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y Paki bitch。
It had e out of nowhere。 They had all been messing around with Mr Fairbrother。 Krystal thought she was being funny。 She used ‘fucking’ interchangeably with ‘very’； and seemed to see no difference between them。 Now she said ‘Paki’ as she would have said ‘dozy’ or ‘dim’。 Sukhvinder was conscious of her face falling； and experienced the familiar sliding； scalding sensation in her stomach。
‘What did you say？’
Mr Fairbrother had wheeled around to face Krystal。 None of them had ever heard him properly angry before。
‘I di’n mean nuthin’；’ said Krystal； half taken aback； half defiant。 ‘I was on’y jokin’。 She knows I was jus’ jokin’。 Don’ yeh？’ she demanded of Sukhvinder； who muttered cravenly that she knew it was a joke。
‘I never want to hear you use that word again。’
They all knew how much he liked Krystal。 They all knew he had paid for her to go on a couple of their trips out of his own pocket。 Nobody laughed louder than Mr Fairbrother at Krystal’s jokes； she could be very funny。
They walked on； and everybody was embarrassed。 Sukhvinder was afraid to look at Krystal； she felt guilty； as she always did。
They were approaching the people…carrier when Krystal said； so quietly that even Mr Fairbrother did not hear it： ‘I wuz jokin’。’
And Sukhvinder said quickly； ‘I know。’
‘Yeah； well。 S’ry。’
It came out as a mangled monosyllable； and Sukhvinder thought it tactful not to acknowledge it。 Nevertheless； it cleaned her out。 It restored her dignity。 On the way back to Pagford； she initiated； for the first time ever； the singing of the team’s lucky song； asking Krystal to start with Jay…Z’s rap。）
Slowly； very slowly； her family seemed to be putting themselves to bed at last。 Jaswant spent a long time in the bathroom； clinking and crashing around。 Sukhvinder waited until Jaz had finished primping herself； until her parents had stopped talking in their room； for the house to fall silent。
Then； at last； it was safe。 She sat up and pulled the razor blade out from a hole in the ear of her old cuddly rabbit。 She had stolen the blade from Vikram’s store in the bathroom cabi。 She got off the bed and groped for the torch on her shelf； and a handful of tissues； then moved into the furthest part of her room； into the little round turret in the corner。 Here； she knew； the torch’s light would be confined； and would not show around the edges of the door。 She sat down with her back against the wall； pushed up the sleeve of her nightshirt and examined by torchlight the marks left by her last session； still visible； criss…crossed and dark on her arm； but healing。 With a slight shiver of fear that was a blessed relief in its narrow； immediate focus； she placed the blade halfway up her forearm and sliced into her own flesh。
Sharp； hot pain and the blood came at once； when she had cut herself right up to her elbow she pressed the wad of tissues onto the long wound； making sure nothing leaked onto her nightshirt or the carpet。 After a minute or two； she cut again； horizontally； across the first incision； making a ladder； pausing to press and to mop as she went。 The blade drew the pain away from her screaming thoughts and transmuted it into animal burning of nerves and skin： relief and release in every cut。
At last she wiped the blade clean and surveyed the mess she had made； the wounds intersecting； bleeding； hurting so much that tears were rolling down her face。 She might sleep if the pain did not keep her awake； but she must wait for ten or twenty minutes； until the fresh cuts had clotted over。 She sat with her knees drawn up； closed her wet eyes； and leaned against the wall beneath the window。
Some of her self…hatred had oozed out with the blood。 Her mind drifted away to Gaia Bawden； the new girl； who had taken such an unaccountable fancy to her。 Gaia could have hung out with anyone； with her looks and that London accent； yet she kept seeking out Sukhvinder at lunchtimes and on the bus。 Sukhvinder did not understand it。 She almost wanted to ask Gaia what she thought she was playing at； day by day she expected the new girl to realize that she； Sukhvinder； was hairy and ape…like； slow and stupid； someone to be despised and grunted at and insulted。 No doubt she would recognize her mistake soon； and Sukhvinder would be left； as usual； to the bored pity of her oldest friends； the Fairbrother twins。
Saturday
I
Every parking space in Church Row was taken by nine o’clock in the morning。 Darkly clothed mourners moved； singly； in pairs and in groups； up and down the street； converging； like a stream of iron filings drawn to a mag； on St Michael and All Saints。 The path leading to the church doors became crowded； then overflowed； those who were displaced fanned out among the graves； seeking safe spots to stand between the headstones； fearful of trampling on the dead； yet unwilling to move too far from the church entrance。 It was clear to everyone that there would not be enough pews for all the people who had e to say goodbye to Barry Fairbrother。
His co…workers from the bank； who were grouped around the most extravagant of the Sweetlove tombs； wished that the august representative from head office would move on and take his inane small…talk and his clumsy jokes with him。 Lauren； Holly and Jennifer from the rowing team had separated from their parents to huddle together in the shade of a mossy…fingered yew。 Parish councillors； a motley bunch； talked solemnly in the middle of the path： a clutch of balding heads and thick…lensed glasses； a smattering of black straw hats and cultured pearls。 Men from the squash and golf clubs hailed each other in subdued fashion； old friends from university recognized each other from afar and edged together； and in between milled what seemed to be most of Pagford； in their smartest and most sombre…hued clothes。 The air droned with quiet conversations； faces flickered； watching and waiting。
Tessa Wall’s best coat； which was of grey wool； was cut so tightly around the armholes that she could not raise her arms above chest height。 Standing beside her son on one side of the church path； she was exchanging sad little smiles and waves with acquaintances； while continuing to argue with Fats through lips she was trying not to move too obviously。
‘For God’s sake； Stu。 He was your father’s best friend。 Just this once； show some consideration。’
‘No one told me it was going to go on this bloody long。 You told me it’d be over by half…past eleven。’
‘Don’t swear。 I said we’d leave St Michael’s at about half…past eleven—’
‘—so I thought it’d be over； didn’t I？ So I arranged to meet Arf。’
‘But you’ve got to e to the burial； your father’s a pall…bearer！ Ring Arf and tell him it’ll have to be tomorrow instead。’
‘He can’t do tomorrow。 Anyway； I haven’t got my mobile on me。 Cubby told me not to bring it to church。’
‘Don’t call your father Cubby！ You can ring Arf on mine；’ said Tessa； burrowing in her pocket。
。
‘I don’t know his number by heart；’ lied Fats coldly。
She and Colin had eaten dinner without Fats the previous evening； because he had cycled up to Andrew’s place； where they were working on their English project together。 That； at any rate； was the story Fats had given his mother； and Tessa had pretended to believe it。 It suited her too well to have Fats out of the way； incapable of upsetting Colin。
At least he was wearing the new suit that Tessa had bought for him in Yarvil。 She had lost her temper at him in the third shop； because he had looked like a scarecrow in everything he had tried on； gawky and graceless； and she had thought angrily that he was doing it on purpose； that he could have inflated the suit with a sense of fitness if he chose。
‘Shh！’ said Tessa pre…emptively。 Fats was not speaking； but Colin was approaching them； leading the Jawandas； he seemed； in his overwrought state； to be confusing the role of pall…bearer with that of usher； hovering by the gates； weling people。 Parminder looked grim and gaunt in her sari； with her children trailing behind her； Vikram； in his dark suit； looked like a film star。
A few yards from the church doors； Samantha Mollison was waiting