Death

Alone again with Deborah, he recalls, in no particular order, every one of the eighteen funerals he’s attended in his ten years as manager. Some bloody miserable, most just a funeral, one of them, Rory’s, [more…]

“Gavin, nice to meet you,” said Oliver, extending his hand. “You too, Oliver isn’t it?” “It is but everybody calls me Olly, except my wife, but then she is Welsh.” “OK, Olly it is then,” [more…]

Oliver leans back in his chair, closes his eyes and again goes over the things that will happen during the course of the next few hours. It’s likely that…his mobile interrupts again; the paramedic’s here. [more…]

As he approaches Deborah’s apartment, the third this morning, Oliver detects a faint whiff of something unpleasant. Unpleasant but familiar. He hopes he’s mistaken but after another couple of steps he knows he’s not. Vomit, [more…]

Oliver Harding is expecting a business-as-usual day at Bawlsinyore Court, a rather smart retirement housing scheme in a sleepy corner of Cambridgeshire where he’s the resident manager. Today the window cleaners will be here and [more…]