A Good Man in Honoré

As I've not found very many stories so far on the utterly adorable Humphrey Goodman, I thought I'd write my own. This is really how I perceive his background and how he ended up taking over from Richard. I've written some additional notes at the end about the UK police, for anyone who's unfamiliar.

I'm just having a bit of fun with the characters, who belong to Robert Thorogood and the BBC, and I'm very grateful to them for cheering up my winters with this fun series!

For those who are impatiently waiting for the next instalment of my Sherlock story…sorry. It IS coming, just very slowly…

Chapter 1: Sally

Humphrey Goodman met Sally Smedley on a wet Thursday afternoon in late November. By accident, of course.

He'd been hurrying down the steps of Bournemouth police station, a newly promoted Detective Inspector with an unaccustomed sense of self-confidence and a consequent spring in his step. It was a feeling that would inevitably drift away fairly shortly – as soon as the next time he made an utter fool of himself. However, even he thought his newfound sense of optimism – of having finally done something right in his life– would last longer than roughly seven minutes.

That was how long it took for him to leave the Chief Superintendent's office and hurry down the stairs, already searching his jacket pockets for his mobile as he went. It was a foul day – cold and dreary, with a persistent clammy drizzle, but it was still better to go outside. He wanted to tell his father the good news and, unsure of the old man's reaction, dreaded doing so in front of his colleagues. They would, no doubt, snigger and roll their eyes in the mistaken assumption that 'old Humph' wouldn't notice.

He knew his relatively new colleagues wouldn't understand how he could have made DI. He'd moved here from Oxfordshire Constabulary where, among the dreaming spires of the University town, his little eccentricities had been rather better tolerated. The Chief Superintendent had seen something in the large, clumsy young Detective Constable that had prompted him to push the lad towards a transfer into CID. DC Goodman had a strange obsession with the minutiae of cases; he was the one who would ask the seemingly unimportant questions. More than a few of his superiors were initially impatient with his eccentric approach, until it became obvious that it – somehow – worked. By such means, Humphrey progressed to DS, took his DI OSPRE exams…and then appeared to get stuck.

Seeing no chance of promotion at his current force and feeling that he needed to improve his parents' views on his career somehow, he'd tried a sideways move to Dorset Constabulary, where he'd been lucky enough to come under the tutelage of Fred Savage, a grizzled old refugee from the London Met who had come to the south coast looking for a calmer life six months before he was due to hand in his badge. At his retirement, much to everyone's surprise and indeed Humphrey himself, Savage had recommended "the big lad" for the job.

The Chief Super had accepted his application with a certain degree of reserve – in truth, she could hardly refuse him. Humphrey had already passed his OSPRE with the highest marks that year; easily above those of the other, rather lacklustre, candidates. Dorset didn't tend to attract the most dynamic or ambitious of officers. She'd called him in on this unpromising November day to give him the good news.

And then, of course, he just had to skid on the bottom step outside the police station, lurch forward in attempt to save himself, nearly knock over a young woman, who dodged him with surprising grace, and end up smacking his face against a soggy, dirty lamp post.

The woman – Sally - was gracious enough to pretend that the near collision was her fault, although they both knew that wasn't the case. She produced a tissue for Humphrey to wipe the mud of his cheek and laughingly helped him make light of the accident. She told him that she'd come to the station to present her full driving licence, having just received a 3-point speeding fine. It was the newly qualified teacher's first speeding fine and she was understandably jittery.

This was, of course, where Humphrey was at his best – his shambolic, self-deprecating charm able to disarm the tensest of witnesses and victims. He led Sally into the reception and took her through the process smoothly, chattering away all the time ("Yes, I agree that the hidden camera just before Ringwood is very mean"). He somehow managed to make Sally feel better about that fact that her pristine driving licence was about to be marked with the speeding offence. Her open and obvious gratitude led him, to his surprise, asking her rather diffidently if she'd like to get a coffee sometime. Perhaps to his even greater surprise, she accepted.

That was probably the last initiative Humphrey ever took when it came to their romance. Sally, very wisely realising that nothing further would happen unless she pushed, more-or-less took over the organisation of dates, the process of moving in together and, eventually their marriage. Looking back, Humphrey couldn't actually recall which of them had proposed, or even if an actual proposal had taken place. All he knew was that, one day, they were standing outside a jewellers in Salisbury, looking at engagement rings. It just seemed to be the next natural step.

And it was fun. In fact, for a couple of years, it was brilliant. Fantastic. Up to now, Humphrey had hardly been successful in his love life. He'd drifted through secondary school, university and a brief flit with the civil service prior to joining the Force, vaguely aware that, all around him, romance was occurring – flirtations led to relationships, fights led to separations. Somehow, however, he felt removed from the natural equation. He had had plenty of platonic friends over the years – fellow oddballs who appreciated his gentle nature, wacky humour and sense of fun. And many of those friends had been women, and he'd liked and respected them a great deal. It would be wrong to suggest that Humphrey treated them quite in the same way as he did his male friends. His father had been something of a male chauvinist about women, and Humphrey probably tried to compensate by being overly supportive of female equality…nevertheless, there was still something old-fashioned about his gently respectful manner towards them.

Humphrey might have been rather surprised had he known that more than one of his female friends had sighed wistfully over those warm blue eyes and that kind, gentlemanly manner…but, eagle-eyed in all other aspects of life, Humphrey was myopic when it came to matters of the heart.

He had been on a few dates – which usually ended with him knocking something over them, quite probably his drink, and stammering apologies. Eventually, the stress became too much. After one too many nights cut embarrassingly short by his inability to behave like a normal person, he'd given up on the romance and stuck to friendship instead. It was safer that way.

What made Sally different was that she didn't seem to care about the clumsiness. This, in itself, was refreshing. Humphrey had grown up with the understanding that he'd inherited some freak familial characteristic that had cursed him with gangly long limbs, large feet and hands and a complete inability to control them for any length of time.

His father had described him as "that great big lump"; even Mum had said, only half-jokingly, that she feared for her safety when he was around. By the age of 13, he was already half a head taller than his next older brother. Clothes never fitted him right; she struggled to find school shoes in his size. By the time he stopped growing at 18, he had a good sense of how much of a nuisance his adolescence had been to his mother. If he ever needed a reminder, he only had to visit at Christmas or Mothering Sunday or some other holiday to hear the gentle sigh in her voice and the air of mild reproach in her posture.

He'd been mildly bullied for his height in the school playground, but it hadn't lasted too long, as he'd learnt early that a self-effacing smile and a good sense of humour could diffuse any conflict. And Humphrey never lacked for supporters. People liked him. At most stages of his life, he was just "good old Humph".

Even as an adult, he didn't feel quite at ease in his own body. He could now find clothes that fitted him, but the suits he wore to work were too restrictive, while his baggy casual separates made him look untidy. His floppy hair would never lie straight, however hard he tried, and shorter hairstyles looked ridiculous.

And here, suddenly, was someone who couldn't care less about any of it. In some ways, Sally reminded him of his mother – slim and fragile-looking, which worried him at first. But, unlike his mother, she was robust and sporty, with a natural enjoyment of the outside life. He didn't fear hurting her with an awkwardly placed elbow or an unanticipated stumble. Around Sally, for once in his life, he didn't feel too big, or too exuberant…or too anything.

Sally used to tell her friends that the day she'd met him had been the one bright spark in an otherwise horrible day. She'd often gloss over the actual circumstances of their meeting, but would portray Humphrey as something of a hero in the way he'd helped her. Humphrey was both embarrassed and elated by this. He couldn't always tell whether the glow in her eyes was genuine admiration or just a kind attempt to bolster his self-confidence…but either way, he appreciated it. She even got on well with his parents, charming them over dinner with lightly amusing anecdotes. Their perception was that Humphrey could hardly have done better – his mother even seemed a little bemused that her awkward youngest son could have convinced such a lovely young woman to have him. His father's only response had been to clap Humphrey on the shoulder and tell him "don't do anything to bugger it up, son, 'cos you won't get any second chances with a girl like that one".

So they settled into a modern two-bedroomed flat in Southbourne, with a slightly obstructed view of the sea though the bathroom window, only a short walk from the primary school that Sally taught in and just a ten minute drive from Humphrey's station.

Part of the attraction of Bournemouth was its proximity to beaches and countryside…but especially the beach. Humphrey had grown up an Oxfordshire village and had encountered the coast only occasionally as a child, but he had always remembered the sense of freedom he felt walking on a beach, gazing out to sea. The openness appealed to him; he'd always felt 'closed in' among the streets of his home village – over-large for the space allocated to him. How much of this was the result of a rather formal restrictive childhood, he couldn't say.

Here, on the coast, he had the freedom he craved. Sally had moved to Bournemouth for much the same reason. Her priorities were slightly different – surfing, yachting, pony hacking. The first and only time Humphrey had been on a horse, he'd promptly fallen off and broken his wrist, and it was widely agreed among her yachting friends that he was a liability on a boat. He actually quite enjoyed surfing and he liked the laid-back lifestyle and the company of his fellow surfers, but was no good at it. The third time he'd received a stern ticking off from the lifeguard who had had to come to his rescue, he gave it up as a bad job.

But that was OK. He enjoyed beachcombing on Mudeford Sandbanks while she sailed, and strolling the gravelled paths of the New Forest while she rode…and even just sitting at the Beach Café in Southbourne, watching her slim, muscular form as she surfed the waves expertly. It was all fine. Better than fine.

He was also beginning to settle down and find his niche among his colleagues at Dorset CID, helped by the fact that, by looking through the cold cases and asking some apparently trivial but crucially important questions, he finally solved the bizarre murder of a young mother that had dogged the local DIs for three years. He'd built up a small band of friends with whom he could share the occasional pint. He and Sally were a carefree young professional couple with no particular responsibilities, no mortgage to pay (as yet), and no children to support.

But then Sally started to grow restless…

Notes for those who are unfamiliar with the UK police force:

CID is the Criminal Investigation Department, the branch within the UK police force that investigates serious crimes such as murder. It's distinct from the Uniformed Branch in that the officers within it wear plain clothes due to the nature of their work. It's also distinct from Special Branch, which deals with matters of national security, such as terrorism. Also, CID officers add the title 'detective' to the front of their rank, e.g. an Inspector becomes Detective Inspector, a Sergeant becomes Detective Sergeant and so on. Officers usually have to spend a couple of years in uniform before training for CID. Once there, they start as Detective Constable (DC) and take further exams to be promoted to Detective Sergeant (DS) and then Detective Inspector (DI) – which is the rank that Richard Poole and Humphrey Goodman hold. The DI will lead a small investigation team consisting of, usually, one DS and one or more DCs.

OSPRE is the name of the exams that officers take to get promoted through the ranks of CID.

The Met is short for the Metropolitan Police – in the UK, there are separate police forces for each UK county (sometimes termed Constabularies), apart from Greater London, which is served by the Metropolitan Police Service, based at New Scotland Yard. It's known colloquially as the Met. Officers working at the Met tend to earn slightly more than at other police forces, mainly because of 'London weighting' (addition to salary due to higher cost of living in London). It's the largest police force in the country and, in particularly serious crime cases around the UK, is often brought in to assist the local force.