首发偶发空缺 (临时空缺)- 第63部分

It　was　another　forty　minutes　before　the　meeting　broke　up。　Kay　walked　Parminder　back　down　to　the　car　park。

‘It　was　very　good　of　you　to　e　in　person；　most　GPs　send　through　a　report。’

‘It　was　my　morning　off；’　said　Parminder。　She　meant　it　as　an　explanation　for　her　attendance；　because　she　hated　sitting　at　home　alone　with　nothing　to　do；　but　Kay　seemed　to　think　that　she　was　asking　for　more　praise　and　gave　it。

At　Parminder’s　car；　Kay　said；　‘You’re　the　parish　councillor；　aren’t　you？　Did　Colin　pass　you　the　figures　on　Bellchapel　I　gave　him？’

‘Yes；　he　did；’　said　Parminder。　‘It　would　be　good　to　have　a　talk　about　that　some　time。　It’s　on　the　agenda　for　the　next　meeting。’

But　when　Kay　had　given　her　her　number；　and　left；　with　renewed　thanks；　Parminder’s　thoughts　reverted　to　Barry；　the　Ghost　and　the　Mollisons。　She　was　driving　through　the　Fields　when　the　simple　thought　that　she　had　tried　to　bury；　to　drown　out；　slipped　past　her　lowered　defences　at　last。

Perhaps　I　did　love　him。

III
Andrew　had　spent　hours　deciding　which　clothes　he　ought　to　wear　for　his　first　day’s　work　at　the　Copper　Kettle。　His　final　choice　was　draped　over　the　back　of　the　chair　in　his　bedroom。　A　particularly　angry　acne　pustule　had　chosen　to　bring　itself　to　a　shiny　tight　peak　on　his　left　cheek；　and　Andrew　had　gone　so　far　as　to　experiment　with　Ruth’s　foundation；　which　he　had　sneaked　out　of　her　dressing…table　drawer。

He　was　laying　the　kitchen　table　on　Friday　evening；　his　mind　full　of　Gaia　and　the　seven　solid　hours　of　close　proximity　to　her　that　were　within　touching　distance；　when　his　father　returned　from　work　in　a　state　that　Andrew　had　never　seen　before。　Simon　seemed　subdued；　almost　disorientated。

‘Where’s　your　mother？’

Ruth　came　bustling　out　of　the　walk…in　pantry。

‘Hello　Si…Pie！　How　–　what’s　wrong？’

‘They’ve　made　me　redundant。’

Ruth　clapped　her　hands　to　her　face　in　horror；　then　dashed　to　her　husband；　threw　her　arms　around　his　neck　and　drew　him　close。

‘Why？’　she　whispered。

‘That　message；’　said　Simon。　‘On　that　fucking　website。　They　pulled　in　Jim　and　Tommy　too。　It　was　take　redundancy　or　we’ll　sack　you。　And　it’s　a　shitty　deal。　It’s　not　even　what　they　gave　Brian　Grant。’

Andrew　stood　perfectly　still；　calcifying　slowly　into　a　monument　of　guilt。

‘Fuck；’　said　Simon；　into　Ruth’s　shoulder。

‘You’ll　get　something　else；’　she　whispered。

‘Not　round　here；’　said　Simon。

He　sat　down　on　a　kitchen　chair；　still　in　his　coat；　and　stared　across　the　room；　apparently　too　stunned　to　speak。　Ruth　hovered　around　him；　dismayed；　affectionate　and　tearful。　Andrew　was　glad　to　detect　in　Simon’s　catatonic　gaze　a　whiff　of　his　usual　ham　theatrics。　It　made　him　feel　slightly　less　guilty。　He　continued　to　lay　the　table　without　saying　a　word。

Dinner　was　a　subdued　affair。　Paul；　apprised　of　the　family　news；　looked　terrified；　as　though　his　father　might　accuse　him　of　causing　it　all。　Simon　acted　like　a　Christian　martyr　through　the　first　course；　wounded　but　dignified　in　the　face　of　unwarranted　persecution；　but　then　–　‘I’ll　pay　someone　to　punch　the　fucker’s　fat　face　through　the　back　of　his　neck；’　he　burst　out　as　he　spooned　apple　crumble　into　himself；　and　the　family　knew　that　he　meant　Howard　Mollison。

‘You　know；　there’s　been　another　message　on　that　council　website；’　said　Ruth　breathlessly。　‘It’s　not　only　you　who’s　had　it；　Si。　Shir　–　somebody　told　me　at　work。　The　same　person　–　The　Ghost　of　Barry　Fairbrother　–　has　put　up　something　horrible　about　Dr　Jawanda。　So　Howard　and　Shirley　got　someone　in　to　look　at　the　site；　and　he　realized　that　whoever’s　doing　these　messages　has　been　using　Barry　Fairbrother’s　log…in　details；　so　to　be　safe；　they’ve　taken　them　off　the　–　the　database　or　something—’

‘And　will　any　of　this　get　me　my　fucking　job　back？’

Ruth　did　not　speak　again　for　several　minutes。

Andrew　was　unnerved　by　what　his　mother　had　said。　It　was　worrying　that　The_Ghost_of_Barry_Fairbrother　was　being　investigated；　and　unnerving　that　somebody　else　had　followed　his　lead。

Who　else　would　have　thought　of　using　Barry　Fairbrother’s　log…in　details　but　Fats？　Yet　why　would　Fats　go　for　Dr　Jawanda？　Or　was　it　just　another　way　of　getting　at　Sukhvinder？　Andrew　did　not　like　it　at　all　…

‘What’s　the　matter　with　you？’　Simon　barked　across　the　table。

‘Nothing；’　Andrew　muttered；　and　then；　backtracking；　‘it’s　a　shock；　isn’t　it　…　your　job　…’

‘Oh；　you’re　shocked；　are　you？’　shouted　Simon；　and　Paul　dropped　his　spoon　and　dribbled　ice　cream　down　himself。　‘（Clean　it　up；　Pauline；　you　little　pansy！）　Well；　this　is　the　real　world；　Pizza　Face！’　he　shouted　at　Andrew。　‘Fuckers　everywhere　trying　to　do　you　down！　So　you；’　he　pointed　across　the　table　at　his　eldest　son；　‘you　get　some　dirt　on　Mollison；　or　don’t　bother　ing　home　tomorrow！’

‘Si—’

Simon　pushed　his　chair　away　from　the　table；　threw　down　his　own　spoon；　which　bounced　onto　the　floor　with　a　clatter；　and　stalked　from　the　room；　slamming　the　door　behind　him。　Andrew　waited　for　the　inevitable；　and　was　not　disappointed。

‘It’s　a　terrible　shock　for　him；’　a　shaken　Ruth　whispered　at　her　sons。　‘After　all　the　years　he’s　given　that　pany　…　he’s　worried　how　he’s　going　to　look　after　us　all　…’

When　the　alarm　rang　at　six　thirty　the　next　morning；　Andrew　slammed　it　off　within　seconds　and　virtually　leapt　out　of　bed。　Feeling　as　though　it　was　Christmas　Day；　he　washed　and　dressed　at　speed；　then　spent　forty　minutes　on　his　hair　and　face；　dabbing　minuscule　amounts　of　foundation　onto　the　most　obvious　of　his　spots。

He　half　expected　Simon　to　waylay　him　as　he　crept　past　his　parents’　room；　but　he　met　nobody；　and　after　a　hasty　breakfast　he　wheeled　Simon’s　racing　bicycle　out　of　the　garage　and　sped　off　down　the　hill　towards　Pagford。

It　was　a　misty　morning　that　promised　sunshine　later。　The　blinds　were　still　down　in　the　delicatessen；　but　the　door　tinkled　and　gave　when　he　pushed　it。

‘Not　this　way！’　shouted　Howard；　waddling　towards　him。　‘You　e　in　round　the　back！　You　can　leave　the　bike　by　the　bins；　get　it　away　from　the　front！’

The　rear　of　the　delicatessen；　reached　by　a　narrow　passageway；　prised　a　tiny　dank　patch　of　stone…paved　yard；　bordered　by　high　walls；　sheds　with　industrial…sized　metal　bins　and　a　trapdoor　that　led　down　vertiginous　steps　to　a　cellar。

‘You　can　chain　it　up　somewhere　there；　out　of　the　way；’　said　Howard；　who　had　appeared　at　the　back　door；　wheezing　and　sweaty…faced。　While　Andrew　fumbled　with　the　padlock　on　the　chain；　Howard　dabbed　at　his　forehead　with　his　apron。

‘Right；　we’ll　start　with　the　cellar；’　he　said；　when　Andrew　had　secured　the　bicycle。　He　pointed　at　the　trapdoor。　‘Get　down　there　and　see　the　layout。’

He　bent　over　the　hatch　as　Andrew　climbed　down　the　steps。　Howard　had　not　been　able　to　climb　down　into　his　own　cellar　for　years。　Maureen　usually　tottered　up　and　down　the　steps　a　couple　of　times　a　week；　but　now　that　it　was　fully　stocked　with　goods　for　the　café；　younger　legs　were　indispensible。

‘Have　a　good　look　around；’　he　shouted　at　the　out…of…sight　Andrew。　‘See　where　we’ve　got　the　gateaux　and　all　the　baked　goods？　See　the　big　bags　of　coffee　beans　and　the　boxes　of　teabags？　And　in　the　corner　–　the　toilet　rolls　and　the　bin　bags？’

‘Yeah；’　Andrew’s　voice　echoed　up　from　the　depths。

‘You　can　call　me　Mr　Mollison；’　said　Howard；　with　a　slightly　tart　edge　to　his　wheezy　voice。

Down　in　the　cellar；　Andrew　wondered　whether　he　ought　to　start　straight　away。

‘OK　…　Mr　Mollison。’

It　sounded　sarcastic。　He　hastened　to　make　amends　with　a　polite　question。

‘What’s　in　these　big　cupboards？’

‘Have　a　look；’　said　Howard　impatiently。　‘That’s　what　you’re　down　there　for。　To　know　where　you　put　everything　and　where　you　get　it　from。’

Howard　listened　to　the　muffled　sounds　of　Andrew　opening　the　heavy　doors；　and　hoped　that　the　boy　would　not　prove　gormless　or　need　a　lot　of　direction。　Howard’s　asthma　was　particularly　bad　today；　the　pollen　count　was　unseasonably　high；　on　top　of　all　the　extra　work；　and　the　excitement　and　petty　frustrations　of　the　opening。　The　way　he　was　sweating；　he　might　need　to　ring　Shirley　to　bring　him　a　new　shirt　before　they　unlocked　the　doors。

‘Here’s　the　van！’　Howard　shouted；　hearing　a　rumble　at　the　other　end　of　the　passageway。　‘Get　up　here！　You’re　to　carry　the　stuff　down　to　the　cellar　and　put　it　away；　all　right？　And　bring　a　couple　of　gallons　of　milk　through　to　me　in　the　café。　You　got　that？’

‘Yeah　…　Mr　Mollison；’　said　Andrew’s　voice　from　below。

Howard　walked　slowly　back　inside　to　fetch　the　inhaler　that　he　kept　in　his　jacket；　which　was　hanging　up　in　the　staff　room　behind　the　delicatessen　counter。　Several　deep　breaths　later；　he　felt　much　better。　Wiping　his　face　on　his　apron　again；　he　sat　down　on　one　of　the　creaking　chairs　to　rest。

Several　times　since　he　had　been　to　see　her　about　his　skin　rash；　Howard　had　thought　about　what　Dr　Jawanda　had　said　about　his　weight：　that　it　was　the　source　of　all　his　health　problems。

Nonsense；　obviously。　Look　at　the　Hubbards’　boy：　built　like　a　beanpole；　and　shocking　asthma。　Howard　had　always　been　big；　as　far　back　as　he　could　remember。　In　the　very　few　photographs　taken　of　him　with　his　father；　who　had　left　the　family　when　Howard　was　four　or　five；　he　was　merely　chubby。　After　his　father　had　left；　his　mother　had　sat　him　at　the　head　of　the　table；　between　herself　and　his　grandmother；　and　been　hurt　if　he　did　not　take　seconds。　Steadily　he　had　grown　to　fill　the　space　between　the　two　women；　as　heavy　at　twelve　as　the　father　who　had　left　them。　Howard　had　e　to　associate　a　hearty　appetite　with　manliness。　His　bulk　was　one　of　his　defining　characteristics。　It　had　been　built　with　pleasure；　by　the　women　who　loved　him；　and　he　thought　it　was　absolutely　characteristic　of　Bends…Your…Ear；　that　emasculating　killjoy；　that　she　wanted　to　strip　him　of　it。

But　sometimes；　in　moments　of　weakness；　when　it　became　difficult　to　breathe　or　to　move；　Howard　knew　fear。　It　was　all　very　well　for　Shirley　to　act　as　though　he　had　never　been　in　danger；　but　he　remembered　long　nights　in　the　hospital　after　his　bypass；　when　he　had　not　been　able　to　sleep　for　worry　that　his　heart　might　falter　and　stop。　Whenever　he　caught　sight　of　Vikram　Jawanda；　he　remembered　that　those　long　dark　fingers　had　actually　touch