The Bones of Summer by Anne Brooke Read Free Book Online Page A

his arm.
    “I don't know,” she said. “Not for sure. But I haven't really seen him for two weeks. So I let myself in with the spare key. I worried that he might have done something foolish but, after I'd searched, the only thing I found that was different was your letter. On the kitchen table. After all that time, he still had it. I'm afraid he'd torn it up, but the address was readable. Just. He's never been gone this long before. One or two days, and a few times as long as a week, usually with that church of his on one of their retreats, but he's always come back. This time I don't know where he might be. And the police can't find him either. Anyway, I don't think they're interested. Not if a crime hasn't been committed. And of course there's no reason to think there has. Why should there be?”
    “You said you were worried? Was there anything in Mr. Robertson's behavior before he left that was particularly unusual?”
    Paul's question made Craig jump, and Andrea blinked at him for a few moments.
    “Mr. Robertson?” she said, with a frown.
    “Um, m-my father,” Craig muttered, unfolding his arms and staring down at the patterned carpet. “Paul means my father. His—my—surname is Clutton, Paul.”
    “Of course!” Andrea's frown disappeared. “I should have remembered. After all, I did use your new name when I wrote to you.”
    Paul removed his fingers from Craig's shirt sleeve and coughed. “I see. In that case, did you think Mr. Clutton was behaving strangely before he vanished?”
    “The police asked me the same question but it came to nothing. All I could tell them was that two of the church elders had come to the farm a day or so before he left. They'd quarreled with your father. I heard shouting, but I couldn't make out what they were saying and I didn't like to interfere. Not with things to do with his religion. He was so involved in it. After that he'd been quiet. But then again, James was often quiet. Preoccupied.”
    “Preoccupied?” Paul said, leaning forward. “With what, exactly?”
    This time, Andrea smiled. “Apart from his faith, you mean? Well, the usual things that preoccupy people who live in this area, Paul, and who make their living from the land. How the farming year has gone, whether the machinery Craig's father used could be updated without going any further into the red, if the tourist trade might be better next year. And so on and so on. I was never a farmer's wife myself, but if you live here for long enough, you soon pick up on the concerns people have. It's a question of survival, you see.”
    “I see,” said Paul, slowly. And then, unexpectedly, he smiled. “Well, I don't see. Not really. I know nothing about farmers. But thank you for trying to explain it to me. I probably have a lot to learn. I'm afraid you might have to be patient.”
    Andrea nodded. As if something Craig hadn't heard had passed between them and she was satisfied with it.
    “Good,” she said, and turned to him. “Now, do you still have the key to your house, Craig? Or will you need me to let you in?”
    * * * *
    With Andrea's spare key in his hand, he and Paul stood outside his old home. Andrea herself had turned down the chance to keep them company, and Craig wondered if she was being tactful about his return to where he used to live. He wouldn't have minded. The memories—such as they were—he held of that time weren't precious. At least not as far as his father was concerned. His mother ... best not to think of that though. He had to keep his wits about him.
    Now it was funny how small everything looked. Even just from the outside. In Craig's head over the years, the dimensions of where he'd been brought up, where in the end he'd run from, had taken on almost mythic proportions. Now all he could see was a simple white exterior, black wooden windows scattered higgledy-piggedly across the frontage, and a not very well-kept roof. Some of the tiles were missing. He shook his head. Had his father let