Life insurance is a peculiar ethical minefield. My father died? But we got 500k in life payout? Should we be happy because we got the money or hate the money because it represents my Dad’s life in pure hard cold cash? These thoughts and others ran through Joe’s mind as he sat in the solicitor''s office as he rattled off the implications of his father’s will, trinkets and a diary. Then the payout from the insurance company and an added payout from the company John was working for, when he died on their site of operations. The solicitor seemed indifferent to the boy’s blank faces, or maybe just inured. “Diary?” Joe registered, didn’t know dad kept a journal. Maybe Mum… nevermind. He looked over at Darius who looked gaunt, verging on sickly. They had both been through it, but maybe it was worse for Darius. Yes he was only 14 to Joe’s 17 but also, he was there to witness their Mum’s breakdown. For that is what it was. When she had got the news of John’s death she had not taken it well. She had literally lost her shit. For a 14 year old fresh from hearing of his Dad’s passing he did remarkably well, admirably in fact. Joe attempted a smile at Darius but faltered, he wasn’t much better off. He looked at his phone, a message from Julia on the screen unopened. Keep things separate for now he thought, I need control.


    The solicitor proceeded to tell the brothers about how their mother will likely be institutionalised following a court judgement and that the brothers will be the sole beneficiaries of the will, including some odd occult bands John liked to support receiving some cash. John had added them to his will as a joke to his Maggie, thinking he’d have ample time in the future to make more serious amendments. Joe thought about how some of these bands were likely defunct and the solicitor was going to have a much harder time than he realised tracking down these elusive multinational bands. This in turn made his heart ache so he gazed at the message from Julia once again and felt his emotions stabilise.


    He would be turning 18 this coming November and then he could inherit the property in its entirety. Darius would receive half himself when he turned 18 and would be under the care of Joe until then, with certain obvious provisions. Joe felt himself thinking of War and Peace and wondering if any egomaniacal greedy Counts would start chasing after their inheritance. Or was it a prince and his father the archduke? Am I Pierre? Is Julia Natasha or Helene I wonder? He glanced at his phone once again, undecided. Looking up he sees the solicitor handing over papers to be signed. My mother is mad and my dad is dead, and here am I signing papers for money that doesn’t belong to me. Literally breaking down a man’s whole life into numbers. He signed away; his signature was a copy of his Dad’s swirls he had stolen when ‘borrowing’ his Dad’s fountain pen to practise. Idle thoughts bringing yet more pain.


    The solicitor spoke more and attempted some form of consolation. It was all just noise to Joe and the Solicitor knew it. Not his first Rodeo as they say. The solicitor, Garret Stone, whose name was as joyless as his profession then proceeded to softly kick the boys of his office with promises to keep in touch and abreast of any legal confuscations. The car ride back to their flat was filled with silence, swollen like a precipitous cloud. Darius put on his headphones, yet played no music whilst Joe observed the passing bleak streets of London. Where there was once life and excitement, the streets now felt grey and lifeless. The winter had come and the leaves had fallen, swept up by the passing cars.


    Back in their apartment they felt stifled. What could they do that would not be agony in its rawest state? Cooking supper? No mother watching telly? No crap Dad jokes?


    “Want a drink?” Joe asked Darius, bringing out two tumblers and his dad’s favourite whiskey. This story originates from a different website. Ensure the author gets the support they deserve by reading it there.


    “Sure” came a grunt.


    They sipped in silence. “ We will have to think about the funeral Dar”.


    Another grunt.


    “ I think we should move to Nan and Grandad’s asap”


    This time a slow nod.


    “Maybe we should..”. This time he was interrupted by Darius sobbing loudly. “Why us JJ?” “Why him? Why Dad? Mum…”


    “I’m sorry mate, we just got fucked. Could be worse though, at least we don’t have all those family videos that others have. Imagine videos of Dad lecturing us on some other obscure rock?”


    Darius sniffled and laughed “Yeah or one of him and mum trying to sing auld langs eye. People would pay to get that copy incinerated!”


    They both drank, they both cried and they both remembered.


    “I’m gonna go visit Mum tomorrow, the doctor said the drugs they gave her have helped”


    “I won''t come with” Darius looked at his shoes, “ I can’t see her yet, not like that. Not yet”


    “Take your time Dar, she’ll get better for sure”.


    Joe lay in bed that night, his phone illuminating his face like some poor rendition of Oz. He finally answered Julia, afterall he would be seeing her back in school in a few days, essentially an orphan, with no Alfred to keep him on the straight. What he could say by text? So he rang. They talked, she consoled, she offered to meet, he declined citing he needed time to sort himself. They rang off and somehow Joe felt lighter.


    Once again Monday came round and Joe was up and ready for School, his black blazer hanging clean after its visit to Mr. Singh’s, as fastidious as ever. Nothing is stranger than normalcy, especially after tragedy. Cycling through the neighbourhood on his new bike like he had done so a million times before, yet every scene pulled a heartstring like some cruel conductor of a solemn orchestra. The bleakness of London''s autumn seemed to conspire with the conductor. He double locked his bike upon arrival, thefts were known even in the school’s grounds.


    He had been instructed by an email prior to visit the Headmaster first thing so he made his way to what the boys called the corridor of doom. Rarely were the students summoned here for anything good and more often than not a delinquent could be found at a solitary desk marooned in the middle of the corridor, shame and punishment in equal measure. Little did the teachers know that this was where many would hope to come to get a glimpse of the headmaster’s secretary, well known to be the most beautiful women in the school. Many rumours of thongs worn by Miss McKye would send the boy''s rampant imagination into overdrive.


    Joe did not dwell on these thoughts for long as he was summoned directly into the headmasters office. The office was decorated with various accolades and awards. Dr. Fox was a proud teacher and he was proud of his school. A good teacher is like a father, a teacher for life. That being said, not many would want to stick around Dr. Fox for too long, his temper was legend.


    Dr. Fox asked the obvious questions and Joe answered the obvious answers. Meaningless platitudes and rote responses. So the merry goes round. Finally Dr. Fox reaffirmed Joe was okay to return to School. Had he had enough time to recover etc. etc. Joe replied he needed the distraction of education right now. Something positive to focus on. And of course his friends; Bob had finally got back from his family holiday and Joe felt he needed someone to rely on, even just an iota.


    Dr. Fox ushered Joe out of the room with a concerned look shot towards his back, shaking his head and then ducking back into his office. Not even Miss McKye got a second look from Joe as he made his way to his first class.