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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 touched his naked； beating heart； the bonhomie with which he brimmed at each encounter was a way of dr