Ann Cleeves - Silent Voices

‘No! I didn’t even know she lived in the village.’ If I say it often enough, will people believe me?

Veronica did seem to believe her, because suddenly she relaxed and gave a thin, wide smile, a red crescent tipped on its back. ‘Ah, so you weren’t good friends then.’

‘I don’t think Jenny made friends with anyone she worked with. A deliberate choice to keep home and work separate.’

‘Very wise. That’s my husband’s philosophy too. I know hardly anyone from his office.’

She sounded wistful and Connie thought how bored and lonely Veronica must be. Her son independent and no longer needy, her husband never at home. No wonder she haunted the playgroup committee and the WI. How else could she believe herself useful? Connie almost felt sorry for her, then she remembered the hostile glares from the playgroup mothers, the snide remarks. She couldn’t forgive so easily after all.

Veronica continued: ‘I host dinner parties, of course, for his clients, but that’s rather different. That’s just an extension of his work. As if he’d moved the office here for the night.’ At last she poured herself a full glass of wine. A pale light from the garden shone through it and gave it a greenish tinge. ‘I don’t mind. I’m glad to support him.’

‘Work followed me home rather uncomfortably over the past couple of years.’ Connie turned her attention from the glass to Veronica. She’d decided she wasn’t ready to let this woman off the hook entirely, that after all she couldn’t exchange months of catty comments for a peaceful lunch. ‘There was no rest from it and no escape. I’d hoped there’d be some respite after I moved here, but of course the scandal followed me. People who only knew part of the story were very unkind.’

‘People felt very strongly,’ Veronica said. ‘They always do when there’s a child involved.’ The response was sharp and swift.

‘I made a mistake at work.’ Why did she feel the need to justify herself? ‘Other people, who earn a load more money than I ever did, make mistakes at work, but they don’t get their picture all over the newspapers.’

‘But a child died!’ It came out as a wail and Connie thought this was more personal. Veronica’s campaign against her hadn’t just been the interference of a busybody. Had she lost a baby, had a miscarriage, a stillbirth? Alice, startled by the noise, looked up from her game. Seeing the women, still apparently in friendly conversation at the table, she returned to it.

‘Yes,’ Connie said quietly. ‘A child died. And I’ve thought about that every day since. I didn’t need you to remind me.’

They sat for a moment in silence. Outside, the sun slid from behind thin cloud and there was a startling light, brilliant on the damp grass, making all the colours garish and unreal. Veronica stood up and opened a window and the sudden sound of a blackbird outside seemed almost deafening.

‘I worry about Simon,’ she said. ‘I don’t want him caught up in all this. He has an academic career ahead of him. He insists on staying with Hannah at the house. I’ve invited her here, but she says she wants to feel close to her mother. That seems morbid. Her father has said she should stay with him, but she won’t go.’

Connie didn’t know what to say. I’m the last person to give you advice about your child. Alice, suddenly bored, got up from the floor and climbed onto her mother’s knee. She put her thumb in her mouth and was almost asleep. Connie stroked her forehead. She was aware of Veronica watching them, almost greedily.

‘How lucky you are!’ Veronica said. ‘It’s a lovely age.’

Conventional words, but with such force behind them that Connie felt uncomfortable. She could tell Veronica longed to hold a small child in her arms. She was about to come out with something easy and meaningless: Perhaps there’ll be grandchildren before too long. But even as the words were forming in her head she knew they would be no consolation. Veronica wanted a child of her own. Flesh and blood, immediate and not once-removed. Subconsciously Connie found herself holding Alice a little tighter.

‘Let’s have some coffee!’ Veronica got to her feet and the tension was broken. Connie thought she was letting her imagination run away from her. It was the stress of the past day, and it had never been a good idea to drink at lunchtime. Now Alice was properly asleep. Connie shifted her weight so that she had a hand free to hold the mug. The smell of the coffee was wonderful, reminded her suddenly of her first holiday in France with Frank. A cafe in the Cévennes. Heat and dust and a post-sex languor.

‘I’m so glad we had this conversation.’ Veronica was sitting very close now, her face poking forward, with the prodding, wading-bird mannerism Connie had noticed earlier. ‘I’m so glad we’ve sorted things out.’

Connie was confused. What had been sorted?

‘You must come again. Bring Alice to play in the garden. And if you need a babysitter, you only have to ask.’

Connie finished the coffee and stood up, setting Alice on her feet. ‘Come on, sweetie, it’s time to go. Wake up, or you’ll never sleep tonight.’ She felt the need to escape the house, and the woman whose switch of attitude was incomprehensible. At the front door she paused. She wanted to end the encounter with a normal exchange, not the sense that she was running away.

‘By the way, did that man find you?’

Veronica frowned. ‘What man?’

‘Yesterday lunchtime someone turned up at the cottage, asking for you. Young, charming. I wasn’t sure if you were in, but I pointed him in the right direction.’

‘Oh.’ With a supreme effort Veronica turned on a smile. ‘I expect it was a friend of Simon’s.’ But before that, Connie had seen her look at Alice with the same hungry desperation.

Late afternoon Vera called the whole team together for a meeting in the incident room. Tea, and iced buns from the bakery over the road. So much was going on in this case that she needed to keep a fix on the strands of the investigation. Once, she’d been interviewed for the Police Gazette and asked for the most important attribute of a good senior detective. She’d answered ‘concentration’. If she couldn’t keep the various possible scenarios in her head, she couldn’t expect her staff to keep on top of things.

Holly had been reluctant to come in when Vera had phoned her: ‘I think I should stay here. Hannah’s falling apart and we’ve developed a great relationship.’

Vera had insisted. ‘You’re doing her no favours if you make her dependent on you. Great for your ego, but a bastard for her. And we have to know what you’ve found out from her. You can go back later if you have to, but get a family liaison officer to take over tomorrow. They’re trained for that work, and you’re not.’

So Holly was there, an overnight bag at her feet, a badge that she was needed. Loving feeling indispensable, Vera could tell, despite the warning. Charlie was already into his second bun, a smudge of icing on his nose, crumbs down the front of his jacket. And Ashworth was frowning as he checked through his notes, looking almost grown-up. Vera wasn’t sure his extra family responsibilities were good for him. He’d lost his sense of fun, his joy in his work. She’d lost her playmate.

‘OK,’ she said, calling them to attention, poised in front of the whiteboard with the thick, black marker in her hand. ‘Let’s see what you know. Holly? Have we found out any more about Jenny’s private life? I see the search team’s been through the house. Any news on that?’

Holly pushed her hair away from her face and pretended not to like the attention. ‘Hannah doesn’t know anything about a recent boyfriend. She says there’ve been men in the past. One guy who worked for he National Park. According to Hannah, he was besotted, but Jenny dumped him about a year ago. Hannah was surprised; she’d thought her mother was keen too. Since then, nothing.’