Lightning

 

 

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Lightning Press

Sixty-four Rotten Park Road looked like any other ’50s semi. The district was fairly affluent, indeed it had been tipped as “up and coming” by the local firm of estate agents, Brown, Darling and McHaggis, if you could believe a word they said.

Unbeknown to many, number 64 was the home of a premier-league sleuth, the detective giant of the Metropolitan Constabulary, Inspector Ray Decca. The fact that he rarely set foot in the place was more a reflection of his dedication to duty than to any disaffection with the neighbourhood, though having a wife who could have nagged for Britain may have tilted the scales in favour of the police station.

Promotion had come quickly and easily to him; easier still after he’d joined the secret Mahjong Society. So what if he’d had to swear allegiance to the Mighty Jong while wearing a traffic cone on his head with his left trouser leg rolled up to the knee? It was all part of the rich tapestry of police life.

That night he and his wife sat up reading in bed. Decca’s book was a detective novel by Simenon. In fact it was lying open in his hands at page fifty-three, where it had stubbornly remained since last Thursday. It wasn’t so much that page fifty-three was particularly brilliant or exciting; simply that Decca’s mind was elsewhere. Sometimes he was on the verge of solving a major case and being congratulated by the Chief Constable, at other times, such as after a particularly bad day, he was spending his early retirement on a sun-kissed beach in the South Pacific, surrounded by dusky maidens in little grass skirts with large coconuts.

Mrs Decca, or Sheila as she was known among her friends at the Women’s Institute, was gently nagging in the background as Decca’s mind raced across the globe to paradise.

“Did you pay my car insurance like you promised, Ray?”

“Hmmmmmm…”

“Is that hmmm yes or hmmm no?”

“Hmmmmmm?”

“You’re not paying attention to me, Raymond!”

She always called him Raymond when she was working up to a really big nag.

“Sorry, dear…?”

“My car insurance?”

“Yes, dear, it’s all sorted.”

“Did you remember to book a table at La Bistro? You haven’t forgotten it’s our anniversary next week, now have you?”

“Hmmmmmm…”

“Don’t bother! There’s something I’ve been meaning to tell you for some time…”

“Hmmmmmm, yes dear.”

“I’m leaving you. I’ve found someone else; someone who appreciates me!”

“Hmmmmmm, that’s nice, dear.”