Page 57 of Too Close To Home

“Good.” Donnie gave a small nod, as though that settled something important. Approval. Routine. Things that could be measured and fixed. Easier than the rest of it. “Keep it going.”

As if keeping the business afloat might somehow hold the family together too.

“Got a lead on a roof refurb over on Larkspur Lane.”

“Hm.” Donnie scratched at the arm of the sofa. “That’ll be a nice little earner if it comes off. Those cottages were built in the fifties. If it’s still got the original roof, it’ll want doing properly.”

Jake wasn’t even sure he’d got the job yet. But it didn’t hurt to let his dad think there might be a bit more money coming in than usual.

Donnie Whitton had always believed work fixed most things. If his hands were busy, his head usually followed. If there was a problem, graft harder until it wasn’t one anymore. Retirement hadn’t suited him. Neither had being told what he could no longer do. Somewhere along the line, the man who’d once lived to build things had slowly stopped knowing where he fitted.

“Aye,” Jake said. “Hopefully.”

His dad grunted, as though hope wasn’t nearly as useful as a signed contract. Then, after a moment, he said, “You want proper money, you need to get yourself in front of Blackridge.”

Jake looked up. “Blackridge?”

“Aye. Walter’s got work coming out his lugholes at the minute. Estate houses. Farm buildings. Refurbs. Half the bloody county belongs to him.” There was a note of admiration there. The sort men reserved for people they’d decided were decent. “Get yourself a subcontract over there.”

“Oh, aye?”

“Aye.” Donnie nodded firmly. “When the steelworks shut and men were scrambling for anything they could get, Walter looked after a lot of families round here. Mine included. Gave me work when plenty of others wouldn’t. Never forgot that.”

Jake tapped his fingers on his knees.

“He remembers people too,” Donnie continued. “Knows who works hard. Who’s worth having around. If you asked, he’d find summat for you.”

“I’ll think about it.”

“Think quicker than that. Opportunities don’t wait forever.”

Jake managed a noncommittal grunt.

Which really meant he’d avoid it for as long as possible.

The money would be good. Better than good. But Jake had spent thirteen years making sure he stayed on the right side of a restraining order and a prison sentence. He wasn’t keen on testing either by putting himself on the same payroll as the man who’d put him inside. Nor would he remind his dad about that.

Thankfully, tea arrived.

And the living room turned into the usual chaos. Plates balancing on knees, cutlery scraping over chipped plates. Mum’s pie golden, pastry risen and defiant, gravy thick and glossy as it spilled over mashed potatoes. Jake wedged himself between Maggie and Teddy on the sagging sofa while his dad held court in the armchair, remote resting on the arm, slippers planted square on the patch of carpet worn threadbare in front of the fire.

For a while, it almost passed for normal.

Teddy moaned about maths homework. Maggie muttered about the state of Teddy’s school uniform. Jake slipped a forkful of peas onto Teddy’s plate when he wasn’t looking, and Teddy retaliated by launching carrots back in quiet protest. Maggie swatted at them both with no real heat.

Then the local news theme hit, and suddenly normal was gone again.

Other headlines came first. A road closure. A council dispute. Weather warnings rolling in off the moors. Jake chewed and swallowed, tasting none of it.

Then, there he was.

DI Harrison Black filled Jake’s television screen, standing in front of the stone wall backdrop. The force crest was visible over his shoulder. Tie straight despite the wind tugging at his coat.

Jake’s lungs forgot their job.

He pressed his palm flat to his chest, over the swallow pendant hanging on the chain that’d been replaced several times of the past thirteen years, and tried to stop the thudding. As if he could ask his heart, please, for once, don’t make a spectacle of him. It was for what he knew was coming next. The missing girl. The investigation. The woodland path once again featuring in all their lives as the last known location.

But it was also his voice.