Read an extract from Forever and Ever by Allanah Hunt

Name: Forever & Ever
Author: Hunt, Allanah
ISBN: 9781923058798

Article | Mar 2026

ALLANAH HUNT’s debut novel, Forever & Ever, is a gritty, heart-wrenching love story set in a Murray–Darling river town simmering with deep-seated prejudice and long-buried secrets. Read on for an extract.

ABOUT THE BOOK

Talia is 16, pregnant and angry. Her family is broken. She’s looking after her unwell mother. Her dad’s gone. At school she is shunned. And Johnny – the one person she thought she could count on – just walked away.

Johnny is Barkindji, smart and confused. He’s struggling with the weight of his parents’ expectations: he wants to please them, but is the future they’ve planned for him the one he really wants? He makes a decision he knows he’ll regret: leaving Talia behind.

But some love – no matter how impossible – never lets go.

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EXTRACT

Talia
March 2025, 6 weeks

I knew funerals were meant to be sad. Same as birthday parties were joyful, weddings were magical and divorces were painful. I’d been to enough teeth-pulling sessions with my school counsellor to know what emotions should be associated with each thing.

It was a matching activity like the memory game.

Hugs were warm; kisses were soft; dead bodies were cold.

I didn’t know the last one for sure because I couldn’t bring myself to plant a kiss on my Uncle Jason’s forehead like Louise, my grandmother, had just done. The casket felt cold as my fingertips brushed against the wood, either from the aircon or the body. I assumed it was the body. It made my goodbyes stick in my throat and I took them back to my seat.

I felt disconnected, thinking about things I didn’t want to remember. Johnny’s name flashed like a strobe in my mind. It comforted me and made me feel sick at the same time.

I tried to distract myself: the plush chairs were soft enough to sink my fingers into; the priest’s voice drifting into a monotone drone; the women a few seats up sobbing. The weeping sounded forced. I felt guilty for thinking that way but I couldn’t help it.

I had never met Uncle Jason. Not in any up-close and personal way anyway. He’d always wave to me if he saw me, before Dad caught sight of him and hurried me away. Any time I mentioned him, the vein would pop in Dad’s jawline, before he would go into a tirade about how Uncle Jason was a liar and troublemaker.

It only stoked my curiosity – who was this bad egg in our family? And why did my dad hate him so much? I would try to give Uncle Jason a discreet wave back when I could. Whenever I did, even from a distance, he would give me a warm nod.

Next to me, Mum dabbed her eyes with a hanky. It was something she did only when she pretended to cry. Her nose was red with how many times she’d wiped at it.

I could never cry on cue; I didn’t see that as a bad thing.

An ache started up in my back and I massaged it with my knuckles. Johnny had always been good at massages when he decided to give them.

Nope. Not thinking about that. Not thinking about that.

Dad was stoic-faced as he stood next to the casket, waiting to act as a pallbearer.

Louise stood next to Dad, her face full of reminiscing. There were no tears in her eyes but her chin quivered. Eventually she covered her mouth.

I tuned in to the priest’s words. ‘Always remember, ladies and gentlemen,’ he said, placing his hand over his heart. I wondered if he did that move at every service. Did priests have signature moves? Like musicians? ‘Jason Evans was a kind soul. He volunteered at animal shelters any free time he had. He gave to the homeless on the street when he could spare a few coins. It’s why we all loved him. We knew how much he loved the community. And not just parts of it. Everyone was worth his time and was blessed with his love.’

Louise nodded to every statement, while Dad stood deathly still.

Mum was now glaring at me because I wasn’t crying. Like I was the emotionally repressed one out of the two of us or something. What a riot. At least she noticed me so that was kind of nice.

I wasn’t going to be bursting into tears though. Not unless someone stomped on my foot and even then some. Doctors had often praised my high pain-tolerance level. It was something I was stupidly proud of. That, along with being able to name every episode of the first five seasons of Supernatural and quote Macbeth’s final speech word perfect.

‘Jason was a dedicated person. Dedicated to his family, to his friends,’ the priest went on.

I was guessing he probably knew as much about Uncle Jason’s life as I did. I could’ve done the service and at a cheaper rate than this dude. It would have the added authenticity of me being blood at least.

It was this sort of dark humour I’d learnt to tone down in front of Mum and Dad. Johnny would’ve got it though.

Remembering his infectious happiness made me feel nauseous. I repressed a shiver.

‘Most of all though, Jason was a dedicated husband. He cared for Maria until the day she passed far too early. Just as Jason has been taken from us far too early.’

It was new information to me that Uncle Jason lost his wife. I hadn’t even known he was married. When had it happened? Only a few years back or when I was little?

Craning my neck to see around the woman in front of me, with one of those god-awful mum cuts, I studied the picture leaning against the casket.

Jason Evans scarcely resembled Dad. In fact, Dad appeared old compared to Uncle Jason, who looked like he couldn’t even be 30, yet I knew he was 39.

It was the smile that did it. Youthful and cheeky, it lit up Uncle Jason’s dark eyes which also were a huge contrast to Dad’s cyan blue ones. His brown curls didn’t have a speck of grey, unlike the whole salt-and-pepper look Dad had going on.

For the first time in the whole funeral, a pang of sadness broke through my disconnection. Uncle Jason looked like a nice person. At least I thought he did. I didn’t buy that his looks were deceiving.

The touch of the cold coffin came back to me. I wished I had pressed a kiss to his forehead and given him some of my warmth.

But it was too late now.

It was too late for a lot of things. Like…

Denial, my brain whispered temptingly, denial, denial, denial. It felt safe and toasty there. And I was going to stay there for as long as I could.

‘And now,’ the priest’s voice rose, ‘let us pray.’

Everyone’s heads dropped forward. But not mine. I’d stopped praying long ago; I wasn’t about to start again now, at 16, even if it was just pretending.

It brought back too many painful memories of unfulfilled wishes and naïve hopes.

It hit me that the opportunity to meet Uncle Jason hadn’t been so much lost as taken from me.

Could I be upset over missing something I never had?

I didn’t know.

My fingers reached out to my left. Johnny used to walk to that side, always holding my hand with his right. Instead of feeling his gentle touch, my fingers slid against a man’s suit pants. He glanced at me with irritation.

My stomach rolled as I was brought out of my haze. Johnny wasn’t there. He wasn’t going to meet me after the funeral either. Or even call me to see how I handled it. Did he know about it? Would it make a difference if he did?

I could hear the priest ending the prayer and thanking everyone. Mum turned to me but before she could get a word out, I jumped in.

‘Need the bathroom, Mum,’ I choked out, brushing past her and all the black- and grey-clad bodies.

I could hear Mum’s sighing turn into a sob when Louise called her over. I felt guilty that I’d pushed Mum further away. If she went much further, I mightn’t ever be able to reach her again.