The Casual Vacancy Read Online Free PDF

Krystal had become the most well-developed girl in their year and had lingered at the back of the class, where they were supposed to take their maths worksheets when they had finished and swap them for the next in the series. How it had been initiated, Andrew (among the last to finish his maths, as ever) had no idea, but he had reached the plastic boxes of worksheets, neatly lined up on top of the cupboards at the back, to find Rob Calder and Mark Richards taking it in turns to cup and squeeze Krystal’s breasts. Most of the other boys were looking on, electrified, their faces hidden from the teacher by their upstanding textbooks, while the girls, many of them flushed scarlet, were pretending not to have seen. Andrew had realized that half the boys had already had their turn, and that he was expected to take his. He had both wanted and not wanted to. It was not her breasts he feared, but the bold challenging look on her face; he had been frightened of doing it wrong. When the oblivious and ineffectual Mr. Simmonds had looked up at last and said, “You’ve been up there forever, Krystal, get a worksheet and sit down,” Andrew had been almost entirely relieved.
    Though they had long since been separated into different sets, they were still in the same registration class, so Andrew knew that Krystal was sometimes present, often not, and that she was in almost constant trouble. She knew no fear, like the boys who came to school with tattoos they had inked themselves, with split lips and cigarettes, and stories of clashes with the police, of drug taking and easy sex.
    Winterdown Comprehensive lay just inside Yarvil, a large, ugly triple-storied building whose outer shell consisted of windows interspersed with turquoise-painted panels. When the bus doors creaked open, Andrew joined the swelling masses, black-blazered and sweatered, that were milling across the car park towards the school’s two front entrances. As he was about to join the bottleneck cramming itself through the double doors, he noticed a Nissan Micra pulling up, and detached himself to wait for his best friend.
    Tubby, Tubs, Tubster, Flubber, Wally, Wallah, Fatboy, Fats: Stuart Wall was the most nicknamed boy in school. His loping walk, his skinniness, his thin sallow face, overlarge ears and permanently pained expression were distinctive enough, but it was his trenchant humor, his detachment and poise that set him apart. Somehow he managed to disassociate himself from everything that might have defined a less resilient character, shrugging off the embarrassment of being the son of a ridiculed and unpopular deputy head; of having a frumpy, overweight guidance teacher as a mother. He was preeminently and uniquely himself: Fats, school notable and landmark, and even the Fielders laughed at his jokes, and rarely bothered — so coolly and cruelly did he return jibes — to laugh at his unfortunate connections.
    Fats’ self-possession remained total this morning when, in full view of the parent-free hordes streaming past, he had to struggle out of the Nissan alongside not only his mother but his father too, who usually traveled to school separately. Andrew thought again of Krystal Weedon and her exposed thong, as Fats loped toward him.
    “All right, Arf?” said Fats.
    “Fats.”
    They moved together into the crowd, their schoolbags slung over their shoulders, buffeting the shorter kids in the face, creating a small space in their slipstream.
    “Cubby’s been crying,” said Fats, as they walked up the teeming stairs.
    “Say what?”
    “Barry Fairbrother dropped dead last night.”
    “Oh yeah, I heard,” said Andrew.
    Fats gave Andrew the sly, quizzical look he used when others overreached themselves, pretended to know more than they did, pretended to be more than they were.
    “My mum was at the hospital when they brought him in,” said Andrew, nettled. “She works there, remember?”
    “Oh, yeah,” said Fats, and the slyness was gone. “Well, you