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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　beside　her　husband；　looking　up　at　the　bright　off…white　sky　and　musing　on　all　the　wasted　sunshine　beating　down　on　top　of　the　high　ceiling　of　cloud。　She　was　refusing　to　be　dislodged　from　the　hard…surfaced　path；　no　matter　how　many　old　ladies　had　to　cool　their　ankles　in　the　grass；　her　patent…leather　high　heels　might　sink　into　the　soft　earth；　and　bee　dirty　and　clogged。

When　acquaintances　hailed　them；　Miles　and　Samantha　responded　pleasantly；　but　they　were　not　speaking　to　each　other。　They　had　had　a　row　the　previous　evening。　A　few　people　had　asked　after　Lexie　and　Libby；　who　usually　came　home　at　weekends；　but　both　girls　were　staying　over　at　friends’　houses。　Samantha　knew　that　Miles　regretted　their　absence；　he　loved　playing　paterfamilias　in　public。　Perhaps；　she　thought；　with　a　most　pleasurable　leap　of　fury；　he　would　ask　her　and　the　girls　to　pose　with　him　for　a　picture　on　his　election　leaflets。　She　would　enjoy　telling　him　what　she　thought　of　that　idea。

She　could　tell　that　he　was　surprised　by　the　turnout。　No　doubt　he　was　regretting　that　he　did　not　have　a　starring　role　in　the　forthing　service；　it　would　have　been　an　ideal　opportunity　to　begin　a　surreptitious　campaign　for　Barry’s　seat　on　the　council　with　this　big　audience　of　captive　voters。　Samantha　made　a　mental　note　to　drop　a　sarcastic　allusion　to　the　missed　opportunity　when　a　suitable　occasion　arose。

‘Gavin！’　called　Miles；　at　the　sight　of　a　familiar；　fair　and　narrow　head。

‘Oh；　hi；　Miles。　Hi；　Sam。’

Gavin’s　new　black　tie　shone　against　his　white　shirt。　There　were　violet　bags　under　his　light　eyes。　Samantha　leaned　in　on　tiptoes；　so　that　he　could　not　decently　avoid　kissing　her　on　the　cheek　and　inhaling　her　musky　perfume。

‘Big　turnout；　isn’t　it？’　Gavin　said；　gazing　around。

‘Gavin’s　a　pall…bearer；’　Miles　told　his　wife；　in　precisely　the　way　that　he　would　have　announced　that　a　small　and　unpromising　child　had　been　awarded　a　book　token　for　effort。　In　truth；　he　had　been　a　little　surprised　when　Gavin　had　told　him　he　had　been　accorded　this　honour。　Miles　had　vaguely　imagined　that　he　and　Samantha　would　be　privileged　guests；　surrounded　by　a　certain　aura　of　mystery　and　importance；　having　been　at　the　deathbed。　It　might　have　been　a　nice　gesture　if　Mary；　or　somebody　close　to　Mary；　had　asked　him；　Miles；　to　read　a　lesson；　or　say　a　few　words　to　acknowledge　the　important　part　he　had　played　in　Barry’s　final　moments。

Samantha　was　deliberately　unsurprised　that　Gavin　had　been　singled　out。

‘You　and　Barry　were　quite　close；　weren’t　you；　Gav？’

Gavin　nodded。　He　felt　jittery　and　a　little　sick。　He　had　had　a　very　bad　night’s　sleep；　waking　in　the　early　hours　from　horrible　dreams　in　which；　first；　he　had　dropped　the　coffin；　so　that　Barry’s　body　spilt　out　onto　the　church　floor；　and；　secondly；　he　had　overslept；　missed　the　funeral；　and　arrived　at　St　Michael　and　All　Saints　to　find　Mary　alone　in　the　graveyard；　white…faced　and　furious；　screaming　at　him　that　he　had　ruined　the　whole　thing。

‘I’m　not　sure　where　I　ought　to　be；’　he　said；　looking　around。　‘I’ve　never　done　this　before。’

‘Nothing　to　it；　mate；’　said　Miles。　‘There’s　only　one　requirement；　really。　Don’t　drop　anything；　hehehe。’

Miles’　girlish　laugh　contrasted　oddly　with　his　deep　speaking　voice。　Neither　Gavin　nor　Samantha　smiled。

Colin　Wall　loomed　out　of　the　mass　of　bodies。　Big　and　awkward…looking；　with　his　high；　knobbly　forehead；　he　always　made　Samantha　think　of　Frankenstein’s　monster。

‘Gavin；’　he　said。　‘There　you　are。　I　think　we　should　probably　stand　out　on　the　pavement；　they’ll　be　here　in　a　few　minutes。’

‘Right…ho；’　said　Gavin；　relieved　to　be　ordered　around。

‘Colin；’　said　Miles；　with　a　nod。

‘Yes；　hello；’　said　Colin；　flustered；　before　turning　away　and　forcing　his　way　back　through　the　mass　of　mourners。

Then　came　another　small　flurry　of　movement；　and　Samantha　heard　Howard’s　loud　voice：　‘Excuse　me　…　so　sorry　…　trying　to　join　our　family　…’　The　crowd　parted　to　avoid　his　belly；　and　Howard　was　revealed；　immense　in　a　velvet…faced　overcoat。　Shirley　and　Maureen　bobbed　in　his　wake；