Page 1 of The Allotment on Willow Tree Lane

Chapter 1

Black was the colour of the day, despite the sun shining out of a clear blue sky and the lush growth of late spring. The graveyard was alive with shades of green, and dotted with highlights of yellow, pink, red and orange from the tulips nodding between the headstones. Birds sang, and squirrels scampered along the branches. So much life amidst the presence of death was hard to take.

Damon Rogers briefly closed his eyes, grief swamping him.

‘OK?’ Luke asked.

Damon felt a hand on his shoulder and took a steadying breath. ‘Yeah.’

They both knew it was a lie. Luke looked as devastated as he felt. His friend and bandmate usually had a tan, but Luke’s face was ashen and there were lines around his eyes that hadn’t been there last month. He was still a handsome guy, with his shoulder-length blond hair and chiselled features, but now he seemed older than his twenty-eight years. Damon’s heart ached. Aiden would never age – he would remain twenty-nine forever.

‘Oh, God.’ Luke jerked his head towards the road as a hearse and two black limousines pulled up.

‘I can’t do this.’ Damon wanted to be anywhere but here. He didn’t want to say goodbye to one of his best friends. He wasn’t ready.

‘Youhaveto. It needs six of us.’ Luke was shaking, but his expression was resolute. Hard, even. There was anger beneath the devastating grief.

Damon hadn’t reached that stage yet. He was still battling with disbelief. How could this have happened? Aiden was too young, too full of life and laughter to be lying in a coffin.

Swallowing hard, he straightened his shoulders. Luke was right. The last thing he could do for Aiden was to make sure his send-off went smoothly.

A glance towards the door of the church revealed that the mourners were now inside. Then he looked back at the hearse and saw Aiden’s mum, dad and his sister, Sadie, climbing out of the first car.

‘It’s time,’ Luke said, taking hold of Damon’s elbow and propelling him towards the pavement and the waiting coffin.

Taking his position, the funeral director uttering muted instructions, Damon felt the coffin’s weight settle on his shoulders. He met Luke’s eye and nodded slowly. He could handle this. They both could.

Aiden’s father was at the front, one arm linked around the shoulders of the man on his other side, the other holding the coffin. He looked broken but resolute, and Damon couldn’t even begin to imagine what he must be going through. It was bad enough burying a friend… burying a son was unthinkable.

Aiden’s mother, sister, and the rest of the immediate family followed behind, and Damon heard someone sobbing quietly. He wanted to sob himself, but he knew if he gave in to his grief, he might break down completely.

He remembered nothing of the long slow walk to the front of the church, as he concentrated on maintaining his composure and putting one foot in front of the other, but when he finally took his seat on the end of the pew, he bowed his head and allowed tears to trickle down his face.

The service passed in a blur of regret, deep abiding sadness and memories.

When the band’s manager and agent, Frank, spoke of how much Aiden had meant to the two surviving members of Black Hyacinth, and how sorely he would be missed, Damon had to bite his lip to stem the flow, and with every word Frank uttered, Damon’s heart broke anew.

It was too much. Clutching the back of the pew in front for support, he gasped as the memory of that fateful night cascaded through his mind, unannounced and uninvited.

Knowing from bitter experience that there was nothing for it but to ride it out, the church around him faded. Eyes tightly shut, Damon’s breaths came in juddering gasps as he was forced to relive the last few minutes of his friend’s life.

Damon hadn’t been there – Aiden had phoned him from his mobile – but in his mind’s eye, night had fallen and he imagined the headlights flashing past on the opposite carriageway. Music loud enough to burst eardrums, blasted through his head as the memory rose up to sweep him away.

‘Damon, these roads are effing ace, man! No effing speed limit!’ Aiden was shouting to be heard above the music. He rarely turned it down, preferring to yell to make himself heard.

‘Where are you?’

‘Autobahn 2.’

‘How long will it take you to get to Calais?’

‘What?’

Damon took a deep breath and repeated the question, louder this time, ‘How long will it take to get to Calais?’

‘Hang on.’ Mercifully, Aiden lowered the volume. ‘Say again?’

In a more normal voice, Damon repeated for the third time, ‘How long until you are in Calais?’

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