The Long Call (Two Rivers #1) - Ann Cleeves Page 0,62

moment and then thought he should add a further explanation. ‘I was rather vocal in my opposition to the development of the Woodyard at first.’ He gave a wry smile. ‘A useless palace for arty hippies, I think I described it as in one of my lectures. Not something the council should be supporting when there are so many other demands on their resources. I’m afraid I believed what I’d read in the local press.’

‘But you changed your mind?’

‘I did, once I understood the range of activities that would be going on there, and that the day centre would be a part of it. There’s nothing wrong with admitting when you’re wrong. I knew Christopher had a sound business sense and of course Grace and I have been a part of Christine’s life since she was a baby. It seemed a very worthy cause.’

* * *

Standing outside on the pavement, Matthew could understand why Christine might have chosen not to spend another night with her relatives in Lovacott. The cottage she shared with her mother might be dusty and damp in comparison, but it was full of her things. She and Susan would watch television together and share a meal. There’d be warmth and companionship. In this house, there was a tension between husband and wife that Matthew still couldn’t quite understand. The relationship seemed tight and cold. Christine might simply have decided she didn’t want to spend another night there. If Dennis was sitting in his car, concentrating on the cricket, she could have walked past without his noticing and got the minibus with the other service users, making her own decision. He’d need to check with the driver. If she’d headed out towards Braunton, that would help narrow down the search area. He phoned Jonathan and explained.

‘I heard.’ Jonathan sounded fraught. ‘If she went missing from here, it’ll be a nightmare. We’ll have a safe-guarding issue. Inquiries from the press and other parents. There’s resistance as it is to the policy of encouraging greater independence.’

‘But it was Dennis Salter’s fault for not looking out for her, surely.’

‘Unfortunately, I don’t think the press will see it like that.’

Matthew had rarely heard him sound so tense. ‘Can you text me the address of a woman called Rosa? Apparently, she and Christine were friends. It’s an outside possibility but she might have gone there.’

‘Yes, sure. That’ll be Rosa Holsworthy. It’ll still be on file.’

‘And could you ask the minibus driver if he saw Christine?’

‘Yeah,’ Jonathan said. ‘Of course.’ Then: ‘I do hope she’s okay. Christine’s a sweetie. I’ve known her for years.’

Matthew left his car where it was and walked down the road towards the crescent of council houses that he’d seen the evening before. The street lamps had come on.

Maurice Braddick opened the door. There was a smell of cooking. Fish fingers and chips.

‘I’m sorry,’ Matthew said. ‘I’m interrupting your meal.’

The old man shook his head. ‘You come on in. We’ve just finished. We always eat early. Lucy’s ravenous when she comes in from the centre. I say she could put away a horse.’ He moved away from the door. He was wearing slippers that had seen better days, a frayed sweater. He’d changed since getting in from Barnstaple. ‘We were going to go out to The Fleece for our tea, but we thought we’d save it for the weekend.’ A pause. ‘There’s a show Lucy likes on television tonight.’

‘I was hoping to speak to her.’

‘That’s all right. I don’t think it starts until later and she can get it on catch-up anyway. She knows how to work that machine better than I do.’

Lucy was in the small living room, on the sofa, a mug of tea on the low table by her side. Comfortable and very much at ease. The television was on but she looked up when he came in. ‘Hello.’ As if he was an old friend.

‘Is it okay if I talk to you again?’

‘Is it about the man on the bus? Have you found out who killed him?’

‘No,’ he said. ‘This is about someone I think you know.’ A pause. ‘Can we switch the television off for a bit. We’ll put it back on soon.’

She nodded a little reluctantly and pressed the remote.

‘Do you know Christine Shapland? Dark hair.’

‘Yeah. She comes to the centre. But not every day. Not today.’ A pause. ‘She’s my best friend.’

‘Did you see her at the Woodyard yesterday? That was the day that I came in and talked to you and