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e a fairy…tale character； as beautiful and mysterious as the dead man in Terri’s bathroom。
Nana Cath’s lips moved。
‘Wha’？’ said Krystal； bending low； half scared； half elated。
‘D’yeh wan’ somethin’； Nana Cath？’ asked Cheryl； so loudly that whispering guests at other beds stared over。
Krystal could hear a wheezing； rattling noise； but Nana Cath seemed to be making a definite attempt to form a word。 Cheryl was leaning over the other side； one hand gripping the metal bars at the head of the bed。
‘… Oh … mm；’ said Nana Cath。
‘Wha’？’ said Krystal and Cheryl together。
The eyes had moved millimetres： rheumy； filmy eyes； looking at Krystal’s smooth young face； her open mouth； as she leaned over her great…grandmother； puzzled； eager and fearful。
‘… owin …’ said the cracked old voice。
‘She dunno wha’ she’s sayin’；’ Cheryl shouted over her shoulder at the timid couple visiting at the next bed。 ‘Three days lef’ on the fuckin’ floor； ’s’not surprisin’； is it？’
But tears had blurred Krystal’s eyes。 The ward with its high windows dissolved into white light and shadow； she seemed to see a flash of bright sunlight on dark green water； fragmented into brilliant shards by the splashing rise and fall of oars。
‘Yeah；’ she whispered to Nana Cath。 ‘Yeah； I goes rowin’； Nana。’
But it was no longer true； because Mr Fairbrother was dead。
VI
‘The fuck have you done to your face？ e off the bike again？’ asked Fats。
‘No；’ said Andrew。 ‘Si…Pie hit me。 I was trying to tell the stupid cunt he’d got it wrong about Fairbrother。’
He and his father had been in the woodshed； filling the baskets that sat on either side of the wood…burner in the sitting room。 Simon had hit Andrew around the head with a log； knocking him into the pile of wood； grazing his acne…covered cheek。
D’you think you know more about what goes on than I do； you spotty little shit？ If I hear you’ve breathed a word of what goes on in this house—
I haven’t—
I’ll fucking skin you alive； d’you hear me？ How do you know Fairbrother wasn’t on the fiddle too； eh？ And the other fucker was the only one dumb enough to get caught？
And then； whether out of pride or defiance； or because his fantasies of easy money had taken too strong a hold on his imagination to bee dislodged by facts； Simon had sent in his application forms。 Humiliation； for which the whole family would surely pay； was a certainty。
Sabotage。 Andrew brooded on the word。 He wanted to bring his father crashing down from the heights to which his dreams of easy money had raised him； and he wanted to do it； if at all possible （for he preferred glory without death）； in such a way that Simon would never know whose manoeuvrings had brought his ambitions to rubble。
He confided in nobody； not even Fats。 He told Fats nearly everything； but the few omissions were the vast topics； the ones that occupied nearly all his interior space。 It was one thing to sit in Fats’ room with hard…ons and look up ‘girl…on…girl action’ on the inter： quite another to confess how obsessively he pondered ways of engaging Gaia Bawden in conversation。 Likewise； it was easy to sit in the Cubby Hole and call his father a cunt； but never would he have told how Simon’s rages turned his hands cold and his stomach queasy。
But then came the hour that changed everything。 It started with nothing more than a yearning for nicotine and beauty。 The rain had passed off at last； and the pale spring sun shone brightly on the fish…scale dirt on the school…bus windows as it jerked and lurched through the narrow streets of Pagford。 Andrew was sitting near the back； unable to see Gaia； who was hemmed in at the front by Sukhvinder and the fatherless Fairbrother girls； newly returned to school。 He had barely seen Gaia all day and faced a barren evening with only stale Facebook pictures to console him。
As the bus approached Hope Street； it struck Andrew that neither of his parents was at home to notice his absence。 Three cigarettes that Fats had given him resided in his inside pocket； and Gaia was getting up； holding tightly to the bar on the back of the seat； readying herself to descend； still talking to Sukhvinder Jawanda。
Why not？ Why not？
So he got up too； swung his bag over his shoulder； and when the bus stopped walked briskly up the aisle after the two girls as they got out。
‘See you at home；’ he threw out to a startled Paul as he passed。
He reached the sunny pavement and the bus rumbled away。 Lighting up； he watched Gaia and Sukhvinder over the top of his cupped hands。 They were not heading towards Gaia’s house in Hope Street； but ambling up towards the Square。 Smoking and scowling slightly in unconscious imitation of the most unself…conscious person he knew – Fats – Andrew followed them； his eyes feasting on Gaia’s copper…brown hair as it bounced on her shoulder blades； the swing of her skirt as her hips swayed beneath it。
The two girls slowed down as they approached the Square； advancing towards Mollison and Lowe； which had the most impressive fa？ade of them all： blue and gold lettering across the front and four hanging baskets。 Andrew hung back。 The girls paused to examine a small white sign pasted to the window of the new café； then disappeared into the delicatessen。
Andrew walked once around the Square； past the Black Canon and the George Hotel； and stopped at the sign。 It was a hand…lettered advertisement for weekend staff。
Hyperconscious of his acne； which was particularly virulent at the moment； he knocked out the end of his cigarette； put the long stub back into his pocket and followed Gaia and Sukhvinder inside。
The girls were standing beside a little table piled high with boxed oatcakes and crackers； watching the enormous man in the deerstalker behind the counter talking to an elderly customer。 Gaia looked around when the bell over the door tinkled。
‘Hi；’ Andrew said； his mouth dry。
‘Hi；’ she replied。
Blinded by his own daring； Andrew walked nearer； and the school bag over his shoulder bumped into the revolving stand of guides to Pagford and Traditional West Country Cooking。 He seized the stand and steadied it；