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‘My sister wuz adopted；’ said Krystal； marvelling at the coincidence； delighted to talk about Anne…Marie。
‘Yeah； I probably e from a family like yours；’ said Fats。
But Krystal was not listening； she wanted to talk。
‘I gottan older sister an’ an older brother； Liam； but they wuz taken away before I wuz born。’
‘Why？’ asked Fats。
He was suddenly paying close attention。
‘Me mum was with Ritchie Adams then；’ said Krystal。 She took a deep drag on the joint and blew out the smoke in a long thin jet。 ‘He’s a proper psycho。 He’s doin’ life。 He killed a bloke。 Proper violent to Mum an’ the kids； an’ then John an’ Sue came an’ took ’em； and the social got involved an’ it ended up John an’ Sue kept ’em。’
She drew on the joint again； considering this period of her pre…life； which was doused in blood； fury and darkness。 She had heard things about Ritchie Adams； mainly from her aunt Cheryl。 He had stubbed out cigarettes on one…year…old Anne…Marie’s arms； and kicked her until her ribs cracked。 He had broken Terri’s face； her left cheekbone was still receded； pared to the right。 Terri’s addiction had spiralled catastrophically。 Aunt Cheryl was matter of fact about the decision to remove the two brutalized； neglected children from their parents。
‘It ’ad to ’appen；’ said Cheryl。
John and Sue were distant； childless relatives。 Krystal had never known where or how they fitted in her plex family tree； or how they had effected what； to hear Terri tell it； sounded like kidnap。 After much wrangling with the authorities； they had been allowed to adopt the children。 Terri； who had remained with Ritchie until his arrest； never saw Anne…Marie or Liam； for reasons Krystal did not entirely understand； the whole story was clotted and festering with hatred and unforgivable things said and threatened； restraining orders； lots more social workers。
‘Who’s your dad； then？’ asked Fats。
‘Banger；’ said Krystal。 She struggled to recall his real name。 ‘Barry；’ she muttered； though she had a suspicion that was not right。 ‘Barry Coates。 O’ny I uses me mum’s name； Weedon。’
The memory of the dead young man who had overdosed in Terri’s bathroom floated back to her through the sweet； heavy smoke。 She passed the joint back to Fats and leaned her head against the stone wall； looking up at the sliver of sky； mottled with dark leaves。
Fats was thinking about Ritchie Adams； who had killed a man； and considering the possibility that his own biological father was in prison somewhere too； tattooed； like Pikey； spare and muscled。 He mentally pared Cubby with this strong； hard authentic man。 Fats knew that he had been parted from his biological mother as a very small baby； because there were pictures of Tessa holding him； frail and bird…like； with a woolly white cap on his head。 He had been premature。 Tessa had told him a few things； though he had never asked。 His real mother had been very young when she had him； he knew that。 Perhaps she had been like Krystal； the school bike …
He was properly stoned now。 He put his hand behind Krystal’s neck and pulled her towards him； kissing her； sticking his tongue into her mouth。 With his other hand； he groped for her breast。 His brain was fuzzy and his limbs were heavy； even his sense of touch seemed affected。 He fumbled a little to get his hand inside her T…shirt； to force it under her bra。 Her mouth was hot and tasted of tobacco and dope； her lips were dry and chapped。 His excitement was slightly blunted； he seemed to be receiving all sensory information through an invisible blanket。 It took longer than the last time to prise her clothes loose from her body； and the condom was difficult； because his fingers had bee stiff and slow； then he accidentally placed his elbow； with all his weight behind it； on her soft fleshy underarm and she shrieked in pain。
She was drier than before； he forced his way inside her； determined to acplish what he had e for。 Time was glue…like and slow； but he could hear his own rapid breathing； and it made him edgy； because he imagined someone else； crouching in the dark space with them； watching； panting in his ear。 Krystal moaned a little。 With her head thrown back； her nose became broad and snout…like。 He pushed up her T…shirt to look at the smooth white breasts； jiggling a little； beneath the loose constraint of the undone bra。 He came without expecting it； and his own grunt of satisfaction seemed to belong to the crouching eavesdropper。
He rolled off her； peeled off the condom and threw it aside； then zipped himself up； feeling jittery； looking around to check that they were definitely alone。 Krystal was dragging her pants up with one hand； pulling down her T…shirt with the other； reaching behind herself to do up her bra。
It had bee cloudy and darker while they had sat behind the bushes。 There was a distant buzzing in Fats’ ears； he was very hungry； his brain was working slowly； while his ears were hypersensitive。 The fear that they had been watched； perhaps over the top of the wall behind them； would not leave him。 He wanted to go。
‘Let’s …’ he muttered； and without waiting for her； he crawled out between the bushes and got to his feet； brushing himself down。 There was an elderly couple a hundred yards away； crouching at a graveside。 He wanted to get right away from phantom eyes that might； or might not； have watched him screw Krystal Weedon； but at the same time； the process of finding the right bus stop and getting on the bus to Pagford seemed almost unbearably onerous。 He wished he could simply be transported； this instant； to his attic bedroom。
Krystal had staggered out behind him。 She was pulling down the bottom of her T…shirt and staring down at the grassy ground at her feet。
‘Fuck；’ she mumbled。
‘What？’ said Fats。 ‘C’mon； let’s go。’
‘’S Mr Fairbrother；’ she said； without moving。
‘What？’
She pointed at the mound in front of them。 There was no headstone yet； but fresh flowers lay all along it。
‘See？’ she said； crouching over and indicating cards stapled to the cellophane。 ‘Tha’ sez Fairbrother。’ She recognized the name easily from all those letters that had gone home from school； asking her mother to give permission for her to go away on the minibus。 ‘“Ter Barry”；’ she read carefully； ‘an’ this sez； “Ter Dad”；’ she sounded out the words slowly； ‘“from … ”’
But Niamh and Siobhan’s names defeated her。
‘So？’ demanded Fats； but in truth； the news gave him the creeps。 That wickerwork coffin lay feet below them； and inside it the short body and cheery face of Cubby’s dearest friend； so often seen in their house； rotting away in the earth。 The Ghost of Barry Fairbrother … he was unnerved。 It seemed like some kind of retribution。
‘C’mon；’ he said； but Krystal did not move。 ‘What’s the matter？’
‘I rowed for ’im； di’n I？’ snapped Krystal。
‘Oh； yeah。’
Fats was fidgeting like a restive horse； edging backwards。
Krystal stared down at the mound； hugging herself。 She felt empty； sad and dirty。 She wished they had not done it there； so close to Mr Fairbrother。 She was cold。 Unlike Fats； she had no jacket。
‘C’mon；’ said Fats again。
She followed him out of the cemetery； and they did not speak to each other once。 Krystal was thinking about Mr Fairbrother。 He had always called her ‘Krys’； which nobody else had ever done。 She had liked being Krys。 He had been a good laugh。 She wanted to cry。
Fats was thinking about how he would be able to work this into a funny story for Andrew； about being stoned and fucking Krystal and getting paranoid and thinking they were being watched and crawling out almost onto old Barry Fairbrother’s grave。 But it did not feel funny yet； not yet。
I
‘… ran out of here； screaming blue murder； calling her a Paki bitch – and now the paper’s called for a ment； because she’s …’
Parminder heard the receptionist’s voice； barely louder than a whisper； as she passed the door of the staff meeting room； which was ajar。 One swift light step； and Parminder had pulled it open to reveal one of the receptionists and the practice nurse in close proximity。 Both jumped and spun round。
‘Doct’ Jawan—’