Page 32 of Dead Serious Case 4 Professor Prometheus Plume

I swallow tightly and nod. “I have some explaining to do.”

“You don’t owe them anything,” she says firmly.

“Not them.” I shake my head. “You and Nick. I shouldn’t have cut you off the way I did. At the time, I thought you’d be better off without me complicating your life.”

She leans forward and pinches me.

“Ouch.” I rub my arm.

“Don’t think we won’t be having words about your disappearing act, but first you better come in. Your friend looks like he’s turning into an icicle. I’m guessing he’s not used to northern winters.”

Tristan grins at her. “Southerner born and bred.”

“I’m sorry to hear that.” She returns his grin and something warm unfurls in my chest to see my two favourite people meeting finally.

“Leigh.” I reach for Tris and pull him into my side. “This is my Tristan.”

Her smile softens. “Welcome.” She reaches out and grabs us both, tugging us over the doorstep and past Derek. “Get in here before you freeze, and just ignore the gargoyle to my right,” she tells Tris. “He was born with that sour look on his face.”

I glance at my brother to find his jaw clenched, but he wisely chooses to remain quiet. As the door closes behind us, I register the noise level from the front room.

“Is everyone here?” I swallow nervously.

“Yep.” Leigh grins, scooting behind me and Tris and giving us both a shove in the direction of the loud chatter. “Let’s go chuck the cat amongst the pigeons.” She laughs. “If I have to listen to another one of Gareth’s dad jokes, I may choke him to death with the scarf Mum knitted him for Christmas.”

“Which one’s Gareth again?” Tristan whispers to me.

“He’s dick number two,” Leigh says helpfully. “Marginally less of a dick than Derek but still mid-level in love with the sound of his own voice and quite judgemental. He’s married to Ruth and they have two spawns, aged two and three. Watch out, they’re feral... and they bite.”

“Is she talking about the kids?” Tris mutters.

Leigh laughs in delight. “You’re going to fit in just fine, just don’t take any crap from anyone. They’ll respect you more if you stand up for yourself. And remember, I’ve got your back, both of you.”

“Okaay.” Tristan shoots me a worried look and without thinking, I reach for his hand and squeeze.

“Sorry in advance.” I wince as Leigh shoves us both again, this time through the doorway and into the living room.

“Look who’s here!” she announces loudly. “Danny and his boyfriend have come to visit! Isn’t that the best Christmas present ever?”

Insert sound of record screeching to a halt.

You would literally be able to hear a pin drop if it wasn’t for my drooling two-year-old niece on the floor enthusiastically banging a plastic drum with what looks like the TV remote.

“Uh... surprise!” I raise my hand and give an awkward wave.

The room is packed with every single member of my family. It’s just my luck to have chosen a day when everyone is over. Gareth stands near a corner with a beer in one hand as he stares at me and sitting on a dining room chair beside him is his wife, Ruth. Euan’s sitting on the floor beside his heavily pregnant wife, Susie, allowing her the other armchair.

My sister Ellen is on one of the other dining room chairs. She has a tatty old paperback in her hands and continues to read without bothering to look up. Mark is perched on the piano stool, which I’m not sure why we’ve always had in our house considering we never had an actual piano. Jack stands next to him holding a drink.

On the settee is my nephew, Nick, staring at me with an unreadable expression, but next to him is someone who makes my heart ache to look at her.

Mum.

It’s only been a year and a half since I last saw her but she seems older, more tired. Her brown hair is mostly grey now and her pale face has a few more lines, but her hazel eyes look up at me wide and filled with—I don’t know, hope, maybe? She looks shocked, yes, but she seems to be happy to see me. But perhaps that’s just me projecting.

After a moment of studying her face, I look over to her right where my father sits in his armchair, watching me with that familiar stoic expression.

“Hello, Dad,” I say nervously.