The Long Call (Two Rivers #1) - Ann Cleeves Page 0,25

you do.’

Caroline didn’t answer directly. It seemed she wanted to tell the story in her own words. ‘Mum killed herself when I was still at school. Dad had been a businessman – he ran a number of holiday parks and hotels along the coast – but after her death he really didn’t have the heart for the work. He staggered on for about five years then he sold up; I think making money just didn’t seem so important any more. He’d already started fundraising for the drop-in centre at St Cuthbert’s and when I qualified, I took it over, made it more professional. Before then it had been run by a few well-meaning amateurs.’

‘And your father got involved with the Woodyard too?’

‘Oh yes. He helps wherever he can. He’s become almost saintly.’ There was an edge of bitterness to Caroline’s voice, but she continued talking before Jen could follow that up. ‘There’s a real need for the service we provide. North Devon isn’t just about public-school kids coming for the surfing or families turning up for perfect beach holidays. We attract transients, homeless people, drifters. And local people can suffer from depression too. Not everyone has a family to provide support.’

‘Is the church directly involved?’

‘Well, I’m a member of the congregation there and the clergy and congregation have been terrifically supportive. Originally, we just used their hall, but we’ve extended the premises.’ Another pause and a shy Princess Diana glance through dipped eyelashes. ‘I’m going out with Edward Craven, the curate.’

Something about the simper made Jen feel like throwing up. Or telling the woman to wise up. She’d been besotted once and look where that had got her.

‘We run as a partnership project now, not just with the church but with a GP practice and the local authority. Groundbreaking.’ Caroline had obviously given this pitch before, but the passion hadn’t left her.

‘How did you first meet Simon Walden?’

‘He turned up at St Cuthbert’s in the middle of some sort of crisis. Very drunk. Acutely depressed.’ Caroline leaned back in her chair. The eyes behind the large glasses were very bright. ‘I made him an appointment with a GP and persuaded him to join the programme at the centre. He responded to medication and to our talking therapies very quickly. A few weeks later I suggested that he move in here. It was clear that he needed support.’

‘Wasn’t that a bit risky?’

Jen thought there was something of the fanatic about her. Caroline had fallen for the idea of saving Walden. She liked him because he’d followed her advice, and that seemed the worst kind of pride.

‘Well, it certainly wasn’t policy and I got a bit of stick about it from my father. He said I shouldn’t have become so emotionally involved. I didn’t think so. I thought Simon needed a more personal approach.’

So, she needed to show what a good woman she was. Who was she trying to impress? Her friends or her colleagues? Edward the curate? Or her father?

‘What kind of treatment was Simon getting?’

Caroline hesitated.

‘Come on,’ Jen said, ‘that’s hardly confidential. His doctor will be able to tell me.’

‘I’ve already told you. He received antidepressants from his GP and took part in a weekly group-therapy session. As well as that, we encouraged him to do yoga and meditation. Once his mood started to steady, he began volunteering in the cafe kitchen at the Woodyard.’

Very right-on.

‘The group therapy. Was it for recovering addicts?’ Jen thought Hope Street wasn’t the best place for a druggie to live. As Ross had said, the street was known as a place where dealers hung out. Though it was more likely, because there’d been alcohol in his system when he’d killed the child in the road traffic incident, that booze had been Walden’s poison.

Another long pause before Caroline spoke. ‘When he first came to St Cuthbert’s, Simon was so drunk he could hardly stand. That’s not breaking a confidence; anyone who was there would tell you that. We filled him full of coffee and let him sleep at the back of the church for the night. A few days later he came along to the centre there. It was a few weeks before I found out he was sleeping rough. By then, he was much more stable.’

‘And you offered him a bed here? You must work with a lot of homeless people. What was it about Walden that made him so special?’

There was a moment of silence. ‘I’m not sure. There was something about him