The Darkest Evening

inevitable arrival of the social worker to the back of her mind. ‘Of course. Come in. We’re all in the kitchen where it’s a bit warmer.’
Then it happened very quickly. Dorothy found more nappies to go on the journey, Thomas was laid on a mat on the floor and zipped into his snow suit. The boots were put on his feet.
‘Where are you taking him?’ Juliet tried to bring a tone of polite curiosity to her voice.
‘To his grandparents. They know about Lorna’s death. I was there with a police officer this morning.’
‘And they’re happy to take him in?’
The social worker hesitated for a moment. ‘Mrs Falstone wants to give it a go. We’ll be keeping a close eye.’
‘And one of my colleagues is going too,’ Vera said. ‘To chat to them, see if we can find out a bit more about what Lorna was doing here. They’ll make sure Thomas settles well.’
Juliet had expected the young female officer, Holly, to accompany Helen Clough, but in the end, it was Joe Ashworth who went.
‘He’s got a family of his own,’ Vera said. ‘He’s soft as clarts when it comes to kids.’
The door closed behind them and it felt to Juliet more like a tragedy than when she’d heard about Lorna Falstone’s murder.

Chapter Nine
Joe sat beside the social worker, with the baby in the car seat behind them. Helen Clough drove carefully up the Brockburn drive, following the tyre tracks of vehicles that had left earlier in the day. Out between the grand pillars, the road was almost clear and Joe felt that he’d been allowed some kind of escape. He hadn’t realized how oppressive the atmosphere in the house had been until he left it behind. It was something to do with the discomfort he felt in the company of the upper classes. A sense that he didn’t quite know how to behave. He always admired Vera for not seeming to care.
Everywhere was white and the sunlight reflecting on the snow hurt his eyes. There was nobody else about.
‘What are they like then, these Falstones? You said you visited them before coming here.’
Again, she paused before speaking. He’d noticed the same hesitation when Juliet had asked if the family was happy to take on the baby.
‘Not the easiest,’ she said at last. ‘But that could be grief.’
‘But they will take the bairn? Surely, if they’re his grandparents.’
‘I’m not sure they know him,’ Helen said. ‘It’s all a bit confusing. There seems to have been some falling-out with Lorna. They say they haven’t seen Thomas since he was born, though I have a sense that the mother might be hiding something. I’d like to speak to her when her husband’s not there. I’m still not convinced it’s the best placement, but like I said to your boss, we’ll keep an eye. Better than a temporary foster placement and having to move him around.’
‘But one of my colleagues has discovered that Lorna had been poorly. Anorexia. Surely the parents would have wanted to look out for her, to stay in close touch.’
‘Ah,’ Helen said. ‘Sometimes the parents are the problem.’
Joe didn’t know how to reply to that. He’d been expecting a longer drive, but they came to the farmhouse very quickly. It was no more than four miles away from Brockburn, solid, grey, stone. Once it might have stood against the Reivers, the raiders from the north. Because these had always been borderlands, debatable lands, places of clans and shifting allegiances. There was a walled garden to one side and a field of hardy sheep leading to a slow-running river fringed with ice. Joe had been expecting something a bit scruffy and run-down – weren’t hill farmers supposed to be going through hard times – but this was tidy, the barn new and well maintained. To one side, there was a stable, a horse with a rug looking out over the door. The yard had been cleared of snow, and it was lower here, a little warmer. The field by the river was already showing patches of green. In the distance, hills and to the west, the sweep of the forest.
They were greeted by barking dogs and a middle-aged man in overalls. Joe stayed where he was and turned to the back of the car to play peek-a-boo with Thomas. They’d already decided that Helen would take the lead. She was out of the car, hand outstretched.
‘Hello again, Mr Falstone.’
‘The wife’s in the kitchen. You’d best go on in.’ He gave a quick glance at the baby, then turned away, the dogs at his heels. When Joe looked after him, he’d disappeared round the side of the barn.
Helen turned to Joe and shrugged. He could tell she was disappointed by the man’s reaction. Joe got out of the car and lifted Thomas from his seat. He was thinking of his own parents and how they loved his bairns to bits. If anything happened to him and Sal, they’d be there for the children. It was so obvious to them all that the family had never discussed it. Now, he wondered if they should, so there’d be no awkwardness with the authorities, no questions. He was still thrown by the notion that parents could be the problem.
Helen tapped at the back door of the farmhouse and let herself in. After the reflected light on the snow and ice, it seemed suddenly dark, gloomy. There was brown lino on the floor, a proggy mat in front of the range, grey with coal dust and dog hairs. A pine table and a couple of ancient armchairs. No photos of Lorna, even as a baby. No pictures at all, except one of a ram, taken at an agricultural show, a young man and young woman standing either side of it. The man’s hairstyle suggested the photo had been taken in the eighties, but the woman’s image drew him in and took him by surprise. She was dressed like her husband in jeans and a