pagford’s　dislike　and　mistrust　of　the　city　of　Yarvil；　which　lay　to　its　north。

Yarvil’s　shops；　businesses；　factories；　and　the　South　West　General　Hospital；　provided　the　bulk　of　the　employment　in　Pagford。　The　small　town’s　youths　generally　spent　their　Saturday　nights　in　Yarvil’s　cinemas　and　nightclubs。　The　city　had　a　cathedral；　several　parks　and　two　enormous　shopping　centres；　and　these　things　were　pleasant　enough　to　visit　if　you　had　sated　yourself　on　Pagford’s　superior　charms。　Even　so；　to　true　Pagfordians；　Yarvil　was　little　more　than　a　necessary　evil。　Their　attitude　was　symbolized　by　the　high　hill；　topped　by　Pargetter　Abbey；　which　blocked　Yarvil　from　Pagford’s　sight；　and　allowed　the　townspeople　the　happy　illusion　that　the　city　was　many　miles　further　away　than　it　truly　was。

II
It　so　happened　that　Pargetter　Hill　also　obscured　from　the　town’s　view　another　place；　but　one　that　Pagford　had　always　considered　particularly　its　own。　This　was　Sweetlove　House；　an　exquisite；　honey…coloured　Queen　Anne　manor；　set　in　many　acres　of　park　and　farmland。　It　lay　within　Pagford　Parish；　halfway　between　the　town　and　Yarvil。

For　nearly　two　hundred　years　the　house　had　passed　smoothly　from　generation　to　generation　of　aristocratic　Sweetloves；　until　finally；　in　the　early　1900s；　the　family　had　died　out。　All　that　remained　these　days　of　the　Sweetloves’　long　association　with　Pagford；　was　the　grandest　tomb　in　the　churchyard　of　St　Michael　and　All　Saints；　and　a　smattering　of　crests　and　initials　over　local　records　and　buildings；　like　the　footprints　and　coprolites　of　extinct　creatures。

After　the　death　of　the　last　of　the　Sweetloves；　the　manor　house　had　changed　hands　with　alarming　rapidity。　There　were　constant　fears　in　Pagford　that　some　developer　would　buy　and　mutilate　the　beloved　landmark。　Then；　in　the　1950s；　a　man　called　Aubrey　Fawley　purchased　the　place。　Fawley　was　soon　known　to　be　possessed　of　substantial　private　wealth；　which　he　supplemented　in　mysterious　ways　in　the　City。　He　had　four　children；　and　a　desire　to　settle　permanently。　Pagford’s　approval　was　raised　to　still　giddier　heights　by　the　swiftly　circulated　intelligence　that　Fawley　was　descended；　through　a　collateral　line；　from　the　Sweetloves。　He　was　clearly　half　a　local　already；　a　man　whose　natural　allegiance　would　be　to　Pagford　and　not　to　Yarvil。　Old　Pagford　believed　that　the　advent　of　Aubrey　Fawley　meant　the　return　of　a　charmed　era。　He　would　be　a　fairy　godfather　to　the　town；　like　his　ancestors　before　him；　showering　grace　and　glamour　over　their　cobbled　streets。

Howard　Mollison　could　still　remember　his　mother　bursting　into　their　tiny　kitchen　in　Hope　Street　with　the　news　that　Aubrey　had　been　invited　to　judge　the　local　flower　show。　Her　runner　beans　had　taken　the　vegetable　prize　three　years　in　a　row；　and　she　yearned　to　accept　the　silver…plated　rose　bowl　from　a　man　who　was　already；　to　her；　a　figure　of　old…world　romance。

III
But　then；　so　local　legend　told；　came　the　sudden　darkness　that　attends　the　appearance　of　the　wicked　fairy。

Even　as　Pagford　was　rejoicing　that　Sweetlove　House　had　fallen　into　such　safe　hands；　Yarvil　was　busily　constructing　a　swath　of　council　houses　to　its　south。　The　new　streets；　Pagford　learned　with　unease；　were　consuming　some　of　the　land　that　lay　between　the　city　and　the　town。

Everybody　knew　that　there　had　been　an　increasing　demand　for　cheap　housing　since　the　war；　but　the　little　town；　momentarily　distracted　by　Aubrey　Fawley’s　arrival；　began　to　buzz　with　mistrust　of　Yarvil’s　intentions。　The　natural　barriers　of　river　and　hill　that　had　once　been　guarantors　of　Pagford’s　sovereignty　seemed　diminished　by　the　speed　with　which　the　red…brick　houses　multiplied。　Yarvil　filled　every　inch　of　the　land　at　its　disposal；　and　stopped　at　the　northern　border　of　Pagford　Parish。

The　town　sighed　with　a　relief　that　was　soon　revealed　to　be　premature。　The　Cantermill　Estate　was　immediately　judged　insufficient　to　meet　the　population’s　needs；　and　the　city　cast　about　for　more　land　to　colonize。

It　was　then　that　Aubrey　Fawley　（still　more　myth　than　man　to　the　people　of　Pagford）　made　the　decision　that　triggered　a　festering　sixty…year　grudge。

Having　no　use　for　the　few　scrubby　fields　that　lay　beyond　the　new　development；　he　sold　the　land　to　Yarvil　Council　for　a　good　price；　and　used　the　cash　to　restore　the　warped　panelling　in　the　hall　of　Sweetlove　House。

Pagford’s　fury　was　unconfined。　The　Sweetlove　fields　had　been　an　important　part　of　its　buttress　against　the　encroaching　city；　now　the　ancient　border　of　the　parish　was　to　be　promised　by　an　overspill　of　needy　Yarvilians。　Rowdy　town　hall　meetings；　seething　letters　to　the　newspaper　and　Yarvil　Council；　personal　remonstrance　with　those　in　charge　–　nothing　succeeded　in　reversing　the　tide。

The　council　houses　began　to　advance　again；　but　with　one　difference。　In　the　brief　hiatus　following　pletion　of　the　first　estate；　the　council　had　realized　that　it　could　build　more　cheaply。　The　fresh　eruption　was　not　of　red　brick　but　of　concrete　in　steel　frames。　This　second　estate　was　known　locally　as　the　Fields；　after　the　land　on　which　it　had　been　built；　and　was　marked　as　distinct　from　the　Cantermill　Estate　by　its　inferior　materials　and　design。

It　was　in　one　of　the　Fields’　concrete　and　steel　houses；　already　cracking　and　warping　by　the　late　1960s；　that　Barry　Fairbrother　was　born。

IV
In　spite　of　Yarvil　Council’s　bland　assurances　that　maintenance　of　the　new　estate　would　be　its　own　responsibility；　Pagford　–　as　the　furious　townsfolk　had　predicted　from　the　first　–　was　soon　landed　with　new　bills。　While　the　provision　of　most　services　to　the　Fields；　and　the　upkeep　of　its　houses；　fell　to　Yarvil　Council；　there　remained　matters　that　the　city；　in　its　lofty　way；　delegated　to　the　parish：　the　maintenance　of　public　footpaths；　of　lighting　and　public　seating；　of　bus　shelters　and　mon　land。

Graffiti　blossomed　on　the　bridges　spanning　the　Pagford　to　Yarvil　road；　Fields　bus　shelters　were　vandalized；　Fields　teenagers　strewed　the　play　park　with　beer　bottles　and　threw　rocks　at　the　street　lamps。　A　local　footpath；　much　favoured　by　tourists　and　ramblers；　became　a　popular　spot　for　Fields　youths　to　congregate；　‘and　worse’；　as　Howard　Mollison’s　mother　put　it　darkly。　It　fell　to　Pagford　Parish　Council　to　clean；　to　repair　and　to　replace；　and　the　funds　dispersed　by　Yarvil　were　felt　from　the　first　to　be　inadequate　for　the　time　and　expense　required。

No　part　of　Pagford’s　unwanted　burden　caused　more　fury　or　bitterness　than　the　fact　that　Fields　children　now　fell　inside　the　catchment　area　of　St　Thomas’s　Church　of　England　Primary　School。　Young　Fielders　had　the　right　to　don　the　coveted　blue　and　white　uniform；　to　play　in　the　yard　beside　the　foundation　stone　laid　by　Lady　Charlotte　Sweetlove　and　to　deafen　the　tiny　classrooms　with　their　strident　Yarvil　accents。

It　swiftly　became　mon　lore　in　Pagford　that　houses　in　the　Fields　had　bee　the　prize　and　goal　of　every　benefit…supported　Yarvil　family　with　school…age　children；　that　there　was　a　great　ongoing　scramble　across　the　boundary　line　from　the　Cantermill　Estate；　much　as　Mexicans　streamed　into　Texas。　Their　beautiful　St　Thomas’s　–　a　mag　for　professional　muters　to　Yarvil；　who　were　attr