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    to focus on the immediate task. The drive to the farm had been horrendous in the rain, and the idea that
    the men in the black car could be behind him at any moment was not far away, but he was able to
    focus on the road and arrive in one piece. They’d find him at the farm, Eddie knew that for certain,
    but home was always a place he felt safe and loved, so that was where he gravitated. Here he knew
    all the places to hide.
    For the last few days he had attempted to thrust Fox from his mind. Fox was a liar. He was a
    betrayer. He was an artist who wore makeup and skirts. They would never have lasted. But he could
    not compartmentalize him. Thoughts of Fox crept into everything Edward did, every thought he had.
    To his utter astonishment he sank down at the table, dropped his forehead onto the cool wooden
    surface, and burst into tears, wailing loudly for several minutes. Gasping, choking on his own mucus,
    he finally sat up, looking round for something to blow his nose on.
    His father always kept a copious supply of snowy white hankies in the drawer in the bedroom.
    Edward lifted the hissing kettle off the hob and set it aside before stumbling upstairs.
    Sure enough a stack of neatly folded handkerchiefs was in its usual place in his father’s
    underwear drawer. Comforting, familiar, the sight almost made him break down again. On the side of
    his parents’ four-poster bed Edward sat down and blew his nose.
    Fox, I want you. I want to be able to trust you. I want us to live together and have kids. A
    little boffin like me and a little Goth like you. You can paint and sell your work whenever you can.
    I’ll bring home the bacon until you’re famous. The twins can live with us forever if you want. Just
    be my husband, and stop confusing me with your stories.
    The pouring rain on the thatched roof muffled the sounds coming from the road, so it was not
    until Edward saw a light through the curtains that extinguished abruptly that he knew a car had pulled
    into the courtyard. He switched off the bedside light before opening the curtain a little. Outside a
    sleek black car waited in the rain. Five or six men got out and began to move around the exterior of
    the house. They had found him, and so quickly. They wanted the deadly version of Lintrane. He’d die
    before he would live with that on his conscience, but not willingly.
    It took only minutes before they were inside the house. Edward heard them moving around,
    speaking in heavily accented English and another language he assumed to be Swahili. It was too late
    to run up to the attic. As a child he always hid under the bed during hide-and-seek, and he was always
    found. Eventually a school friend had told him, Atherton, if you always hide in the same place, I’ll
    always be able to find you , that he’d realized his mistake.
    Dropping to his knees, he crawled under the bed. There was no other choice. A moment later the
    door opened, and the overhead light went on. The man searching the room was methodical. Edward
    heard the wardrobe doors open, the curtain being lifted aside, and then the whites of two eyes shone
    brightly in a dark-skinned face, staring straight at him. The man called out in Swahili. Moments later
    the room was filled with strangers. Arms reached under the bed, dragging him out by his clothes.
    Five men surrounded him, three black and two white, but they faded into nothing at the entrance
    of a large man who looked like Idi Amin. His presence was frightening, exuding a sense of raw
    violence and power. He was not as tall as Edward, but he was much broader and more muscular.
    The man laughed, showing dark gums and yellow teeth. When he’d heard the men in the house,
    Edward had begun to get frightened, but that laugh formed a knot of abject fear in his belly, taking it to
    a new level. That the man was mad was patently clear.
    “Dr. Edward Atherton. The boyfriend of Captain Baillie’s son with the black eyes. Do you know
    what we do with homosexuals in my homeland? We hound them to death. We put them in jail. We
    torture them. When I am leader, there will be a death penalty for any man caught in a homosexual act.
    Women will be beaten in the public squares.”
    “Then I pray you will never gain power,” Edward said. He sounded remarkably calm
    considering how loose his bowels were.
    “I will gain power. I will rule Uganda. And you will help me. My name is Ogwambi Maputwa.
    Remember that name if you live through this night.”
    The