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‘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 are, there’s a chance it’ll be in the press. And if that happens, there’s also a slim chance that there’ll be something about us – you and me – in there. That something might be dug up.’
‘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‘Luce,’ he said, putting out a hand, but she’d withdrawn her own from the table, and now wrapped her arms around herself.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—’
She broke down completely. Strike pushed himself up from the table and walked towards her. He half-expected her to push him away, but she let him put his arms around her and pull her close, so that she was sobbing into her brother’s chest. They’d stood thus for barely a minute when the front door opened.
Lucy pushed Strike away at once, hastily wiping her face. With false gaiety she called out,
‘How did it go, Luke, did you win?’
