The Long Call (Two Rivers #1) - Ann Cleeves Page 0,18

of the Brownscombe land. Matthew had thought it the most beautiful place in the world, magical. It was a picture-book farm with ducks on a small pond by the side of the house and bales of hay in the barn.

All the young Matthew had seen of the woman when he’d first got out of his dad’s vehicle was her outline. She’d come up to them and given his dad a little hug and that was when Matthew had first seen her face, the grey eyes and the dark hair tied back with a bit of bailer twine.

‘Good to see you, Andrew.’

Matthew had been expecting an old woman. Then, he’d thought all widows were old. But she’d been about the same age as his mother, dressed in jeans and wellies and a sleeveless vest top. His mother never wore jeans. He’d followed the adults into the house, which had a collie in the kitchen and books. Books on shelves and piled in heaps in corners.

Mary had made tea and put an open packet of chocolate biscuits on the table for Matthew to help himself. There were never biscuits in the Venn house unless his mother made them herself. She said God wanted his children to care for their bodies as well as their souls, and they weren’t going to eat fried food or processed junk while she had the time and the strength to cook for her family.

The grown-ups had talked about business while Matthew played with the collie. But once the order had been placed, his father had still sat there, long after his cup was empty. There’d been some conversation, but Matthew had stopped listening. After a while, the man had got to his feet.

‘I’ll be back next week. And the boy’ll be at school then so I’ll be on my own.’

Mary had stood up too. ‘You’ll be very welcome.’ A pause. ‘Always.’

Out in the yard, the colours had been fading into dusk. Matthew had climbed into the car, waiting for his father to say goodbye. The adults hugged again and then they were driving away. Usually his dad talked about the meetings that had just taken place, chatted and gossiped about the customers, but that night, he’d remained silent all the way home.

Now, driving along the narrow lanes to investigate the murder of an apparently lonely man, Matthew thought for the first time that his father had loved Mary Brownscombe. There might not have been an affair, but there’d been a tenderness in the encounter that had seemed unusual even to a boy. Matthew wondered if Mary was still at Broom Farm and if she’d been to his father’s funeral. He imagined her sitting at the back of the chapel of rest, weeping, incongruous.

* * *

He’d arranged to meet Jen Rafferty in the car park at the top of Hope Street, and she was already there, sitting in her vehicle, looking at her phone. She seemed to spend her life on her phone. They walked together down the hill to twenty Hope Street and Jen filled him in on overnight actions.

‘We released a photo of Walden to the press, as you agreed. It’ll be on the television news this morning. We were too late to get it in this morning’s newspapers, but I’m guessing it’ll be all over social media. Ross was going to monitor that. And there are a few more details of him.’

‘The victim’s wife has been notified?’

‘Yes, someone from Avon and Somerset went to see her last night. I haven’t talked to them yet.’

‘Do they have any children?’ Matthew wondered how it would be to have a father who’d run away only to meet a violent death. Would they turn him into a hero or a martyr? Blame the mother? Or carry resentment around like a burden for the rest of their lives?

‘No, no kids. Apparently, she’s in another relationship now. She doesn’t live in their old home any more. There’s a different address.’

They’d arrived at the house. Jen paused on the pavement. At the bottom of the street a homeless man in a shabby sleeping bag with the stuffing seeping out stirred and raised himself onto one elbow. She knocked at the black door. They heard footsteps and the door opened.

A young woman stood there. She was stylish in an art student sort of way: model skinny, very short hair and a slash of red lipstick, a sweater dress over black tights and heavy boots. Long black earrings. The tights had a hole at