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ily into anger with her。 Why couldn’t she realize how little he wanted her； and take herself off without forcing him to do the dirty？ He drained the spaghetti in the sink； swearing under his breath as he speckled himself with boiling water。
‘You’d better call Miles and Samantha and tell them “no”； then；’ said Kay。
Her voice had hardened。 As was Gavin’s deeply ingrained habit； he sought to deflect an imminent conflict and hoped that the future would look after itself。
‘No； no；’ he said； dabbing at his wet shirt with a tea towel。 ‘We’ll go。 It’s fine。 We’ll go。’
But in his undisguised lack of enthusiasm； he sought to put down a marker to which he could refer； retrospectively。 You knew I didn’t want to go。 No； I didn’t enjoy it。 No； I don’t want it to happen again。
They ate for several minutes in silence。 Gavin was afraid that there would be another row； and that Kay would force him to discuss underlying issues again。 He cast around for something to say； and so started telling her about Mary Fairbrother and the life insurance pany。
‘They’re being real bastards；’ he said。 ‘He was heavily insured； but their lawyers are looking for a way not to pay out。 They’re trying to make out he didn’t make a full disclosure。’
‘In what way？’
‘Well； an uncle died of an aneurysm； too。 Mary swears Barry told the insurance agent that when he signed the policy； but it’s nowhere in the notes。 Presumably the bloke didn’t realize it can be a geic thing。 I don’t know that Barry did； e to …’
Gavin’s voice broke。 Horrified and embarrassed； he bowed his flushing face over his plate。 There was a hard chunk of grief in his throat and he couldn’t shift it。 Kay’s chair legs scraped on the floor； he hoped that she was off to the bathroom； but then felt her arms around his shoulders； drawing him to her。 Without thinking； he put a single arm around her； too。
It was so good to be held。 If only their relationship could be distilled into simple； wordless gestures of fort。 Why had humans ever learned to talk？
He had dribbled snot onto the back of her top。
‘Sorry；’ he said thickly； wiping it away with his napkin。
He withdrew from her and blew his nose。 She dragged her chair to sit beside him and put a hand on his arm。 He liked her so much better when she was silent； and her face was soft and concerned； as it was now。
‘I still can’t … he was a good bloke；’ he said。 ‘Barry。 He was a good bloke。’
‘Yes； everyone says that about him；’ said Kay。
She had never been allowed to meet this famous Barry Fairbrother； but she was intrigued by the show of emotion from Gavin； and by the person who had caused it。
‘Was he funny？’ she asked； because she could imagine Gavin in thrall to a edian； to a rowdy ringleader； propping up the bar。
‘Yeah； I s’pose。 Well； not particularly。 Normal。 He liked a laugh … but he was just such a … such a nice bloke。 He liked people； you know？’
She waited； but Gavin did not seem able to elucidate further on the niceness of Barry。
‘And the kids … and Mary … poor Mary … God； you’ve got no idea。’
Kay continued to pat his arm gently； but her sympathy had chilled a little。 No idea； she thought； what it was to be alone？ No idea how hard it was to be left in sole charge of a family？ Where was his pity for her； Kay？
‘They were really happy；’ said Gavin； in a cracked voice。 ‘She’s in pieces。’
Wordlessly； Kay stroked his arm； reflecting that she had never been able to afford to go to pieces。
‘I’m all right；’ he said； wiping his nose on his napkin and picking up his fork。 By the smallest of twitches； he indicated that she should remove her hand。
V
Alison Jenkins； the journalist from the Yarvil and District Gazette； had at last established which of the many Weedon households in Yarvil housed Krystal。 It had been difficult： nobody was registered to vote at the address and no landline number was listed for the property。 Alison visited Foley Road in person on Sunday； but Krystal was out； and Terri； suspicious and antagonistic； refused to say when she would be back or confirm that she lived there。
Krystal arrived home a mere twenty minutes after the journalist had departed in her car； and she and her mother had another row。
‘Why din’t ya tell her to wait？ She was gonna interview me abou’ the Fields an’ stuff！’
‘Interview you？ Fuck off。 Wha’ the fuck for？’
The argument escalated and Krystal walked out again； off to Nikki’s； with Terri’s mobile in her tracksuit bottoms。 She frequently made off with this phone； many rows were triggered by her mother demanding it back and Krystal pretending that she didn’t know where it was。 Dimly； Krystal hoped that the journalist might know the number somehow and call her directly。
She was in a crowded； jangling café in the shopping centre； telling Nikki and Leanne all about the journalist； when the mobile rang。
‘’Oo？ Are you the journalist； like？’
‘… o’s ’at … ’erri？’
‘It’s Krystal。 ’Oo’s this？’
‘… ’m your … ’nt … other … ’ister。’
‘’Oo？’ shouted Krystal。 One finger in the ear not pressed against the phone； she wove her way between the densely packed tables to reach a quieter place。
‘Danielle；’ said the woman； loud and clear on the other end of the telephone。 ‘I’m yer mum’s sister。’
‘Oh； yeah；’ said Krystal； disappointed。
Fuckin’ snobby bitch； Terri always said when Danielle’s name came up。 Krystal was not sure that she had ever met Danielle。
‘It’s abou’ your Great Gran。’
‘’Oo？’
‘Nana Cath；’ said Danielle impatiently。 Krystal reached the balcony overlooking the shopping centre forecourt； reception was strong here； she stopped。
‘Wha’s wrong with ’er？’ said Krystal。 It felt as though her stomach was flipping over； the way it had done as a little girl； turning somersaults on a railing like the one in front of her。 Thirty feet below； the crowds surged； carrying plastic bags； pushing buggies and dragging toddlers。
‘She’s in South West General。 She’s been there a week。 She’s had a stroke。’
‘She’s bin there a week？’ said Krystal； her stomach still swooping。 ‘Nobody told us。’
‘Ye