Page 20 of Dead Serious Case 4 Professor Prometheus Plume

I try to blink back the hot tears. “And my mum?”

“Don’t worry. She’s waiting for him.”

I nod again, swallowing hard as my vision blurs. “Will you do something for me?”

He tilts his head curiously.

“When Dad’s time comes, will you tell me?” I wipe the tears that have escaped from beneath my glasses and are trailing down my cheeks. “I’d like to say goodbye.”

He stares at me for several long moments.

“Yes,” he finally says. “I will do that for you.”

“Thank you.” I sniffle. “You know, you do have this softer side. Every now and then I see it, especially when you’re with Chan, but to be honest? You still kinda scare the crap out of me.”

Death beams, looking absolutely delighted. “Why, thank you, Tristan. That’s very kind of you to say.”

5

By Boxing Day, in an effort to not think about Dad and everything Death had said, I have chosen the ancient time-honoured method of avoidance—getting really drunk. And Danny is wholeheartedly supporting me by getting smashed in solidarity, which has led us to this moment. Sitting cross-legged on the floor on either side of Brandy’s pin-up girl coffee table—yes, we still haven’t given it back as I’m rather attached to it now—playing board games.

“I think it’s Professor Plum in the study with the knife,” Danny announces loudly, followed by a hiccup.

“Well, I think it’s Miss Scarlet in the libel-berry with the candlestick,” I counter.

“Libel-berry?”

I nod. “With all the books.”

“Library?” He sniggers as he reaches for the little black envelope in the middle of the board and opens it. “Ha! Professor Plum in the study with the knife!” he exclaims in triumph. “Want to go again?”

“What! Thass not fair!” I slur. “It’s liberally your job.”

“I think you mean literally.”

“It’s what I said—liberally.” I nod again. “You’re cheating.” I pick up the game Operation, which Sam bought me for Christmas, and shake the box enticingly at Danny. “Wanna play my game?”

“Hmm.” He looks like he’s thinking hard, swaying slightly as his eyes narrow on the box. “Should prolerbly sober up before we try that one.”

I snort loudly. “You said prolerbly,” I declare as if it’s the most hilarious thing ever. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen you really drunk. What you drinking?”

Danny lifts his beer bottle and squints at the label. “Dunno, something calledTastes like Bad Decisions. It’s craft beer that Maddie and Sonia brought me back from Cornwall.”

I snort again as I scoot all the Cluedo pieces to one end of the table before setting Operation down and taking off the lid.

“It’s this or Monnopopopoly.” I pause and think really hard before trying again. “Monopolopoly.”

“Alright, baby. Don’t hurt yourself.” Danny grins. “Operation it is.”

We end up nearly wearing the batteries out from setting off the buzzer so much. Even my steady pathologist’s hands have deserted me. Pretty much all they’re good for at the moment is picking up my wineglass and getting steadily drunker.

Danny laughed so hard at one point that he’d almost gone silent trying to suck in a breath. I thought I’d have to give him CPR although, knowing us, it would just degenerate into me sticking my tongue in his mouth.

Despite everything that happened with my dad yesterday, it’s been a good Christmas. Sam and Harrison were doing my head in a bit by the end of yesterday. Don’t get me wrong, I love them both, but they were starting to hurt my poor ears and the tension between them was so thick we’d need a chainsaw to cut it.

Aidan watched the two of them with wide eyes while Chan simply microwaved some popcorn and sat there grinning. Death had been a particular highlight. I’ll never get the image of him sitting stiffly at the table with a paper hat on and holding a Christmas cracker in his hand, a look of severe disappointment on his face, out of my mind. I think he genuinely expected some kind of Arnold Schwarzenegger level explosion rather than a pathetic little snap as he’d pulled it with Aidan.

But the award for most entertaining moment of the evening has to go to Jacob Marley, who charged into the living room on the back of Sol, Death’s puppy, riding him like a general on his faithful steed going into battle.