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Matthew Venn is the dynamic protagonist of The Long Call. He is a Detective Inspector in the Devon police force, and he is married to Jonathan. Matthew grew up near Devon and was raised in a highly religious community called the Barum Brethren. He became estranged from the Brethren—and from his family—when he was unable to reconcile their version of God with his own feelings of faith. While he was once a dreamer who imagined himself “a poet in the making” (4), the estrangement from his community led Matthew to become closed off, and he has become an expert at concealing his emotions. His relationship with Jonathan has begun to bring him out of his shell, and as he notes, “The fear of looking foolish had haunted him all his adult life. It had taken Jonathan to start curing him of that” (279).
Even though Matthew’s relationship with Jonathan has encouraged him to become a more open, expressive person, Matthew is still very guarded, even within his relationship. The guardedness within his marriage comes from his feelings of insecurity about whether he is enough for his husband. Early in their relationship, Matthew had “been certain that Jonathan would find someone more interesting to spend his life with” (75). This internalized fear that he is uninteresting and insufficient for Jonathan affects the way he interacts with his husband. Matthew is terrified of imposing his own desires onto their relationship for fear of pushing Jonathan away. Even asking Jonathan not to come home too late feels “like a risk” for Matthew (214).
Matthew’s character development focuses primarily on his efforts to deal with the childhood traumas that created these facets of his personality. The mystery of Simon Walden’s murder is closely linked to members of the Barum Brethren, like Dennis Salter, as well as community members whose anti-gay prejudices have been shaped by their proximity to the Brethren, like Colin Marston and Christopher Preece. Matthew’s eventual discovery that Grace Salter is the killer forces him into a confrontation with the Salters, one that allows him to finally vocalize his criticisms of the misogynistic, anti-gay dynamics that Dennis Salter and his community have created. This confrontation allows Matthew to move past his emotional barricades and to begin the work of forgiving his remaining family—namely his mother, whom he invites to dinner as his final act in the narrative. Matthew’s emotional arc over the course of the novel is one of healing as he learns to work through trauma and forge healthier connections with the people who have hurt him.
Jen Rafferty is Matthew’s sergeant. She is an attractive, red-headed single mother who joined Matthew’s unit after getting herself out of an abusive marriage. Matthew is initially judgmental of Jen, noting that she is “[h]ard partying and hard drinking; if she’d been a man, you’d have called her predatory” (8). Following her divorce, Jen longs for the sexual and emotional companionship of a male partner; she yearns for “a good man to hold her hand when they were out walking, to stroke her neck when she’d had a bad day, to lie next to her at night and screw her senseless as the dawn came” (87). Jen struggles to find companionship for much the same reason that she sometimes struggles in her detective work; she is quick to judge and often jumps to conclusions that do not serve her well.
An example of this tendency comes in Chapter 16 when Jen questions Kate Dickinson, Simon Walden’s ex-wife. Jen initially struggles to imagine how the “[c]ool and polished” Dickinson could ever have been with Simon (154). She even allows herself to begin to fill in the details of Kate’s life story based on her own impressions of Kate, imagining that Kate was eager to leave Simon for her new partner. After Kate finishes telling her story, Jen realizes that “maybe she should be more tolerant” (159), and over the course of the novel, she learns to mitigate her biases. Sometimes this process manifests as greater tolerance of others, such as when she tells Edward Craven that she doesn’t hate him; she only hates the pain he has caused. In other instances, she learns to show greater tolerance for herself as she finally comes to accept that she cannot always be the perfect mother but must try her best and accept her failures.
Jonathan is Matthew’s husband. He is also the founder and administrator of the Woodyard Centre. Jonathan’s activism in starting the Woodyard (prior to the events of the novel) transformed him from a laid-back man who had “drunk beer and sat in the sun” into someone “passionate, consumed, organized” (75). Jonathan is outwardly confident in a way that Matthew both envies and admires; he is the one who proposes to Matthew, and Matthew is shocked that someone like Jonathan could ever want him. Interactions between Jonathan and Matthew suggest that the two men have spent much of their relationship learning how to reconcile various small differences that make it difficult for them to live with each other. For example, when Jonathan invites friends over on a Friday night because “Fridays should be shared and celebrated” (273), he immediately apologizes to Matthew for the fact that they stay over; he knows how introverted Matthew becomes while he is working on a case. This interaction illustrates how attuned Jonathan is to his husband and suggests that he is a highly empathetic man who knows how to forge meaningful connections.
The Woodyard represents Jonathan’s ability to craft such connections between disparate community groups as well. His character development begins when all the work that he has put into the Woodyard is threatened when the community center’s reputation is tarnished by the events surrounding Simon’s murder. Jonathan is the bookkeeper for the Woodyard, and this task, as Colin Marston points out, is not Jonathan’s strong suit. The questions surrounding Simon’s potential financial ties to the Woodyard force Jonathan to confront the aspects of running the Woodyard that he is worst at—and to question who he will become if his life’s work is unraveled by Simon’s murder. The emotional burdens posed by these struggles cause Jonathan to depend on Matthew for emotional and psychological support, and although their relationship is tested over the course of the novel, the two men emerge all the stronger for it.
Simon Walden, whose murder is at the heart of The Long Call, is a mysterious figure whose personality is interpreted in different ways by the various with whom he interacted. For his employers at Kingsley House, Simon was a brilliant baker but a difficult man who often butted heads with the problematic head chef. For Caroline and Gaby, however, Simon was an intensely personal, charismatic man who interested them both, and for Gaby, he eventually became a lover. Simon is also the embodiment of the novel’s meditations on guilt; he was a man whose life was permanently altered when he drove a vehicle under the influence of alcohol and caused the death of a child with Down syndrome. It was his guilt over this death that drove Simon to become unhoused. He eventually took up a volunteer position in the kitchen of the Woodyard.
Initially, the revelation that Simon was working with Lucy Braddick to uncover the hidden abuse at the Woodyard suggests that internalized guilt can be a positive motivating force. However, Gaby’s reflections on her relationship with Simon point to a darker side to Simon’s guilt. As she explains to Matthew when he presses her to reveal what Simon told her about his intentions toward Woodyard, “He said that if he told me everything, there would be no secrets anymore. And he didn’t know what that would feel like. It was the secrets that defined him. He wouldn’t feel the same man. It would be like having no guilt” (280). Gaby’s interpretation of Simon’s reticence suggests that Simon had come to define himself by the very guilt that served as his motivation. Simon was unsure of who he would be if his guilt was ever alleviated, and this fear of losing this trauma-based identity impacted his relationships with people like Gaby and contributed to the web of secrecy surrounding the events of his death.