He followed me down the hallway to the kitchen and nodded appreciatively at the aroma of the fresh coffee. He looked at the percolator as if it was a part of a rocket ship. ‘That’s snazzy,’ he said.

‘Wedding present,’ I said, gathering a mug and sugar bowl from the pantry.

‘You got married down south then,’ he said, as though the present made this much obvious.

‘Registry office,’ I said.

He looked up from his examination of the percolator and endeavoured not to let disapproval show. ‘Not a churchgoer?’

‘No.’

He stayed silent a moment, debating whether or not he would risk his mortal soul if he accepted a cup of coffee from somebody who hadn’t said their vows in front of a vicar. His taste buds got the better of him. He heaped a spoonful of sugar into his mug. Stirred and took an appreciative swallow. ‘Excellent,’ he said, grinning, and for a moment I saw that he had once been a handsome man. He pointed at the kitchen table. ‘May I?’

I nodded and he sat down. I stayed leaning against the drainer. I poured the last dregs of coffee into my own mug. I heard the clock tick fourteen times before he spoke.

‘Fairfax was my friend,’ he said. ‘All my life.’

‘I’m sorry for your loss,’ I said, and I think I meant it, even as I found myself competitively comparing the level of our bereavements. He’d lost a friend? I’d lost my whole damn heart.

‘It was a horrible shock,’ he said, staring into his coffee cup. ‘We’d only just talked the night before. Not that that was unusual – my wife says we’re like a couple of fishwives.’

I didn’t want to interrupt. I knew he had something he felt he needed to say and even if it didn’t have anything to do with the dead man in the blue suit, the least I could do was listen.

‘You’re a Gilsland man?’ I asked, and endeavoured to make it sound like something one should aspire to.

‘Born in Baggarah, up the road. I’m Gilsland now.’

I nodded, as if I understood the geography. I knew from a framed map in a guest bedroom that the local place names were a lesson in the versatility of the English language. Baggarah was just one of the tiny hamlets with names that made Stefan and I laugh. There was Low Row, Greenhead, Runner Foot, Bush Nook and Blenkinsopp, all within a few miles of one another, though I would never have been able to point in which direction any of them lay. I always thought of ‘Baggarah’ and ‘Bugger Off’. I still do.

Nixon took a deep breath, preparing to dive in. I gave him a smile, and it seemed to help him get his words in order.