Chapter 4

Case no. 63542-7577

On the day of the move, it rained relentlessly. The sky was dark and disapproving, and water was smashing down on the flowers in the garden, shattering the blooms and battering their torn petals onto the sodden grass. As portents go, it wasn’t encouraging. But Derek didn’t believe in portents. When the removal man – Dan with a Van – had turned up at his flat in Hackney that morning and announced that they might do better with an ark than his aging Transit, Derek had smiled serenely and offered him a cup of tea – and a chocolate digestive. And now they had arrived in the picturesque, though currently rain-lashed, village where Derek was to make his new home with the love of his life. Jack was at the door to greet them as soon as they pulled onto the drive. A broad smile lit up his attractive face, and he ran his hand through his ever mussed-up mop of silver hair as he stood waiting for Derek to get out of the van. He had remembered to put on the navy check shirt that Derek liked so much, and his usually rumpled chinos were neatly pressed for the occasion.

‘Welcome home, my darling!’ he murmured, as he pulled Derek into a brief hug and then released him with a quick glance in Dan’s direction.

‘Don’t mind me,’ said Dan, pulling the first of the boxes from his van. ‘I’m Elton John’s biggest fan.’

Between them, they unloaded Derek’s belongings – getting drenched in the process – and Jack insisted on making Dan a sandwich and a mug of tea before he set off back to London. They sat in the kitchen, eating and drinking and drying off in the heat of the Aga, which looked strangely incongruous in the 1960s-built bungalow. It had been Jack’s retirement gift to himself. He had always dreamt of living in a large country house with a boot room and an Aga – he never missed an episode ofDownton Abbey – but on a college lecturer’s salary, the bungalow had been the best he could afford. He had, however, furnished it as though it were a country cottage, its colourful vintage interiors completely and rather splendidly at odds with the building’s plain, boxy exterior. Continuing the theme outside was the epitome of a cottage garden, a feast for both body and soul. The regimented beds of runner beans, carrots, potatoes and onions, the fruit trees and raspberry canes and the riot of delphiniums, roses and honeysuckle made the bungalow they surrounded look like an imposter.

A haughty marmalade cat with tufted fur stalked the kitchen, inspecting them with his baleful yellow eyes before approaching Derek and rubbing his head against his calf. Derek leaned down to stroke him. ‘I’m honoured, Kathmandu. You never normally come near me.’

Jack laughed. ‘He’s trying to get round you now that he knows you’re moving in. He’s hoping for extra titbits.’

Once Dan had gone, they began to organise Derek’s things.

‘I’ve cleared some space on the bookshelves in the study, and your records can go with mine in the sitting room,’ Jack told him as he carried Derek’s suitcase into his new bedroom. It was cosily furnished with a single bed, a carved mahogany wardrobe and a comfortable looking armchair positioned next to a side table on which stood a handsome brass reading lamp.

‘Of course, I hope you won’t besleeping