Kéthani

Interlude

Ten years had elapsed since the arrival of the Kéthani when we met Doug Standish, though he had been friend of Richard Lincoln’s long before he became a fixture in the Tuesday night group. He was a big, bluff, slab-faced Yorkshireman, an almost stereotypical copper. He’d worked for the homicide division in Leeds for years before the Kéthani came, and now was stationed in Bradley. I said almost stereotypical, because once you got to know him, learned something of the real man beneath the pint-and-pipe exterior, it became apparent that Doug was a shy, sensitive man whose separation from his wife had affected him deeply.

They were in the process of splitting up when we met him. He was investigating a murder—an incredibly rare event these days—in a nearby farmhouse and came into the Fleece with Richard Lincoln to question Ben Knightly, who might have witnessed something germane to the case. A few days later, on Richard’s invitation, he joined us again, this time in an unofficial capacity.

I warmed to Doug from the outset. I think, initially, I empathised with what he was going through with his wife.

Things between Zara and myself were tense then.

It was much later—years later, in fact—that Doug told us the story of the murder investigation that winter. The fact was that even he, at the time, was not aware of the larger story being played out behind the smaller, though extraordinary, murder enquiry. He was a pawn in an extraterrestrial game; he was also, perhaps, the first person we had ever met who’d had contact with—albeit unwittingly—a member of the Kéthani race.

A week after the murder investigation was officially closed, Doug and I shared a few pints in a late night lock-in at the Fleece.

“I don’t think I’ve told you about Amanda, have I?”

“Your wife?”

He stared into his fourth pint. “My soon-to-be ex-wife, Khalid.”

His words caused me to shift uneasily. “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be. It’s a disaster…” He took a deep breath and smiled. “But it’s nearly over, now. I can look ahead. It’s just… when I think about her with this other bloke, and how she deceived me for months…”

He told me the full story.

An hour and three pints later we staggered from the Fleece. I made my way home, let myself in through the front door—after a few futile attempts—and climbed to the bedroom.

As I’d expected, Zara was still out. The bed was empty. I sat on the edge of the duvet and tried not to weep. It was one in the morning. Zara would be back, soon, and would slide quietly into bed in an attempt not to wake me. Over breakfast she’d make the excuse that the study group had run on late and they’d continued the discussion back at a friend’s house in Bradley. And I would smile and try not to show my suspicions, and then we would part and go to our respective jobs, and I would be sick with jealousy for the rest of the day.

But… less about my problems, at this juncture. The next episode concerns Doug Standish and the strange events that occurred that winter.