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ncouragement of his sons； trying to impress Barry。
The ball had flown like a cannon ball from Fats’ foot and there was time； before it hit Cubby full in his unsuspecting； foolish face； before his glasses cracked； and a single drop of blood bloomed beneath his eye； to realize his own intent； to know that he had hoped to hit Cubby； and that the ball had been dispatched for retribution。）
They had never played football again。 The doomed little experiment in father…son togetherness had been shelved； like a dozen before it。
And I never wanted him at all！
He was sure he had heard it。 Cubby must have been talking about him。 They had been in his room。 Who else could Cubby have been talking about？
Like I give a shit； thought Fats。 It was what he’d always suspected。 He did not know why this sensation of spreading cold had filled his chest。
Fats pulled the puter chair back into position； from the place where it had been knocked when Cubby had hit him。 The authentic reaction would have been to shove his mother out of the way and punch Cubby in the face。 Crack his glasses again。 Make him bleed。 Fats was disgusted with himself that he had not done it。
But there were other ways。 He had overheard things for years。 He knew much more about his father’s ludicrous fears than they thought。
Fats’ fingers were clumsier than usual。 Ash spilt onto the keyboard from the cigarette in his mouth as he brought up the Parish Council website。 Weeks previously； he had looked up SQL injections and found the line of code that Andrew had refused to share。 After studying the council message board for a few minutes； he logged himself in； without difficulty； as Betty Rossiter； changed her username to The_Ghost_of_Barry_Fairbrother； and began to type。
V
Shirley Mollison was convinced that her husband and son were over…stating the danger to the council of leaving the Ghost’s posts online。 She could not see how the messages were worse than gossip； and that； she knew； was not yet punishable by law； nor did she believe that the law would be foolish and unreasonable enough to punish her for what somebody else had written： that would be monstrously unfair。 Proud as she was of Miles’ law degree； she was sure that he must have this bit wrong。
She was checking the message boards even more frequently than Miles and Howard had advised； but not because she was afraid of legal consequences。 Certain as she was that Barry Fairbrother’s Ghost had not yet finished his self…appointed task of crushing the pro…Fielders； she was eager to be the first to set eyes on his next post。 Several times a day she scurried into Patricia’s old room； and clicked on the web page。 Sometimes a little frisson would run through her while she was hoovering or peeling potatoes and she would race to the study； only to be disappointed again。
Shirley felt a special； secret kinship with the Ghost。 He had chosen her website as the forum where he would expose the hypocrisy of Howard’s opponents； and this； she felt； entitled her to the pride of the naturalist who has constructed a habitat in which a rare species deigns to nest。 But there was more to it than that。 Shirley relished the Ghost’s anger； his savagery and his audacity。 She wondered who he might be； visualizing a strong； shadowy man standing behind herself and Howard； on their side； cutting a path for them through the opponents who crumpled as he slayed them with their own ugly truths。
Somehow； none of the men in Pagford seemed worthy to be the Ghost； she would have felt disappointed to learn that it was any of the anti…Fielders she knew。
‘That’s if it’s a man；’ said Maureen。
‘Good point；’ said Howard。
‘I think it’s a man；’ said Shirley coolly。
When Howard left for the café on Sunday morning； Shirley； still in her dressing gown； and holding her cup of tea； padded automatically to the study and brought up the website。
Fantasies of a Deputy Headmaster posted by The_Ghost_of_Barry_Fairbrother。
She set down her tea with trembling hands； clicked on the post and read it； open…mouthed。 Then she ran to the lounge； seized the telephone and called the café； but the number was engaged。
A mere five minutes later； Parminder Jawanda； who had also developed a habit of looking at the council message boards much more frequently than usual； opened up the site and saw the post。 Like Shirley； her immediate reaction was to seize a telephone。
The Walls were breakfasting without their son； who was still asleep upstairs。 When Tessa picked up； Parminder cut across her friend’s greeting。
‘There’s a post about Colin on the council website。 Don’t let him see it； whatever you do。’
Tessa’s frightened eyes swivelled to her husband； but he was a mere three feet from the receiver and had already heard every word that Parminder had spoken so loudly and clearly。
‘I’ll call you back；’ said Tessa urgently。 ‘Colin；’ she said； fumbling to replace the receiver； ‘Colin； wait—’
But he had already stalked out of the room； bobbing up and down； his arms stiff by his side； and Tessa had to jog to catch him up。
‘Perhaps it’s better not to look；’ she urged him； as his big； knobble…knuckled hand moved the mouse across the desk； ‘or I can read it and—’
Fantasies of a Deputy Headmaster
One of the men hoping to represent the munity at Parish Council level is Colin Wall； Deputy Headmaster at Winterdown prehensive School。 Voters might be interested to know that Wall； a strict disciplinarian； has a very unusual fantasy life。 Mr Wall is so frightened that a pupil might accuse him of inappropriate sexual behaviour that he has often needed time off work to calm himself down again。 Whether Mr Wall has actually fondled a first year； the Ghost can only guess。 The fervour of his feverish fantasies suggests that； even if he hasn’t； he would like to。
Stuart wrote that； thought Tessa； at once。
Colin’s face was ghastly in the light pouring out of the monitor。 It was how she imagined he would look if he had had a stroke。
‘Colin—’
‘I suppose Fiona Shawcross has told people；’ he whispered。
The catastrophe he had always feared was upon him。 It was the end of everything。 He had alwa