‘Yeah, well, I needed shrinking,’ said Strike, wiping his feet on the doormat. ‘You’ll understand once you reach my age… I got those for you, Luke and Adam,’ he added, handing Jack the carrier bag.
Lucy now appeared in the hall, and on hearing these words, beamed at Strike. She’d previously expressed displeasure that he so obviously favoured her middle son.
‘This is a lovely surprise,’ she said, hugging her brother. ‘Luke’s out at football with Greg, but Adam’s upstairs. Come through, I’ve just taken banana bread out of the oven.’
‘Smells great,’ said Strike, following her into the kitchen, with its glass doors overlooking a lawn. ‘Give me a small bit. I’m still a stone off my target weight.’
‘I’m so glad you called, because I’m a bit worried about Ted,’ said Lucy, taking a couple of small plates out of the cupboard. Ted was their widowed uncle, who lived in Cornwall. ‘I rang him this morning and he told me the same story he told me last time I called, word for word.’
‘Think he’s lonely,’ said Strike, sitting down at the kitchen table.
‘Maybe,’ said Lucy doubtfully, ‘but I’ve been thinking I might nip down and see him. Would you come, too?’
‘Yeah, with a bit of notice,’ said Strike, who was experiencing the familiar sense of constriction Lucy often gave him, whereby he was asked to commit immediately to future arrangements, and often had to deal with her irritability when he couldn’t instantly fall in with her plans. Today, however, Lucy merely set a slice of banana bread down in front of him, followed shortly afterwards by a mug of tea.
‘So, why the visit? Not that I’m not pleased to see you.’
Before Strike could respond, both Jack and Adam appeared, each holding an Air Storm Firetek Bow, which had been bought by Strike with the express purpose of getting Lucy’s sons out into the garden while he talked to her.
‘This is awesome,’ said Adam to Strike.
‘Glad you like it,’ said Strike.
‘Corm, you shouldn’t have!’ said Lucy, clearly delighted that he had. Given the number of times he’d forgotten his nephews’ birthdays, Strike was well aware these gifts might be said to be overdue. ‘Pity it’s raining,’ said Lucy, glancing out of the window at the garden.
‘Not much,’ said Strike.
‘I want to try it,’ said Jack, confirming his position as his uncle’s favourite. ‘I’ll put on my wellies,’ he threw at his mother, as he hurried out of the kitchen again. To Strike’s relief, Adam followed his older brother.
‘So, why are you here?’ Lucy asked again.
‘I’d rather talk once the boys can’t hear us,’ said Strike.
‘Oh my God – are you ill?’ said Lucy, in panic.
‘No, of course not,’ said Strike. ‘I just—’
Jack and Adam came hurrying back into the kitchen, both carrying wellington boots.
‘And coats, boys,’ said Lucy, torn now between apprehension at what Strike was about to tell her, and the needs of her sons.
At last, when the two boys disappeared into the rain with their coats on, Strike cleared his throat.
‘OK, I wanted to talk to you about a case I’ve just taken on.’
‘Oh,’ said Lucy, who looked slightly reassured. ‘Why?’
‘Because if we’re successful, which is long odds at the moment, but if we
‘Like what?’ said Lucy, in a slightly brittle voice. ‘They’ve done it all already, haven’t they? “Son of super-groupie.” “Notorious good-time girl Leda Strike.”’
‘This wouldn’t just be about Mum,’ said Strike.
He noticed Lucy’s slight tightening of expression. She hadn’t called Leda ‘Mum’ since she was fourteen and was explicit, these days, about the fact that she’d considered their late aunt, Joan, her true mother.
‘What, then?’ said Lucy.
‘Well,’ said Strike, ‘I’ve been hired to investigate the Universal Humanitarian Church.’
‘So?’
‘So, their headquarters are where the Aylmerton Community used to be.’
Lucy slumped back in her chair as though the words had hit her physically, her expression blank. At last, she swallowed and said,
‘Oh.’
‘I got a hell of a shock when I realised that’s where they started,’ said Strike. ‘I only found out once we’d taken the case and—’
To his horror, Lucy had begun noiselessly crying.
‘Luce,’ he said, putting out a hand, but she’d withdrawn her own from the table, and now wrapped her arms around herself. This was a far worse reaction than Strike had imagined; he’d anticipated anger and resentment that he was once again exposing her to gossip at the school gates about her unorthodox past.
‘Christ,’ said Strike, ‘I didn’t—’
‘Didn’t what?’ said Lucy, with a trace of anger, tears now trickling down her face.
‘I’m sorry,’ said Strike. ‘I got a shock myself, when I saw—’
Lucy got to her feet and blundered towards the side where kitchen roll stood on a metal stand. Ripping off several pieces she mopped her face, took a deep breath and said, clearly fighting to regain control,
‘I’m sorry. I just – I didn’t expect—’
