“Uncle John says he’s immortal.” Casey stood in the immaculate kitchen holding the handwritten letter in one hand and freshly squeezed OJ in the other. The morning sun slanted down through the blinds. Daisy, the ginger fur baby, stretched out in its warmth. Casey screwed the letter up, dropping it onto his finished plate. It got stuck in a blob of blood-red jam.

“What?!” Kelvin grinned at him through a mouthful of jam on toast, “John? Your mum’s brother? He sounds insane. Well, at least he’s finally reached out, unlike your mum, eh?” Kelvin shoved toast into his mouth and brushed the crumbs from the counter onto his plate.

“Let me see what he said. I never met your family. Are they all crazy?” He reached for the letter.

Casey snatched the paper and threw it into the recycling bin. “Don't you remember when I told Mother we were together? She nearly puked and started bleaching all the surfaces.”

Kelvin barked a laugh. It was his favourite coming-out story ever. “Why don’t we go? Just to see weirdos in the flesh would be so….”

“Demoralising?”

“Fascinating,” finished Kelvin, “It'd be like walking into a real-life Facebook group. The ones that complain about people with pronouns.” Kelvin cackled as he watched Casey’s eyes roll in fake annoyance.

“Go to work. There’s plenty of nutjobs out there, never mind my lot.” Casey pulled a lunchbox from the fridge. Kelvin grabbed Casey’s waist.

“I love you. And think about it!”

“Love you too.” Casey picked some invisible fluff from his epaulette.

The sharp sound of the door closing disturbed Daisy. Casey replenished the milk in her saucer, enjoying her arch into his hand as he petted her. As he straightened up, the letter caught his eye: balled up like an angry fist covered with dark red jam patches.

Casey pulled it out of the rubbish.

Jeanette Greening was working overtime. With the Women’s Institute bake-off competition on Monday, her kitchen had become a domestic bakery. The smell of chocolate cakes, scones and biscuits cloyed the air as Her hair was starting to frazzle and the underwriting in her bra was digging in. Was she too old for this? Well, if Norma Preacher - a walking skeleton - was still churning out winners, she had no excuse.

She heaved open the oven door and slid a skewer into a tin of not-quite-ready lemon drizzle. Her glasses steamed up as the heat hit her full in the face. These loaf tins always took longer than you thought. She hung the apron up. It was the one Casey had bought her some twenty years ago, covered in cats. It had frayed at the edges, but the heart of it was still there.

“Time for a brew. Do you want one, dear?” Jeanette asked the empty room. Despite him being dead for over ten years, she always asked if Henry wanted tea. After he had died, she lost the nerve to put the kettle on.

She sat at the breakfast bar and started on the pile of mail. Her hot tea steamed, its vapours adding to the already oven-baked atmosphere. She used to slurp her too-hot tea then Henry would pretend it wound him up. They would smile, knowing some people would find that grounds for divorce. But not them. The last letter was handwritten – with a Chichester postmark. That meant it was from her brother John. He lived in their parent’s old house in the middle of nowhere in the South Downs. She glanced up at the urn on the mantlepiece, raised an eyebrow with Henry, and opened it:

‘Jeanette, I am immortal! The water is long under the bridge. Why don’t we try to sail that river again? Please come, Saturday at 8 o’clock. Casey will be there.

John’

“Jesus Christ, John,” she said, hearing Henry’s laughter. Her brother had always been odd. Maybe he had finally lost his last marble. It had been on the cards since they were kids. She picked up her mobile phone and started typing a message. But stopped and deleted it.

Casey and Kelvin pulled up at the old house. The stars took full advantage of the lack of light pollution. A fire inside spilt the promise of warmth outside onto the driveway through the huge bay window. They both exited the car just as another set of headlamps appeared, illuminating the never-ending farm and scrubland. An Uber pulled up with Jeanette inside. She seemed a lot smaller than Casey remembered.

“Hello, Mum.” He reached for Kelvin’s hand and pulled him to follow. “This is Kelvin. Kelvin, this is my Mum.”

“Nice to finally meet you, Mrs Greening.” Kelvin held out his other hand for Jeanette to shake. She took it.

“You too. Did you get a letter, Casey?.”

“Mm-hmm,” his initial confidence dissipated. The three stood as the orange-yellow firelight danced over them.

“I don’t know about you, Mrs Greening,” Kelvin said, keen to break the silence, “but I need the loo.” The three stepped into the porch, pushed open the oversize oak front door and were swallowed by the dark throat of the house.

Uncle John was a mountain of a man. Six feet five inches and about as wide with the same unruly mess of dirty blonde hair as his older sister. He gestured to the room with the fire and introduced himself to Kelvin.

“Tea?” he asked, playing the good host with the grace and formality of a heavy Victorian curtain.

“Can I use your loo, please?” Kelvin asked. John nodded, indicating a door further along the hallway. Casey and his mum entered the front room with the fire and took chairs next to the large, glass-topped table. They could hear John tinkering with China.

“Did your letter say this, Casey?” Jeanette popped open her handbag, sliding the letter to her son.

“Yes. But just that you’d be here, instead of me.” The two sat in silence, full of memories of Henry’s funeral. The last time they were in the same place together was over a decade ago.

Casey heard the toilet flush, followed by Kelvin’s unmistakable heavy tread towards their room. “It’s filthy in there. I’d hold it if I were you.” He patted Casey on the knee as he took the seat near the fire. A kettle started an urgent whistle. It echoed through the house like a wet scream.

“He’s still got the old Aga,” Jeanette said.

“Have you not been here for a while then, Mrs Greening?”

“No, Kelvin, not since Henry – Casey’s father – and I left. God, that must be over thirty years now.”

“I hate to be rude, but is John,” Kelvin pointed to his temple and whirled his finger in a circle, “all there? He seems a bit…off.”

Jeanette leaned onto the glass table, about to elaborate, when John swung through the doorway and rattled a tray down. Some of the tea split out of the pot. Kelvin stood to help, but John reached out a hand and pushed him back down before playing Mother. Kelvin glanced at Casey, who shook his head imperceptibly. Remembering what Kelvin said about the state of the bathroom, he pushed his cup an inch away from him with one finger. Jeanette folded her arms across her belly.

The fire crackled, now just a hot, unpredictable, dangerous element. John picked up the poker and jabbed at the grate.

“Thank you for coming. I’ve discovered the secret to immortality. I’m gonna share it with you. Henry knew it too.” Despite the heat his eyes were black and cold. Jeanette glanced at Casey, transfixed on his uncle. Kelvin shifted his body weight to the edge of his seat, tense.

“Henry perfected it, didn’t he? He seared himself into your minds. Forever. He became immortal. Love and grief. The perfect combo. And taking his own life…the icing on the cake.”

“Mum - what the hell is he talking about?” Casey heard John’s laughter but paid him no attention. He faced his mother with his lips thin and tight; holding back all the words that could never be unsaid.

“Henry - your dad - was very depressed. I found him,” she paused, “I thought we were happy.”

“Take it easy, Case,” Kelvin’s hand rested on his shoulder. It broke him, and Casey relaxed into his suspicions, tears spilling onto his cheeks.

“Why did you not tell me?”

“We were so separate. When your Dad left me - left us - I was lost, so lost. I didn’t have the words. I still don’t.”

Casey glared at his mother. All those years! All that love lost. He held a breath in and let it out long and slow. Kelvin was firmly fixed on John as the guy rattled around in the fire, creating sparks.

Casey turned to his uncle. This was not the time for his Mother. “So you’re being disgusting and cruel? That’s your way?”

“That’s right, little nephew. Why not? I’ll live forever in your mind as the guy who spilt the beans about your dearest Daddy. My Mum left, then my Dad. And you Jean! You disappeared too. You stopped visiting too, didn’t you Casey-boy?” John jabbed a burning log so hard that it snapped in two.

“We should go,” Kelvin stood up and pushed his chair back. John leant back from the fire, his body shaking, sweating. He heaved the iron poker through the air. With plaque-heavy teeth bared John launched his entire bulk towards them. “I will not be forgotten!” he roared.

Casey turned his back to the madman and bent his whole body over his mother as the poker smashed through the glass table.

“Go, mum, move!” he shouted, lifting her towards the door. Jeanette froze and clutched her bag, a silent scream hanging in her throat. John tried to lift the poker for another swing but Kelvin kicked out into the side of his knee, enough to let momentum tip the man forward. He crashed through what remained of the shattered table and slammed face-first into the waiting shards of glass. His face shredded, blood ran down his cheeks. Kelvin took his chance and kicked the poker out of his hand. John screamed in pain and frustration.

“Get her out of here, Case! Go! Now!” Eyes wide, Casey did as he was told and hauled his mother down the hallway. He slammed her into the back of the car and ran back into the house to see the love of his life grappling with a monster. Fuelled by fear, Casey threw a tackle toward John’s legs. John grunted and loosened his grip distracted and unsteady. Kelvin moved, giving Casey room to roll away. He clambered to his feet and they stood back to see John slip on the marble hearth. His meaty arms wheeled in the air, but he fell, cracking his head. Hard. A dark red sticky patch started to form on the carpet underneath him. As his eyes dulled, the smile on his lips grew.

Blue lights flicked across the red-brick building. Casey sat in the car and watched Kelvin in his element handling everything. With all statements taken, they were finally allowed to leave. Kelvin jumped into the driver’s seat.

“We can drive you home if you like, Mum?”

“Yes. Please let us take you home, Mrs Greening. Where are you again?” Kelvin bent over to the phone, ready to type in a postcode. Jeanette sighed.

“Call me Jean, please. I’m just 5 miles north of you. The number of times I’ve typed your address into my phone. I’ve just never had the nerve to press Go.”

Kelvin smiled. “One mile at a time.” He put the car in gear and began the return to civilisation.

Casey reached out in the dark and held his mother’s small hand.