Part Three Chapter VII

VIIUp in the little white house that sat high above the town, Simon terms fretted and brooded. Days passed. The accusatory post had vanished from the message boards, but Simon remained paralysed. To impound his candidacy might seem like an admission of guilt. The police had non come knocking about the computer Simon half regretted throwing it off the obsolete bridge now. On the other hand, he could not decide whether he had imagined a enjoying grin from the man behind the till when he handed over his credit card in the garage at the foot of the hill. There was a lot of talk about redundancies at work, and Simon was still afraid of the contents of that post coming to the bosses ears, that they might hold on themselves redundancy pay by sacking himself, Jim and Tommy.Andrew watched and waited, losing commit every day. He had tried to show the world what his father was, and the world, it seemed, had merely shrugged. Andrew had imagined that some angiotensin converting enzyme from the printworks or the council would rise up and tell Simon firmly, no that he was not fit to stage set himself up in competition with other people, that he was unsuitable and sub-standard, and mustiness not disgrace himself or his family. Yet nothing had happened, except that Simon stop talking about the council or making telephone calls in the hope of garnering votes, and the leaflets that he had had printed out of hours at work sat untouched in a box in the porch.Then, without warning or fanfare, came victory. Heading bring the dark stairs in search of fodder on Friday evening, Andrew comprehend Simon talking stiffly on the telephone in the sitting room, and paused to listen. take up my candidacy, he was saying. Yes. Well, my per boyal circumstances have changed. Yes. Yes. Yeah, thats right. OK. Thank you.Andrew heard Simon supercede the receiver.Well, thats that, his father tell to his mother. Im well out of it, if thats the kind of shit theyre throwing around.He heard h is mother return some muffled, approving rejoinder, and before Andrew had sentence to move, Simon had emerged into the hall below, drawn breath into his lungs and yelled the first syllable of Andrews name, before realizing that his son was right in front of him.What are you doing?Simons face was half in shadow, lit all by the light escaping the sitting room.I treasured a drink, Andrew lied his father did not like the boys helping themselves to food. You stand out work with Mollison this weekend, dont you?Yeah.Right, well, you listen to me. I want anything you can get on that bastard, dyou hear me? exclusively the dirt you can get. And on his son, if you hear anything.All right, said Andrew.And Ill put it up on the fucking website for them, said Simon, and he walked back into the sitting room. Barry Fairbrothers fucking ghost.As he scavenged an assortment of food that might not be missed, skimming off slices here, handfuls there, a exultant jingle ran through Andrews mind I ha lt you, you bastard. I stopped you.He had done exactly what he had set out to do Simon had no idea who had brought his ambitions to dust. The silly sod was even demanding Andrews help in getting his revenge a complete about-turn, because when Andrew had first told his parents that he had a job at the delicatessen, Simon had been furious.You stupid little tit. What about your fucking allergic reaction?I thought Id try not eating any of the nuts, said Andrew.Dont get smart with me, Pizza Face. What if you eat one accidentally, like at St Thomass? Dyou think we want to go through that crap again? and Ruth had supported Andrew, telling Simon that Andrew was old enough to take care, to know better. When Simon had left the room, she had tried to tell Andrew that Simon was only worried about him.The only thing hes worried about is that hed have to miss bloody pair of the Day to take me to hospital.Andrew returned to his bedroom, where he sat shovelling food into his mouth with one hand an d texting Fats with the other.He thought that it was all over, finished, done with. Andrew had never in time had reason to observe the first tiny bubble of fermenting yeast, in which was contained an inevitable, alchemical transformation.