Ann Cleeves: Silent Voices

‘Where have you been? I thought you’d only gone to the supermarket.’ Not nagging. That one would never be a nagging sort of woman. Just concerned. Then she saw Vera and it was like a rerun of the first visit to the house, the time when Vera had to tell Hannah that her mother was dead.

‘Oh, it’s you, Inspector. I thought you were Simon. He’s taken my mother’s car to get some food. He’s been ages, but perhaps he’s got stuck in the floods. Do you want some coffee?’ She walked through to the kitchen and Vera followed.

‘Maybe later, pet. We need to talk first.’

Something about Vera’s face made the girl stop in her tracks.

‘You’ve found him, haven’t you? The man who killed my mother?’

‘Aye, we know who it is. Not in custody yet, but only a matter of time.’

‘Is it someone I’d know?’ Hannah looked up at her, sensing perhaps that there was more to this than the official notification that the killer had been found.

Vera paused. The girl had been through so much already. How could Vera tell her that the man she adored was a murderer?

‘It’s Simon.’

‘No!’ She forced a laugh. ‘This is a terrible joke, right?’ Her face was grey. She pulled out a chair and almost fell into it.

‘No joke. Do you want me to tell you about it? Should I get someone to be with you first? Friend? Teacher?’ Vera had asked much the same question on that earlier visit too and Simon had come rushing in. Hannah’s knight in shining armour. Her boy fiancé.

‘Tell me. I don’t believe it, but tell me your story.’

‘She fell in love with him. Your mother fell in love with him.’

There was a silence, which wasn’t what Vera had been expecting. She’d thought there would be tears, denial, rage, even that Hannah would throw her out of the house.

‘You’re not surprised?’

‘She fancied him,’ Hannah said quietly. ‘You could tell. But Simon and I made a joke about it. Why wouldn’t she? Why wouldn’t a middle-aged woman fancy a fit younger man? But she wouldn’t do anything about it. My mother was a good woman.’

And she was getting older, body clock ticking. It’s a powerful sensation, lust. Easy to convince yourself that you’re in love when the hormones start working. Love gives us licence to do what we like. Love is honourable and brave, even if we’re screwing our daughter’s fiancé. All bollocks of course, but that’s what we’re brought up to believe. And after being good for so long, the temptation to be wicked must have been overwhelming. I understand all that.

‘What about Simon? Did he fancy her?’

‘He liked her. Admired her. He didn’t have much of a relationship with his own mother, so I was pleased Mum and Simon got on so well.’

‘They were lovers,’ Vera said. It was best the girl heard the details from her. No doubt the story would dribble out over time, even if Eliot was persuaded to plead guilty. ‘Have been for months. They met an afternoon a week in Durham. Her excuse was that she went to Durham prison to meet Mattie Jones, but she always kept the visits very short. Mattie confirmed that with my sergeant. Then they spent the rest of the day in Simon’s house. His parents had bought it for him. An investment. Very handy.’ She looked at Hannah. ‘We showed Jenny’s photo to the neighbours. A few recognized her. The pair of them were about as discreet as it’s possible to be, but there’s no doubt, I’m afraid. One afternoon they left the curtains open and a nosy old lady saw them kissing.’ This was another of the operations she’d planned from her seat in the Willows the day before: a house-to-house in the street where Simon lived. She had a couple of friends who worked for County Durham police. They’d owed her a few favours, paid back now.

‘Thursdays,’ Hannah said slowly. ‘Mum was always late home on Thursdays. And I knew not to contact Simon then, because he said he had rowing practice. Followed by a few pints with the boys, of course.’

‘Then your mother must have started feeling guilty,’ Vera said. ‘Not about the relationship with Simon, I think, but about lying to you. She wanted it all out in the open.’ Stupid woman. Some things are best

kept secret. ‘Simon hated the idea of your knowing. If he loved anyone, it was you.’

‘So he killed Mum just to stop her telling me?’ Now Hannah was horrified.

‘Oh, pet, nothing’s quite that simple, is it?’

Because Simon Eliot was certainly a complicated young man. He was someone else with disturbing childhood memories. Pictures in his head. First, of a small brother who disappeared in a river in flood. Then who seemed to disappear completely from the family’s life. No toys. No clothes. No photographs. Simon must have been left with a sense of guilt, confused that nobody would acknowledge it. Had he believed himself mad? There would have been times when he’d thought the whole incident was imagined. Maybe the care of a compassionate social worker was just what he needed.

Hannah was staring at her. ‘Tell me,’ she said. ‘I want to know.’

‘Simon had a half-sister,’ Vera said, ‘called Mattie Jones.’

‘That woman who killed her child?’

‘That woman.’ Vera looked at the kitchen tiles and saw that her mucky wellingtons had left a trail of footprints. She should have taken them off at the door. ‘Veronica had a child when she was still a schoolgirl.’

‘But my mother wouldn’t have told him about that!’ Hannah’s voice was so high-pitched that it came out like a shriek. ‘She never discussed her work with anyone.’

But with Simon, Jenny Lister had broken all her rules.

‘Perhaps she didn’t tell him,’ Vera said. ‘Perhaps he found her notes. The plan for the book she intended to write.’

They sat in silence.

‘Simon and Danny were friends, weren’t they?’ Vera had done what she’d come for, but Hannah was so calm and composed that she felt she could ask more questions.

‘Sure, I told you they were.’

‘But close friends?’

‘Yeah, we were all in Folkworks, the scheme for young musicians at the Sage. Danny was a mean fiddle-player. Great on guitar too. He didn’t get on so well with the kids at school; he was more comfortable with the older guys he played music with.’

‘Even though he’d lost you to Simon?’

‘I told you. Things like that happen all the time. It’s no big deal. Danny liked heroes. Simon was older, cleverer.’

But I was distracted by it. I saw the young men as rivals, not allies. That threw me entirely off track.

‘Where is he?’ Hannah asked suddenly. ‘Where’s Simon?’

‘Last time I saw him he was soaking wet. He’d just swum across the pool at Greenhough, trying to get away from us.’

‘That was where we first made love,’ Hannah said. ‘In the boathouse. This time of year, but it was sunny. Birdsong in the woods. He took me out on a boat on the lake and we drank champagne.’ She looked out into the garden. Next door Hilda was pegging sheets onto the line. Hannah, though, was lost in thought and didn’t notice her. ‘I could always tell he was damaged. He had these weird silences and sometimes he’d get angry for no real reason. But I thought I could heal him. I thought I could make him whole.’

‘Oh, pet, nobody could do that for him.’

‘Except my mother,’ Hannah said. ‘Perhaps she could.’

‘No! She was going to spoil everything!’ The voice was loud and sharp and startled them both. It was like someone shouting in church. Simon had let himself in through the front door. Vera had been so focused on the girl that she hadn’t heard him. His dark hair was still damp, but he’d changed into dry clothes.