Page 10

STRAWBERRY BONBONS

Pember

Two evenings later, Pember found himself in the supermarket staring down at the sweet potatoes.

He was in an odd mood. On the one hand, he was unbelievably relieved that he’d survived his first few days without fucking up too badly.

His colleagues were nice— the ones from the lab, at least —and he found he was fairly comfortable around all of the machines and equipment.

However, the responsibility of the job was already weighing him down.

People’s lives, their trauma, their pain, their sadness… he was reducing it all to just samples, and swabs, and smears on a microscope slide. It was nothing like his old job, where none of the science had people tied to it.

He couldn’t stop thinking about the omega who’d been sexually assaulted, and how scared he must have been. Maya kept telling him to put up a wall, but the bricks were wobbly and the mortar was crumbling.

It didn’t help that he was exhausted, like, bone achingly exhausted.

He’d been on edge for days, and the bad dreams had been waking him continuously night after night.

So, as he stood in the middle of the supermarket, hands gripping the trolley, he realised that he needed to get his little house in order, fast .

Make it somewhere to shut out the world after a long day.

Society would tell him that he needed a nest, like every omega to ever exist. He understood the science behind it—the slow release of oxytocin, serotonin and dopamine when one was surrounded by all the things they liked.

The effect was, in theory, even greater if the omega shared that nest with a mate, but the thought alone made him cringe.

The problem was that he had no idea where to begin.

Trudging around the shop, he filled the trolley with as much fresh produce as he could manage, along with several blankets, pillows, candles and air fresheners, because the place still had a musty smell from the previous tenant.

Once he started he couldn’t stop, as rumbling excitement took root in his belly.

Before he knew it he’d placed a strawberry plant, a basket for Bailey and a rug with a sausage dog on it into the trolley.

Standing at the till with all of his new things, he actually looked forward to returning to his empty little house. Even more so when the kind taxi driver helped him carry everything to the front door.

“Thank you!” he called as the car pulled away.

Bailey hopped up from the mat by the back door, licked his hands and neck as he bent down to bury his face in her floppy ears. “Missed you,” he mumbled, patting her bum before going inside.

Humming, he watered the strawberry plant and placed it on the back patio.

It was his first purchase for the garden, and as he ran his eyes over the messy back lawn, he couldn’t help but picture all the other things he might plant.

He’d always wanted a herb garden. Maybe a pear tree too.

He shivered and gripped the front of his T-shirt at the thought of having his own mini-grove. Like a farmer. Or a druid.

His elderly neighbour was talking loudly on the phone, and there was a clicking sound coming from the shed at the end of her lot. He’d never met her—not officially, at least—but he’d seen her pottering around at the end of the garden when he spied out his bedroom window.

Then there was the bird. Cherry. That’s what he assumed the parrot was called, because his neighbour shouted it continuously most evenings.

Pember chuckled to himself as he changed into a pair of brown harem pants, a green long-sleeved T-shirt and flip-flops. He actually felt like a druid. His hair was getting scruffy on the top, so he pulled it back from his forehead and slid a bobby pin into its dark waves.

Returning to the kitchen, he put away the groceries—leaving out an onion, carrots and celery—before wiping down the oak wood worktops.

They’d been scratched to hell by the previous tenant, so he’d sanded and oiled them all the previous couple of nights.

They looked pretty good, so he’d treated himself to a decent chopping board and knife and was oddly excited to use them.

The thought of chopping, and peeling, and cooking for himself without his mother looking over his shoulder… He squealed a little at the thought.

Beef stew. That was what he felt like eating that evening, so, pulling out the knife, he pretended he was a ninja and began chopping the vegetables.

He hummed to himself as he braised the beef, stirred the sauce and sipped on a mug full of the prosecco that Oliver had bought him as a house-warming present.

Sighing with contentment, he popped the pot into the oven and turned to look out the kitchen window.

His wolf rumbled in the back of his mind, but when he reached for it, it was gone.

There was a flash of grey, followed by, “CHERRY!”

Without even thinking, Pember bolted outside, horrified to find the goddamned parrot pecking chunks out of his new strawberry plant.

“Shoo!” he said, sprinting onto the patio and waving his arms. “Go away! Go on! Go!” Bailey came running out after him, barking and snapping at the bird. “Down, Bailey! Down!” Pember held out a leg in an attempt to stop her from having a bellyful of African Grey for dinner.

The parrot squawked and thrashed about, its gappy wings seemingly unable to lift its body into the air.

It was still trying to peck at the strawberries, clearly having no sense of self-preservation as Bailey nipped at its wings.

In the end, Pember did the only thing he could think of, and that was to grab the bird around its frail body and yank it out of Bailey’s reach.

“Bloody hell,” he growled, holding it at arm’s length as he sped through the house, out the front door and along the path to his neighbour’s.

Propping the squawking bird under one arm, he knocked and waited.

And waited. And waited . When there was no answer, he peered through the front window and saw her sitting in a recliner watching the TV.

He knocked on the window, but there was still no sign of movement, so he resorted to waving the parrot in front of the window like a fucking lunatic.

“H-hey! Excuse me!” he called, which finally drew the attention of the old woman.

She flung her arms in the air and hobbled towards the door. It opened with a click, and Pember finally came face to face with his middle neighbour.

“Hello,” he said, holding out the parrot. The old woman shook her head, letting out an exasperated breath.

“Cherry, you mad bitch, where’ve you been?” She shouted it so loudly, Pember had to lean back as she took the bird in her liver-spotted hands.

She gave him a watery smile, making two weathered fangs appear from behind her wrinkled lips. They were no longer sharp, and were surrounded by what appeared to be poorly situated false teeth.

“Thank you, poppet!” she shouted, ushering him inside. He fretted momentarily about getting back to the stew, but then the old woman started muttering something about lemonade and bonbons so he felt obliged to follow.

The house was a carbon copy of his own, albeit with a lot more doilies, net curtains and dozens upon dozens of family photos. It also had the signature talcum powder smell of the elderly. Cherry wriggled free of the woman’s grasp, making a beeline for the open back door.

“Oi!” the woman cried, and Pember lurched forwards to slam it shut.

They both sighed with relief.

Hovering in the kitchen, Pember waited for her to finish rooting around in the fridge, which was taking so long he was beginning to wonder if she’d forgotten he was there. Eventually, however, she re-emerged with a glass of lemonade in one hand and a punnet of grapes in the other.

“Here!” she said, pulling back a seat from the kitchen table and indicating for him to sit. Which he did, as the cold glass was pressed into his hands. “Sorry about that. Cherry’s an escape artist.”

Pember nodded, sipping the drink. He noticed that there were two empty glasses next to the sink, and a pair of earphones lying on the countertop.

“I’m Valerie. But you can call me Val.” The woman beamed at him, her eyes bright and full of life, despite her wrinkled cheeks.

“I’m Pember,” he replied, shaking her grizzled hand when she offered it to him. He could feel the bumps and nodules of arthritis beneath his touch.

“How sweet. You’re the new lad from next door, yes?”

Now they were sitting across from one another, the volume of Val’s voice was much more reasonable.

“Y-yes. I officially moved in last week, but I’ve been on the lease for the last couple of months.”

Valerie nodded. “You’ve been moving in all cloak and dagger-like.”

Pember flushed, rubbing the back of his neck. “Something like that.”

Sighing, Valerie pulled up one of her sleeves and withdrew a tissue.

She wiped her nose before giving Pember a pointed look.

“You’ll have a quiet life here. If there’s any trouble, you let me know.

My grandson’s a policeman.” She jabbed a thumb in the direction of Blake’s house, nodding approvingly.

“O-oh, I didn’t realise he’s your grandson.”

Valerie gave a wicked grin, making her look much younger than she really was. “Not officially. But he doesn’t have much choice in the matter.”

Pember chuckled and took another sip of lemonade; it was surprisingly delicious.

“My actual grandson hasn’t visited for a long time, and my daughter emigrated to Thailand with her wife. It’s just me and the bird.”

Pember nodded, glancing around at the pots and pans littering the countertops. Val had left the fridge half-open and he could see that there was very little inside. In fact, the more he looked around, the more he realised the house was in quite a bad state of disarray.

Clearing his throat, his eyes drifted to her hands. They were frail, the fingers curling in on themselves with the slow debilitation of arthritis.