‘I didn’t know Derrick well, but he was friendly’ Growing up, I knew all the neighbours in our sleepy cul-de-sac.
A close-knit community, we’d call into each other’s houses regularly. Derrick Evans lived five doors down with his wife.
I’d greet them on Sundays at church with my mum Krys, then 41, dad Keith, 53, and my younger brother Paul.
Then, when I was 13, I was hit by a serious mystery virus.
I’d sores all over my stomach, zero energy.
Hospitalised for several weeks, eventually, I was discharged.
Still weak, I couldn’t walk to school like usual.
Derrick, then 56, worked in a hardware store near school and offered to give me a lift.
‘How kind,’ Mum thanked him.
I didn’t know Derrick well, but he was a friendly…
