It had been quite the twenty-four hours, and Hardeep Kaur’s mother would be waiting not so patiently to get the lowdown.

She hadn’t fancied the fete. The night before, she had been in charge of the catering for the curry night at the pub, The King’s Arms. Cooking for fifty people had taken it out of her. Then when landlord, James Durkin, had announced his love for not one but two men, she had struggled to get a wink of sleep.

Hardeep chuckled to himself as he walked down Queen Street towards home. Usually there would be plenty of people to pass the time of day with, but the place was like a ghost town. Nothing much happened in Napthwaite so to have a gay throuple in their midst then the events of today, the place would need a bit of time to right itself.

He walked around the side of the post office he and his mother ran, shuddering at the thought of the endless customers tomorrow who would want to dissect everything. He would leave his mother to do that.

He ran up the stairs to the flat he shared with his family. Inside, the small kitchen still had pots and pans piled up, and in the lounge, his mother, Mohinder, sat in her chair by the window with her ever-present knitting. His teenage daughter, Satinder, lay on the sofa with the latest addition to the family, a one-year-old French bulldog named Beeb, snoozing on top of her.

None of them even acknowledged his presence. He would soon change that. “Oh hi, Hardeep. Have you eaten? Would you like to sit down?” he asked himself.

They ignored him, engrossed in the TV programme they were watching.

“Hardeep, you’ve worked hard putting the coconut shy away. Very good of you after Matthew got taken away in that ambulance.”

Beeb leapt off Satinder as she spun around on the coach. Mohinder stopped mid-stitch and stared at him.

“I thought that might waken you up. Shift.” He tapped his daughter’s feet out of the way and sank onto the sofa.

Mohinder resumed her knitting.

“Tell us then,” Satinder said eagerly. Clearly her thirst for information came from her grandmother.

“He will,” Mohinder muttered. “Let him have his moment of glory.”

He’d known she would be furious she’d missed all the action. “Jealous, Mother? You like to break the news around here.”

Mohinder gave him an icy stare. “You can overbake a pudding, you know. Spit it out.”

He had tortured them long enough.

“Fine, I’ll talk. Poor old Matthew Johnstone just went down like a deadweight. In the middle of everyone. He’d been having a right slanging match with James. Well, not

James as such—bloody Liz. One minute she’s determined to run that teacher he’s with out of town, the next she’s defending him to the hilt. I can’t keep up.”

Mohinder seemed to be analysing this information. No doubt she would have a statement to make in good time.

“Napthwaite is getting exciting,” Satinder said. “Three gay men in the pub and death at the fete.”

Hardeep tapped her on the leg. “He’s nowhere near dead. Don’t say things like that, young lady.”

Beeb jumped up on the sofa but came to him for a fuss. Of course he did. He naturally gravitated to the person who fed and walked him. Satinder had begged for a dog for months and had got bored with Beeb in days.

He scratched the little dog behind his ear, which he loved.

“Did they say what caused it?” Mohinder said at last.

“Not sure, but they got the defibs out, so must have been the heart.”

Mohinder chewed her lip thoughtfully. “I guess that confirms he has one then.”

“Mother. Don’t you start. He’s a neighbour of ours.”

Mohinder put her knitting down and stared at him. “He’s a nasty piece of work. Always has been. I don’t wish ill on him, obviously.”

He couldn’t argue with her. Matthew Johnstone stalked around Napthwaite like he owned each brick and could pass judgement on every villager. He stood on all the committees, forcing his opinions on all and sundry.

“I thought he and Liz were in cahoots anyways,” she said, lost in thought. “He didn’t like that gay teacher being here any more than she did.”