We were now sitting in the cafe that the cemetery had, for after people had paid their respects to their loved ones.

My father was swirling amber colored brandy around in a squat, fat glass, whilst my (cue gag here) step-mother sipped at a sour martini equal to her personality.

I took a grateful gulp of sweet mead, and felt the comforting mixture travel all the way down, spreading warmth to my cheeks.

Kazuma leaned over and whispered.

“I thought you’d turned zombie on me,” he winked, and smiled playfully.

Man, nothing could dampen his spirits, could it? Damn, why can’t I be more like Kazuma?

My train of thought was thrown off the tracks when my father’s voice cut through the silence.

“Son, I have something to ask you.”

He looked at his wife, as if to ask permission. When he recieved a nod, he turned to face us Kazuma.

“Would you like to come with me and Sherri back to London?”

Insert disbelieving laughter here.

I looked back at him in despair.

Nope, he wasn’t kidding.