The Long Call (Two Rivers #1) - Ann Cleeves Page 0,21

a Northern accent, whose voice made her giggle. Maurice was delighted if he switched on the set and that woman appeared on the screen. He loved to see his daughter laugh.

He was always up first. He set out the bowls and the boxes of cereal, got the milk from the fridge, stuck a couple of slices of bread in the toaster. He’d put Lucy’s clothes out the night before and she came in, dressed and ready, and heaved herself onto the stool by the breakfast bar. She’d always liked going to the day centre. Some of her friends had found it hard to settle in the Woodyard. Rosa had stopped going soon after they moved into the new premises. Her mother hadn’t caused a fuss about it, though when Maurice had asked her, she’d said she didn’t think it was right, all the different groups in the same building. Lucy had loved the buzz of the new place and had seemed at home there right from the start. Maurice was very proud of her, of how confident she was.

Before the Woodyard had opened the year before, there’d been talk of closing most of the learning disability services in the county, because the council didn’t have enough money to keep them going. That had been just after Maggie’s death and it had been a dreadful time. The thought of having Lucy at home all day, bored and frustrated, had kept Maurice awake at night. Now the day centre had moved into the Woodyard and he could relax again.

It was eight o’clock and the TV changed to local news. The bus was at nine so there was no rush. Maurice walked Lucy to the stop in the mornings to get a bit of exercise and to make sure she got off all right. It was another lovely day, and the soil would be warm enough to start planting. In his head he was already in the garden, that earthy smell in his nostrils and the sun on his neck. He was pulled back to the present when Lucy pointed at the screen and started shouting, so upset that the words spilled out and he couldn’t understand what she was saying. There was the photo of a man, staring out at them, and it was gone before Maurice could get a proper look.

He waved at Lucy to be quiet for a moment so he could hear what the presenter was saying.

‘Anyone with information about Simon Walden, whose body was found on the beach near Braunton yesterday afternoon, should contact Devon and Cornwall Police.’

Then it turned to the weather.

‘What is it, maid?’

‘That’s my friend,’ Lucy said. ‘My friend from the bus. The man with the sweets.’

* * *

Maurice drove Lucy to the day centre in Barnstaple. He wanted to talk to the staff there before calling the police. It wasn’t that he didn’t trust Lucy – she seemed so certain about the man on the TV – but he didn’t want to be on his own with her if an officer turned up at the house. Not everyone was sympathetic. They didn’t take his daughter seriously; they ignored her or they stared. Just because she had Down’s syndrome and you could tell she was different. Lucy’s friend Rosa hadn’t looked different at all – she was a pretty little thing – and he and Maggie had never been sure if that was good or not. People might expect too much from her, not realize she saw the world differently from other people. Today, Maurice wasn’t sure how he’d cope if somebody ignorant came to do the interview. Lucy was sharp as a tack about most things and it was easy to patronize her.

Inside the main door of the Woodyard, there was a big space with paintings hanging on the wall. This week there was an exhibition about ships and sailing and he was drawn to one picture of the quay in Bideford, with an old boat tied up. It was all browns and greys, as if there’d just been rain. Maurice thought Maggie would have loved it. It was sudden thoughts about the things Maggie would have liked or pieces of gossip that he’d like to pass on that made grief come back and bite him on the bum. He felt tears welling in his eyes and blinked them away, told himself not to be a soppy old git.

He left Lucy with her mates in the day centre and went to the main office.