“Thank you for being so kind to them.”
She slipped away before he could respond and he heard her voice, no more than a murmur, in the other room.
This is who I am, he told himself. A kind man who cares for his family. Perhaps even a good man. There is no deception here.
At the table Robert became more himself again,
brightening as he had earlier, surrounded by people, in the hall. He said grace and complimented James on his cooking. He drank more than he usually did and James was reminded of Christopher’s last meal in the house. He had never thought father and son had much in common, but now he could detect a resemblance. A dramatic quality. The possibility of excess.
“Why don’t you both stay here for the night?” Emma asked. Mary didn’t like driving Robert’s car and James saw she thought her father was already over the limit. “You can go back early tomorrow.”
“No,” Robert said. “I need to get home. I’d like to go into work tomorrow.”
“Is that wise?” James had never questioned Robert’s judgement before and felt rather brave. “I’m sure they’d understand that you need more time. You could have until Christmas at least. It’s hardly worth going back for a few weeks.”
“I’d prefer to be at work. I brood too much at home.” But Robert reached out for the bottle of wine and topped up his glass.
“Besides,” Mary said suddenly, ‘if I don’t go home today, I’ll never face it.” She saw that she’d shocked them. “I know it’s foolish, but that’s the way I feel. I’ll never be able to walk through the door.”
“Why don’t I drive you back later this evening?” James said. “Then you can stay for a while, relax, have another drink. I’ll pick Robert up first thing in the morning so he can collect his car.”
Emma smiled at him and brushed her fingertips over the back of his hand.
Later there was an old film on the television. The room was hot. Robert and Mary both fell asleep. Mary had her mouth slightly open and snored occasionally. Matthew lay on his stomach on the rug surrounded by toys.
“I think the doctor gave them tranquillizers,” Emma said. “They seem spaced out, don’t they? Dad especially. But a bit more relaxed, at least.”
When they woke she made tea for them, and James toasted crumpets in front of the fire. He crouched and held his arm outstretched because the embers were still so hot.
“Comfort food,” Emma said. She watched with satisfaction as Mary finished a mouthful then licked the butter from her fingers. James thought Emma had worn the same expression when she’d persuaded Matthew to take baby rice from a spoon for the first time.
“We should go,” Robert stood up. The tray was still on the floor, the toasting fork lying on the hearth. “Are you ready, my dear?”
Outside, on the other side of the road, someone was waiting under the bus shelter.
“He’ll be there a long time,” James said, hoping to lighten the mood. “There are no buses on a Sunday. Do you think I should tell him?”
The man turned and stared at them though he couldn’t have made out the words. His face was lit by the orange glow of a street light.
“It’s Michael Long,” Robert said. James had recognized him at the same instant. “Perhaps it would be better to leave him alone.”
James went into Springhead with them. He’d always liked the house despite its discomfort and inconvenience. It was where Emma had grown up and there were reminders of her everywhere. School photos, books with her name in, her Wellingtons just inside the door. Now, as he stood awkwardly in the kitchen while Robert and Mary fussed with the lights, he wondered how they could bear the gloomy paint, the threadbare carpets, the piles of slightly damp books. He was irritated that they’d never organized the improvements which were needed.
“Will you stay here?” he asked. “You won’t move?”
“Of course not!” Mary spoke as if he’d suggested something unthinkable. “Where would we go?”
“I’m not sure. You could get somewhere smaller. In the village perhaps. Close to the shops and to Emma…” He tailed off as he saw her reaction.
“Impossible,” she said.
“It’s just that earlier you seemed reluctant to come back…”
“It’s painful. But this place is all we have of Christopher now.”
She didn’t speak to him again and he thought he’d offended her. Then, as he was getting into his car in the yard, she came running out to him, still in her slippers, a coat thrown over her shoulders.
“Thank you for this afternoon. For lunch. For looking after us so well.”
He wondered if the medication had worn off because she seemed desperate, rather manic.
“No problem. You know you’re always welcome.”
“I’d like to do something for you. For you and Emma. She was looking so pale today, didn’t you think?”
“It’s been a dreadful time for you all.”
“Let me have Matthew for an evening. So you can spend some time on your own together. Go out for a drink perhaps. I’d like to. If you’d trust me.”
“Of course we trust you. Have him whenever you like.”
“Tomorrow then. Bring him here.”
She rushed back to the house and James wondered if Robert had even realized she’d gone.
When James drew up outside the Captain’s House, Michael Long was still standing at the bus stop, his hands in his pockets, muffled in his coat. He watched James climb out of the car, held his glance, a sort of challenge. It was too far for James to shout and he started to walk over the road towards him. The church clock began to strike the hour. Michael stood his ground for a moment, then he turned and hurried away towards his bungalow.
Inside Matthew was in bed and Emma was loading the dishwasher.
“Were they all right?” she asked.
“I think so. They’re so self-contained, aren’t they? It’s hard to tell.”
“I thought that’s what you admired in them.”
“Perhaps it’s not always a good thing.”
“Can we go to bed?” she said.
He felt nervous as if it was the first time. Afraid of doing something wrong, something which would upset her, spoil the mood. “Of course.”
He was in the bedroom before her, went to close the curtains. Michael Long was back at his post under the bus shelter. He was looking up at the window.
Chapter Forty
Vera Stanhope liked Dan Greenwood, had done since the first time she’d met him at one of those dreadful training days her boss had forced her to attend. All keen young officers behaving like corporate managers, fighting amongst themselves to be most enthusiastic, most positive. No negative talk allowed there. Dan Greenwood had looked at her helplessly across the conference room, with its beech-effect tables and chairs, as if he’d been thrown into the middle of a game and he didn’t understand the rules. As if she was the only one there on his side. She’d thought, looking at him, that he shouldn’t be caged inside a building at all. Looking at him, scruffy and feral, you’d have thought he should be a gamekeeper, someone used to being outdoors. Perhaps he’d thought that was what the police would be like, keeping things ordered, tidying up vermin.
“Don’t worry, pet,” she’d said to him over coffee. “They don’t mean any of it. All that positive talk. Back at the station they’ll be griping the same as you and me, sloping home early and coming in late.”
“What’s the point, then?” he’d said, and she’d thought that he really didn’t understand. He had no ambition and no desire to impress. She’d thought then that he was incapable of deception.