of a treat.’
‘We could go to The Fleece when I get back from the Woodyard.’ She started to eat, as if the matter was already settled. Maurice thought she got that from her mother: a stubbornness, a refusal to listen to a good argument. But he knew she also loved routine. Anything different threw her.
Still, he gave it one more try. ‘But that man from there was killed.’
‘Not in the Woodyard, Dad. On a beach.’ And he had no answer to that.
‘I’ll give you a lift there and back then. See you safe inside.’
Of course Lucy agreed to the lift because it would save her the walk to and from the bus stop in the square, and the bus ride was no fun any more, without Walden to chat to and feed her sweets. She gave him one of her lovely smiles.
* * *
The wind was stronger. He could see it gusting on the river as they drove down towards Barnstaple. He thought the weather was changing and though he’d lost the heart for it now, he should still spend a bit of time in the garden before the rain came. He parked at the Woodyard and walked with Lucy to the door, then followed her at a distance until she was safely through the glass tunnel and into the day centre. He knew that was ridiculous. What could happen to her here, with all these people about?
But even in the day centre, there were sometimes accidents. Perhaps Lucy’s friend Rosa’s parents had had the right idea taking her away and keeping her safe at home. Maurice thought this notion of giving people like Lucy more independence was going too far. Of course they shouldn’t go back to the Dark Ages when folk were locked away in institutions, as if there was something shameful about them. But they needed to be protected. Properly cared for. In the past he’d seen the day centre as a place of safety. Now, he wasn’t so sure.
Maurice couldn’t face driving home straight away; he knew he’d be too restless to settle to anything. Instead, he went to the cafe, ordered a sausage toastie and sat there, staring out of the window, watching the scudding clouds reflected in the water, until the place filled up and they needed his table.
Chapter Sixteen
THEY HAD AN EARLY START. Jen pulled rank and insisted on driving because she’d get paid the mileage and she needed the cash. When she got to Ross’s immaculate little house on a smart new estate on the edge of town, Melanie let her in.
‘Come and wait for a moment. He’s nearly ready. You know what he’s like in the morning, he spends more time in the bathroom than me.’ Melanie rolled her eyes in mock-despair, but Jen could tell she’d forgive Ross anything. Jen wished there was something to dislike about Melanie. She was as immaculate as the house, with flawless skin and hair already styled for work. But she was kind too. She worked as a manager in an old people’s home, had started as a care assistant straight from school at sixteen and still took her turn at wiping bums and laying out the dead when they were short-staffed. As far as Jen could tell, her only fault was her taste in men. She and Ross had been going out together since they were teenagers, but Melanie still worshipped him.
He appeared at the bottom of the stairs, gave Jen a quick nod that might have been an apology for keeping her waiting, and hugged his wife. A real hug, full of affection but sexy too. At that moment Jen realized what she really felt for the couple was envy.
All the way up the M5 Ross was talking, rambling about the previous weekend’s rugby match against a Cornish team, about his moment of glory, saving the day with a last-minute drop goal. Jen’s ex had been into football and the story didn’t sound so different from the ones she’d been forced to fake interest in at home. This was different, though, because Ross was just a colleague, and she was different. She didn’t have to pretend to care. When he paused for breath, she broke in.
‘You do know I don’t give a flying fuck about this sporting crap?’
He stopped, shocked and offended, and they spent the next few miles in silence. Then she thought this was ridiculous. Ross wasn’t Robbie and they had work to do. She should make more of an effort