Blake chuckled behind him.
“What?” Pember said, glancing over his shoulder.
“Nothing.” Blake covered his mouth. “You just look like a woodland nymph crouching between the trees, picking mushrooms.”
Pember scowled. “Instead of taking the piss, come and help me gather a few more. Do you think Val would like mushroom soup?”
Blake bent down beside him. “I think she’d like anything you make.”
“Here,” Pember said, opening Blake’s pocket and dropping a handful of mushrooms inside. “Christ, your pockets are like the Tardis. You can fit loads in there.”
“Pem, I’m setting up a meeting with the chief. I can’t turn up with my pockets bulging with mushrooms.”
Pember frowned. “Oh. So you won’t be home until later?”
Blake sighed. “No. I don’t want to stay on, but for this I will.”
Silence hung between them as Pember gripped the mushroom in his palm.
“What should I tell them?” Blake said.
Pember took a breath. “Tell them I’ll do it.”
CHAPTER 31
ASHES TO ASHES
Pember
Despite Isla’srepeated assurances that Falkington were looking after his lab, Pember still couldn’t help but pace up and down the corridors in between copious amounts of coffee. He received some very funny looks as he rode the bus back to Bell Lane, taking on the aesthetic of an incredibly well-dressed homeless man with two dogs, a scruffy shopping bag and Blake’s black trench coat bulging with dirt and mushrooms.
It was a ten-minute walk down the narrow country lane to get to their little estate, but the sun was still out and the birds were singing, so he took the dogs off their leads and let them jog the rest of the way home.
Against his better judgement, he sent a text to Ru.
‘Hey, saw some half-price crochet kits in the supermarket earlier and thought of you!’
Ru messaged back a moment later with a photograph of a knitted monkey.
‘Cute!’Pember replied.
A loud braying sound made him flinch, and when he looked up he saw a brown and white Jersey cow hanging its head over a fence buried in the hedge.
“You made me jump,” Pember said, smiling as he stepped up onto the grassy verge to stroke the cow’s ear.
It wiped its nose all over Blake’s coat, and its long, slimy tongue came out to curl into his pocket. “You thief,” Pember chuckled, digging a hand in and pulling out a fistful of mushrooms.
The cow snorted as it ate, and soon a whole herd of nosy bovines appeared at the fence. “Sorry, girls,” Pember said, giving the cow one last tickle behind the ear. “I’m saving these babies for a very special lady.” With that, he clambered back down the verge, called the dogs and made his way home.
Bailey whined and hung back behind Pember’s legs. “What is it?” he said, bending down to pat her flank. George was snuffling and sneezing, his claws scraping on the concrete up ahead. As Pember climbed the steps to his front door, he found the corgi rolling around on his front porch in a pile of dust. It was grey and powdery.
Pember frowned, letting his eyes trail along the row of houses. He pulled out his house key, the toe of his boot hitting something solid as he stepped forward. Glancing down, he saw the source of the mess piled next to his recycling box.
A black metal container.
No, not a container. An urn. The urn that should have been on the corner of mum’s mantelpiece.
Pember jerked away, biting his tongue as he stumbled back.
