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oping dry sobs； like a child with croup。 Tessa hurried forward and put her arms around Colin’s chest； a little above his waist； for； short and stout as she was； that was the highest bit she could reach。 He stooped； clinging to her； she could feel his trembling； and the heaving of his rib cage under his coat。
After a few minutes； she gently disengaged herself； led him into the kitchen and made him a pot of tea。
‘I’m going to take a casserole up to Mary’s；’ said Tessa； after she had sat for a while； stroking his hand。 ‘She’s got half the family there。 We’ll get an early night； once I’m back。’
He nodded and sniffed； and she kissed him on the side of his head before heading out to the freezer。 When she came back； carrying the heavy； icy dish； he was sitting at the table； cradling his mug in his big hands； his eyes closed。
Tessa set down the casserole； wrapped in a polythene bag； on the tiles beside the front door。 She pulled on the lumpy green cardigan she often wore instead of a jacket； but did not put on her shoes。 Instead； she tiptoed upstairs to the landing and then； taking less trouble to be quiet； up the second flight to the loft conversion。
A swift burst of rat…like activity greeted her approach to the door。 She knocked； giving Fats time to hide whatever it was he had been looking at online； or； perhaps； the cigarettes he did not know she knew about。
‘Yeah？’
She pushed open the door。 Her son was crouching stagily over his school bag。
‘Did you have to play truant today； of all days？’
Fats straightened up； long and stringy； he towered over his mother。
‘I was there。 I came in late。 Bent didn’t notice。 He’s useless。’
‘Stuart； please。 Please。’
She wanted to shout at the kids at work； sometimes； too。 She wanted to scream； You must accept the reality of other people。 You think that reality is up for negotiation； that we think it’s whatever you say it is。 You must accept that we are as real as you are； you must accept that you are not God。
‘Your father’s very upset； Stu。 Because of Barry。 Can’t you understand that？’
‘Yes；’ said Fats。
‘I mean； it’s like Arf dying would be to you。’
He did not respond； nor did his expression alter much； yet she sensed his disdain； his amusement。
。电子书
‘I know you think you and Arf are very different orders of being to the likes of your father and Barry—’
‘No；’ said Fats； but only； she knew； in the hope of ending the conversation。
‘I’m going to take some food over to Mary’s house。 I am begging you； Stuart； not to do anything else to upset your father while I’m gone。 Please； Stu。’
‘Fine；’ he said； with half a laugh； half a shrug。 She felt his attention swooping； swallow…like； back to his own concerns； even before she had closed the door。
VI
The spiteful wind blew away the low…hanging cloud of late afternoon and； at sunset； died out。 Three houses along from the Walls’； Samantha Mollison sat facing her lamp…lit reflection in the dressing…table mirror； and found the silence and the stillness depressing。
It had been a disappointing couple of days。 She had sold virtually nothing。 The sales rep from Champêtre had turned out to be a jowly man with an abrasive manner and a hold…all full of ugly bras。 Apparently he reserved his charm for the preliminaries； for in person he was all business； patronizing her； criticizing her stock； pushing for an order。 She had been imagining somebody younger； taller and sexier； she had wanted to get him and his garish underwear out of her little shop as quickly as possible。
She had bought a ‘with deepest sympathy’ card for Mary Fairbrother that lunchtime； but could not think what to write in it； because； after their nightmare journey to the hospital together； a simple signature did not seem enough。 Their relationship had never been close。 You bumped up against each other all the time in a place as small as Pagford； but she and Miles had not really known Barry and Mary。 If anything； it might have been said that they were in opposing camps； what with Howard and Barry’s endless clashes about the Fields … not that she； Samantha； gave a damn one way or another。 She held herself above the smallness of local politics。
Tired； out of sorts and bloated after a day of indiscriminate snacking； she wished that she and Miles were not going to dinner at her parents…in…law’s。 Watching herself in the mirror； she put her hands flat against the sides of her face and pulled the skin gently back towards her ears。 A younger Samantha emerged by millimetres。 Turning her face slowly from side to side； she examined this taut mask。 Better； much better。 She wondered what it would cost； how much it would hurt； whether she would dare。 She tried to imagine what her mother…in…law would say if she appeared with a firm new face。 Shirley and Howard were； as Shirley frequently reminded them； helping to pay for their granddaughters’ education。
Miles entered the bedroom； Samantha released her skin and picked up her under…eye concealer； tilting her head back； as she always did when applying make…up： it pulled the slightly sagging skin at her jaw taut and minimized the pouches under her eyes。 There were short； needle…deep lines at the edges of her lips。 These could be filled； she had read； with a synthetic； injectable pound。 She wondered how much difference that would make； it would surely be cheaper than a facelift； and perhaps Shirley would not notice。 In the mirror over her shoulder； she saw Miles pulling off his tie and shirt； his big belly spilling over his work trousers。
‘Weren’t you meeting someone today？ Some rep？’ he asked。 Idly he scratched his hairy navel； staring into the wardrobe。
‘Yes； but it wasn’t any good；’ said Samantha。 ‘Crappy stuff。’
Miles enjoyed what she did； he had grown up in a home where retail was the only business that mattered； and he had never lost the respect for merce that Howard had instilled in him。 Then there were all the opportunities for jokes； and for other less subtly disguised forms of self…congratulation that her line of trade afforded。 Miles never seemed to tire of making the same old quips or the same sly allusions。
‘Bad fit？’ he enquired knowledgeably。
‘Bad design。 Horrible colours。’
Ｚei8。
Samantha brushed and tied back her thick dry brown hair； watching Miles in the mirror as he changed into chinos and a polo shirt。 She was on edge； feeling that she might snap or cry at the smallest provocation。
Evertree Crescent was only a few minutes away； but Church Row was steep； so they drove。 Darkness was falling properly； and at the top of the road they passed a shadowy man with Barry Fairbrother’s silhouette and gait； it gave Samantha a shock and she glanced back at him； wondering who he could be。 Miles’ car turned left at the top of the road； then； barely a minute later； right； into the half…moon of 1930s bungalows。
Howard and Shirley’s house； a low； wide…windowed building of red brick； boasted generous sweeps of green lawn at the front and back； which were mown into stripes during the summer by Miles。 During the long years of their occupancy； Howard and Shirley had added carriage lamps； a white wrought…iron gate and terracotta pots full of geraniums on either side of the front door。 They had also put up a sign beside the doorbell； a round； polished piece of wood on which was written； in old Gothic black lettering plete with quotation marks； ‘Ambleside’。
Samantha was sometimes cruelly witty at the expense of her parents…in…law’s house。 Miles tolerated her jibes； accepting the implication that he and Samantha； with their stripped…back floors and doors； their rugs on bare boards； their framed art prints and their stylish； unfortable sofa； had the better taste； but in his secret soul he preferred the bungalow in which he had grown up。 Nearly every surface was covered with something plushy and soft； there were no draughts and the reclining chairs were deliciously fortable。 After he mowed the lawn in the summer； Shirley would bring him a cool beer while he lay back in one of them； watching the cricket on the widescreen TV。 Sometimes one of his daughters would e with him and sit beside him； eating ice cream with chocolate sau