cided； almost until the minute of departure； as to whether she should allow all of the children to see their father’s remains。 Declan was a sensitive boy； prone to nightmares。 It was while she was still in a fever pitch of indecision on Friday afternoon that there was an upset。
Colin ‘Cubby’ Wall had decided that he wanted to go and say goodbye to Barry’s body too。 Mary； usually pliant and agreeable； had found this excessive。 Her voice had grown shrill on the telephone to Tessa； then she had begun to cry again； and said that it was just that she had not planned a large procession past Barry； that this was really a family affair … Dreadfully apologetic； Tessa said that she quite understood； and was then left to explain to Colin； who retreated into a mortified； wounded silence。
He had simply wanted to stand alone beside Barry’s body and pay silent homage to a man who had occupied a unique place in his life。 Colin had poured truths and secrets he had confided to no other friend into Barry’s ears； and Barry’s small brown eyes； robin bright； had never ceased to regard him with warmth and kindness。 Barry had been Colin’s closest ever friend； giving him an experience of male radeship he had never known before moving to Pagford； and was sure he would never have again。 That he； Colin； who felt himself to be perpetually the outsider and the oddball； for whom life was a matter of daily struggle； had managed to forge a friendship with the cheerful； popular and eternally optimistic Barry； had always seemed a small miracle。 Colin clutched what was left of his dignity to him； resolved never to hold this against Mary； and spent the rest of the day meditating on how surprised and hurt Barry would have been； surely； at his widow’s attitude。
Three miles outside Pagford； in an attractive cottage called the Smithy； Gavin Hughes was trying to fight off an intensifying gloom。 Mary had called earlier。 In a voice that trembled with the weight of tears； she had explained how the children had all contributed ideas for tomorrow’s funeral service。 Siobhan had grown a sunflower from seed； and was going to cut it and put it on top of the coffin。 All four kids had written letters to put inside the casket with their father。 Mary had posed one too； and was going to put it in Barry’s shirt pocket； over his heart。
Gavin put down the receiver； sickened。 He did not want to know about the children’s letters； nor about the long…nurtured sunflower； yet his mind kept returning to these things as he ate lasagne alone at his kitchen table。 Though he would have done anything to avoid reading it； he kept trying to imagine what Mary had written in her letter。
A black suit was hanging in dry…cleaner’s polythene in his bedroom； like an unwele guest。 His appreciation of the honour Mary had done him； in publicly acknowledging him as one of those closest to the popular Barry； had long since been overwhelmed by dread。 By the time he was washing up his plate and cutlery at the sink； Gavin would have gladly missed the funeral altogether。 As for the idea of viewing his dead friend’s body； it had not； and would never have occurred to him。
He and Kay had had a nasty row the previous evening； and had not spoken since。 It had all been triggered by Kay asking Gavin if he would like her to go with him to the funeral。
‘Christ； no；’ Gavin had said； before he could stop himself。
He had seen her expression； and knew instantly that she had heard。 Christ； no； people will think we’re a couple。 Christ； no； why would I want you？ And although these were precisely his feelings； he had attempted to bluff his way through。
‘I mean； you didn’t know him； did you？ It’d be a bit weird； wouldn’t it？’
But Kay had let rip； tried to corner him； to make him tell her what he really felt； what he wanted； what future he envisioned for the two of them。 He had fought back with every weapon in his arsenal； being alternately obtuse； evasive and pedantic； for it was wonderful how you could obscure an emotional issue by appearing to seek precision。 At last she had told him to get out of her house； he had obeyed； but he knew that it was not over。 That would be way too much to hope for。 Gavin’s reflection in the kitchen window was drawn and miserable； Barry’s stolen future seemed to hang over his own life like a looming cliff； he felt inadequate and guilty； but he still wished that Kay would move back to London。
Night drew in over Pagford； and in the Old Vicarage Parminder Jawanda perused her wardrobe； wondering what to wear to say goodbye to Barry。 She had several dark dresses and suits； any one of which would be appropriate； and yet still she looked backwards and forwards along the rail of clothes； mired in indecision。
Wear a sari。 It’ll upset Shirley Mollison。 Go on； wear a sari。
It was so stupid to think that – mad and wrong – and even worse to think it in Barry’s voice。 Barry was dead； she had endured nearly five days of deep grief for him； and tomorrow they would bury him in the earth。 The prospect was unpleasant to Parminder。 She had always hated the idea of interment； of a body lying whole under the ground； slowly rotting away； riddled with maggots and flies。 The Sikh way was to cremate and to scatter the ashes in running water。
She let her eyes wander up and down the hanging garments； but her saris； worn to family weddings and get…togethers back in Birmingham； seemed to call to her。 What was this strange urge to don one？ It felt uncharacteristically exhibitionist。 She reached out to touch the folds of her favourite； dark blue and gold。 She had last worn it to the Fairbrothers’ New Year’s party； when Barry had attempted to teach her to jive。 It had been a most unsuccessful experiment； mainly because he did not know what he was doing himself； but she could remember laughing as she almost never laughed； uncontrollably； madly； the way she had seen drunk women laugh。
The sari was elegant and feminine； forgiving of middle…aged spread： Parminder’s mother； who was eighty…two； wore it daily。 Parminder herself had no need of its camouflaging properties： she was as slim as she had been at twenty。 Yet she pulled out the long； dark length of soft material and held it up against her dressing gown； letting it fall to caress her bare feet； looking down its length at its subtle embroidery。 To wear it would feel like a private joke between herself and Barry； like the cow…faced house and all the funny things Barry had said about Howard； as they walked away from interminable； ill…humoured council meetings。
There was a terrible weight on Parminder’s chest； but did not the Guru Granth Sahib exhort friends and relatives of the dead not to show grief； but to celebrate their loved one’s reunion with God？ In an effort to keep traitorous tears at bay； Parminder silently intoned the night…time prayer； the kirtan sohila。
My friend； I urge you that this is the opportune time to serve the saints。
Earn divine profit in this world and live in peace and fort in the next。
Life is shortening day and night。
O mind； meet the Guru and set right your affairs …
Lying on her bed in her dark room； Sukhvinder could hear what every member of her family was doing。 There was the distant murmur of the television directly below her； punctuated by the muffled laughter of her brother and her father； who were watching a Friday…night edy show。 She could make out her elder sister’s voice across the landing； talking on her mobile to one of her many friends。 Nearest of all was her mother； clunking and scraping in the built…in wardrobe on the other side of the wall。
Sukhvinder had drawn the curtains over her window and placed a draught excluder； shaped like a long sausage dog； along the bottom of her door。 In the absence of a lock； the dog impeded the door’s progress； it gave her warning。 She was sure that nobody would e in； though。 She was where she ought to be； doing what she ought to be doing。 Or so they thought。
She had just performed one of her dreadful daily rituals： the opening of her Facebook page； and the removal of another post from a sender she did not know。 As often as she blocked the person bombarding her with these messages； they changed their profile and sent more。 She never knew when one would appear。 Today’s had been a black and white image； a copy of a nieenth…century circus poster。
La Véritable Femme à Barbe； Miss Anne Jones Elliot。
It showed the photograph of a woman in a lacy dress； with long dark hair and a luxuriant beard and moustache。
She was convinced that it was Fats Wall who was sending them； although it might have been somebody else。 Dane Tully and his friends； for instance； who made soft； grunting ape…like noises whenever she spoke in English。 They would have done it to anybody of her colour； there were hardly any brown faces at Winterdown。 It made her feel humiliated and stupid； especially as Mr Garry never told them off。 He affected not to hear them； or else to hear only background chatter。 Perhaps he； too； thought that Sukhvinder Kaur Jawanda was an ape； a hairy ape。
Sukhvinder lay on her back on top of her covers and wished with all of her being that she was dead。 If she could have achieved suicide； simply by willing it； she would have done it without hesitation。 Death had e to Mr Fairbrother； why could it not happen to her？ Better yet； why could they not swap places？ Niamh and Siobhan could have their father back； and she； Sukhvinder； could simply slip into non…being： wiped out； wiped clean。
Her self…disgust was like a tle suit； every part of her prickled and burnt with it。 She had to will herself； moment by moment； to endure； to remain stationary； not to rush to do the one and only thing that helped。 The whole family had to be in bed before she acted。 But it was agony to lie like this； listening to her own breathing； conscious of the useless weight of her own ugly and disgusting body on the bed。 She liked to think of drowning； of sinking down into cool green water； and feeling herself slowly pressed into nothingness …
The great hermaphrodite sits quiet and still …
Shame ran down her body like a burning rash as she lay in the darkness。 She had never heard the word before Fats Wall spoke it in maths on Wednesday。 She wo