Page 74

FOREVER YOUNG

Blake

Val died in the summer. He and Pember both knew it was coming from the way she tried to shift multiple evenings in a row. They kept finding her at the bottom of the garden, half-changed but full of energy.

Pember called it ‘terminal lucidity,’ and went on to talk about gamma waves in the brain. Blake didn’t have a fucking clue what he was on about, but enjoyed listening to him talk all the same.

They’d stayed with her, curled together as a pack, and helped her shift one final time. By the morning she was gone, her heart slowing to eight beats per minute before it finally stopped. She looked peaceful, with the hard lines of her face made smooth.

“Forever Young” by Rod Stewart crackled through the black overhead speakers, echoing around the empty hall. Blake tightened his grip around Pember’s hand. They were the only two people sitting under the vaulted ceiling, the funeral celebrant having long since shuffled out.

Val’s elm-wood coffin was unadorned, no flowers or goodbye cards. Straightforward in death as she had been in life, except for one of Cherry’s grey feathers and a sprig of elderflower placed in the centre.

“I really thought they’d come,” Pember whispered, wiping his eyes. “I sent them two letters, Blake. Why didn’t they show up for her?”

Blake let out a breath, stroking a thumb over Pember’s knuckles. “Families are complicated, we know that better than anyone. The Val we knew might not have been the same woman back then.”

“Yeah, but—” Pember’s chin quivered, and he pressed the back of Blake’s hand to his mouth.

He didn’t stop the tears from rolling down his cheeks, didn’t try to hide them like before. Crying was something Pember did a lot now, in both happiness and sadness.

Sometimes Blake would walk into the kitchen and he’d be crying into his cereal.

Other times he’d sit on the patio and just let the tears flow freely.

“Sitting with grief” was what Pember called it.

A silent acknowledgement that he was allowed to feel sad, allowed to miss his sister and mourn his relationship with his mum without suppressing all the physical reactions that came with it.

Blake wrapped an arm around his shoulders and watched as the purple velvet curtains slowly closed around the catafalque.

It was peaceful, despite it only being him, Pember and a solicitor present to witness her final goodbye. A gentle tap on Blake’s shoulder made him glance up. A pale woman in a dark grey suit kept her eyes downcast, silently pointing towards a side door and whispering, “When you’re ready.”

Blake nodded, and when the song finally ended he squeezed Pember’s shoulder.

Pember wiped his eyes and blew into a tissue before tucking it into the cuff of his black suit. He’d grown his hair out, the umber curls falling to his shoulder blades.

“Thank you for coming,” the officiant said, ushering them both onto a brown leather sofa. “I’m sorry that the hearing of the will has fallen to you, but in the absence of Valerie’s biological family I’m afraid we have no other choice.”

Blake nodded, handing Pember another tissue. “It’s alright.”

Like Pember, he’d hoped that Val’s daughter and grandson would attend the funeral, but in the end they hadn’t responded to a single one of their letters.

He knew they’d received them, because he’d paid for tracking on the postage.

But still nothing. The ache in his chest made him want to call his own parents.

“The last will and testament of one Valerie Thompson,” the solicitor began.

Clearing her throat, she said, “Written and signed by the aforementioned. I, Valerie Thompson of the parish of West Newton, do in sound mind, declare this to be my last will and testament. I direct that soon after my death, my entire life’s savings shall be passed on to my daughter, Clarissa Thompson, and her son, Marius Thompson. ”

The solicitor went on to read out several pages of legal jargon about debt and redistribution that Blake didn’t understand, before returning her gaze to him and Pember.

“Now for the estate,” she said, smiling warmly. Blake nodded. “I, Valerie Thompson, direct that soon after my death, my entire estate—namely, number 2 Bell Lane, West Newton—shall be passed on to my illegitimate grandchildren, Mr Blake Smith, alpha, and Mr Pember McArthur, omega.”

Pember’s head snapped up from Blake’s shoulder, his eyes wide as he covered his mouth. “She?—”

Blake shushed him with a soft smile.

The solicitor cleared her throat again. “And should the time come where the two wish to part ways, the monetary gain from the estate shall be split evenly between the two parties.”

“O-oh my God,” Pember whispered, pressing himself under Blake’s arm.

The solicitor took a breath and rummaged around in a black leather briefcase. “There’s just a couple more things… Ah.” Pulling out an envelope and a brown wooden box, she handed the envelope to Blake and the box to Pember.

Blake’s eyebrow twitched as he slipped his thumb under the sticky seal, scowling when he read the words at the top of the first page.

‘ Ownership and breeding papers for one Cherribus Nightingale Afrikana III, pedigree African Grey. ’

Blake covered his eyes, dropping the papers into his lap. “ Motherfucker… ” he uttered.

Pember chuckled and knuckled his ribs. “Congratulations, you’re Cherry’s new daddy.”

“No I’m fucking not,” he whispered, running a hand over his chin.

“Yes, you are. It says so in black and white.” Pember stuck out his tongue before looking down at the box. It had a white ribbon looped around it.

Tugging it free, Pember hummed and looked up at Blake with a confused expression. “It’s just a spoon,” he said, turning it over. “And it has ‘temperance’ engraved on the back.”

With a loud laugh, Blake kissed Pember’s forehead and snapped the box shut.