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to turn on the water before telephoning Shirley； worried that he might think that even her request about the EpiPen was fraternizing with the enemy。
The family PC was set up in a corner of the sitting room； where Simon could keep an eye on it； and make sure nobody was running up large bills behind his back。 Ruth relinquished her grip on the phone and hurried to the keyboard。
It seemed to take a very long time to bring up the Pagford Council website。 Ruth pushed her reading glasses up her nose with a trembling hand as she scanned the various pages。 At last she found the message board。 Her husband’s name blazed out at her； in ghastly black and white： Simon Price Unfit to Stand for Council。
She double…clicked the title； brought up the full paragraph and read it。 Everything around her seemed to reel and spin。
‘Oh God；’ she whispered。
The boiler had stopped clanking。 Simon would be putting on the pyjamas he had warmed on the radiator。 He had already drawn the sitting…room curtains； turned on the side lamps and lit the wood…burner； so that he could e down and stretch out on the sofa to watch the news。
Ruth knew that she would have to tell him。 Not doing so； letting him find out for himself； was simply not an option； she would have been incapable of keeping it to herself。 She felt terrified and guilty； though she did not know why。
She heard him jogging down the stairs and then he appeared at the door in his blue brushed…cotton pyjamas。
‘Si；’ she whispered。
‘What’s the matter？’ he said； immediately irritated。 He knew that something had happened； that his luxurious programme of sofa； fire and news was about to be disarranged。
She pointed at the puter monitor； one hand pressed foolishly over her mouth； like a little girl。 Her terror infected him。 He strode to the PC and scowled down at the screen。 He was not a quick reader。 He read every word； every line； painstakingly； carefully。
When he had finished； he remained quite still； passing for review； in his mind； all the likely grasses。 He thought of the gum…chewing forklift driver； whom he had left stranded in the Fields when they had picked up the new puter。 He thought of Jim and Tommy； who did the cash…in…hand jobs on the sly with him。 Someone from work must have talked。 Rage and fear collided inside him and set off a bustive reaction。
He strode to the foot of the stairs and shouted； ‘You two！ Get down here NOW！’
Ruth still had her hand over her mouth。 He had a sadistic urge to slap her hand away； to tell her to fucking pull herself together； it was he who was in the shit。
Andrew entered the room first with Paul behind him。 Andrew saw the arms of Pagford Parish Council onscreen； and his mother with her hand over her mouth。 Walking barefoot across the old carpet； he had the sensation that he was plummeting through the air in a broken lift。
‘Someone；’ said Simon； glaring at his sons； ‘has talked about things I’ve mentioned inside this house。’
Paul had brought his chemistry exercise book downstairs with him； he was holding it like a hymnal。 Andrew kept his gaze fixed on his father； trying to project an expression of mingled confusion and curiosity。
‘Who’s told other people we’ve got a stolen puter？’ asked Simon。
‘I haven’t；’ said Andrew。
Paul stared at his father blankly； trying to process the question。 Andrew willed his brother to speak。 Why did he have to be so slow？
‘Well？’ Simon snarled at Paul。
‘I don’t think I—’
‘You don’t think？ You don’t think you told anyone？’
‘No； I don’t think I told any—’
‘Oh； this is interesting；’ said Simon； pacing up and down in front of Paul。 ‘This is interesting。’
With a slap he sent Paul’s exercise book flying out of his hands。
‘Try and think； dipshit；’ he growled。 ‘Try and fucking think。 Did you tell anyone we’ve got a stolen puter？’
‘Not stolen；’ said Paul。 ‘I never told anyone – I don’t think I told anyone we had a new one； even。’
‘I see；’ said Simon。 ‘So the news got out by magic then； did it？’
He was pointing at the puter monitor。
‘Someone’s fucking talked！’ he yelled； ‘because it’s on the fucking inter！ And I’ll be fucking lucky not – to – lose – my – job！’
On each of the five last words he thumped Paul on the head with his fist。 Paul cowered and ducked； black liquid trickled from his left nostril； he suffered nosebleeds several times a week。
‘And what about you？’ Simon roared at his wife； who was still frozen beside the puter； her eyes wide behind her glasses； her hand clamped like a yashmak over her mouth。 ‘Have you been fucking gossiping？’
Ruth ungagged herself。
‘No； Si；’ she whispered； ‘I mean； the only person I told we had a new puter was Shirley – and she’d never—’
You stupid woman； you stupid fucking woman； what did you have to tell him that for？
‘You did what？’ asked Simon quietly。
‘I told Shirley；’ whimpered Ruth。 ‘I didn’t say it was stolen； though； Si。 I only said you were bringing it home—’
‘Well； that’s fucking it then； isn’t it？’ roared Simon； his voice became a scream。 ‘Her fucking son’s standing for election； of course she wants to get the fucking goods on me！’
‘But she’s the one who told me； Si； just now； she wouldn’t have—’
He ran at her and hit her in the face； exactly as he had wanted to when he had first seen her silly frightened expression； her glasses spun into the air and smashed against the bookcase； he hit her again and she crashed down onto the puter table she had bought so proudly with her first month’s wages from South West General。
Andrew had made himself a promise： he seemed to move in slow motion； and everything was cold and clammy and slightly unreal。
‘Don’t hit her；’ he said； forcing himself between his parents。 ‘Don’t—’
His lip split against his front tooth； Simon’s knuckle behind it； and he fell backwards on top of his mother； who was draped over the keyboard； Simon threw another punch； which hit Andew’s arms as he protected his face； Andrew was trying to get off his slumped； struggling mother； and Simon was in a frenzy； pummelling both of them wherever he could reach—
‘Don’t you fucking dare tell me what to do – don’t you dare； you cowardly little shit； you spotty streak of piss—’
Andrew dropped to his knees to get out of the way； and Simon kicked him in the ribs。 Andrew heard Paul say pathetically； ‘Stop it！’ Simon’s foot swung for Andrew’s ribcage again； but Andrew dodged it； Simon’s toes collided with the brick fireplace and he was suddenly； absurdly； howling in pain。
Andrew scrambled out of the way； Simon was gripping the end of his foot； hopping on the spot and swearing in a high…pitched voice； Ruth had collapsed into the swivel chair； sobbing into her hands。 Andrew got to his feet； he could taste his own blood。
‘Anyone could have talked about that puter；’ he panted； braced for further violence； he felt braver now that it had begun； now that the fight was really on； it was waiting that told on your nerves； watching Simon’s jaw begin to jut； and hearing the urge for violence building in his voice。 ‘You told us a security guard got beaten up。 Anyone could have talked。 It’s not us—’
‘Don’t you – fucking little shit – I’ve broken my fucking toe！’ Simon gasped； falling backwards into an armchair； still nursing his foot。 He seemed to expect sympathy。
Andrew imagined picking up a gun and shooting Simon in the face； watching his features blast apart； his brains spattering the room。
‘And Pauline’s got her fucking period again！’ Simon yelled at Paul； who was trying to contain the blood dripping through his fingers from his nose。 ‘Get off the carpet！ Get off the fucking carpet； you little pansy！’
Paul scuttled out of the room。 Andrew pressed the hem of his T…shirt to his stinging mouth。
‘What about all the cash…in…hand jobs？’ Ruth sobbed； her cheek pink from his punch； tears dripping from her chin。 Andrew hated to see her humiliated and pathetic like this； but he half hated her too for landing herself in it； when any idiot could have seen … ‘It says about the cash…in…hand jobs。 Shirley doesn’t know about them； how could she？ Someone