Chapter 36 Angus
Potential logos for Hugo’s House were spread across Angus’s dining table, but he couldn’t decide which one felt right. There was something slightly off about each design. A line that didn’t sit right or an illustration that appeared too cartoonish.
Or maybe the fear of choosing the wrong one is getting to you , Angus’s brain chimed. The voice in his head sounded a lot like Saira’s. Angus smiled at the fact that she was cutting through his bullshit, even in his imagination.
That didn’t stop the bullshit from being there, though. Sighing, he rubbed his temples and waited for one image to stand out as the right one. It never did. Even when Angus got a drink of water and returned to the table with fresh eyes, there was no obvious choice.
The temptation to snap a photo of the mock-ups and send it to Layla for her opinion was strong. Maybe this is the point you tell her, Angus’s brain suggested. Stop with the lies.
The thought was more tempting than ever. The little white lies Angus could once justify were not so little anymore, and Layla didn’t deserve deception of any kind. What started as a way of hiding his shame had become the most shameful thing Angus had ever done.
Studying the designs once more, Angus made a vow. The next time he saw Layla, he would tell her about Hugo’s House. From there, he would tell her the rest. If he explained, maybe she would understand. Maybe they could have the future that Angus couldn’t stop picturing.
For now, though, all Angus could do was focus on the task at hand. Reaching for his phone, Angus fired off a text to his father: Which of these logos do you like best?
Sitting back in his chair, Angus picked up one of the printed graphics and studied it closely. While it didn’t feel quite the right fit for the charity – Was it the colours? The way the font filled the entire outline of a house? – there was something about it that made him pause.
Angus had come up with the idea for Hugo’s House. He had found an opportunity and chased it. The vision in his head was coming to fruition. Builders would start constructing self-contained units in the properties as soon as planning permission was granted.
Hugo’s House was coming to life, yet Angus had no one to share the good news with.
Checking his phone once more, Angus was dismayed to see no response from his father. With a sigh, he left the table and poured himself a whisky. A solo celebration, of sorts. It felt as lonely as it sounded.
Taking the first sip of his drink, Angus trailed through his penthouse.
At the window, he stopped and watched a blanket of darkness unroll over London until he heard his phone ring.
Gulping the rest of his whisky, Angus headed back to the dining table.
A smile took over his features when he saw Peter’s name on the screen.
‘What did you think of them?’ Angus asked when he answered the call, but he was met with a thick silence.
‘Angus.’
There was something in the way Peter said his name that made Angus feel sick. Gripping the back of a chair to steady himself, Angus willed himself to speak. ‘What’s going on? What’s wrong?’
‘Angus, it’s your mother.’ Peter’s words sent a white-hot poker of fear through Angus’s chest. ‘She’s not well, Angus. She hasn’t been for a while.’
Angus heard the words, but they wouldn’t compute. His grip on the chair tightened, white-knuckling the fabric like it was the only thing keeping him tethered to the ground.
‘You need to come to the hospital,’ Peter said.
Instinctively, Angus shook his head. Gilly was fine. Gilly was always fine. She was Gilly Fairview-Whitley, for crying out loud. She was strong, invincible… Wasn’t she?
On the other end of the phone, Peter steadied his breathing. ‘Cromwell Hospital, ward—’
‘Stop,’ Angus cried. ‘What do you mean, Cromwell Hospital? What’s going on?’
‘Angus, your mother has cancer. She’s been undergoing treatment for the last few months. She asked me to keep it between the two of us, but she’s caught an infection. It’s not looking good, son. You need to be here.’
Angus was aware of Peter giving directions to Gilly’s ward. He knew he should be noting the instructions, but all Angus could focus on was the blood rushing to his head as he processed the news.
Gilly had cancer.
She had cancer, and Angus didn’t know.
‘You didn’t tell me?’ he heard himself whisper.
Peter paused before responding. ‘Your mother didn’t want to worry you.’
‘Didn’t want to worry me, but waiting until she’s in hospital with an infection to tell me this news is okay?’ Angus knew he was being petty. The hows and the whys didn’t matter right now, but still, he couldn’t stop himself from clinging to them.
‘Your mother wanted to deal with this in her way,’ Peter replied, wearily. ‘My role wasn’t to tell her how to do that, but to support her. Which is exactly what you should be doing now.’
‘Now you want my support? Not in any of the months before, just when Mother is in hospital?’
‘Angus—’
‘No, I’m serious! You wanted to have me over for dinner and pretend everything was fine and—’
‘Do you want to know why we didn’t tell you, Angus?’ Peter cut in furiously. ‘Fine, I’ll tell you why. Your mother wanted to keep this to herself because she didn’t think you could handle the truth.’
For the second time in a matter of moments, Peter’s words punched Angus in the gut. ‘What?’
‘That’s right, you heard me. Your mother didn’t think you had the maturity to deal with this news in a helpful way.
And judging by your reaction tonight, it was the right choice to make!
I do not care if you are upset that you were not told sooner.
I do not care if you are angry. All I care about is your mother.
You will come to the hospital and you will hold her hand and you will be there for her. ’
When his father hung up on him, Angus stood staring blankly at the dining table in front of him. The desire to shy away from the moment called to him, telling him that seeing Gilly would be hard. That it would hurt, and that a night out with Jasper was only a phone call away.
But as Angus grabbed his coat, he knew there was only one place he would go.
Rushing from his penthouse, Angus jumped in his car and raced through a congested London.
He drove erratically, weaving in and out of traffic.
When Angus arrived at the hospital, he paced at the reception desk, willing himself to be patient as the elderly lady ahead of him spoke with the receptionist about the weather.
Eventually, when it was his turn to be seen, Angus said his mother’s name so quickly he had to repeat it twice for the receptionist to understand him.
‘Fairview-Whitley, let me see…’ she said as she typed. As soon as she said the room number, Angus was off, rushing to the stairs and striding to the ward. He only slowed when he reached Gilly’s room.
When she came into view through the glass door, Angus froze. Asleep, exhausted, and with skin greyer than he’d ever seen, Gilly looked… ill. Angus’s body iced over. He’d never seen his mother look so vulnerable, not even after Hugo’s death.
Spotting him on the other side of the door, Peter stood and opened it. ‘Angus,’ he said.
Numbly, Angus entered the room, his gaze fixed on his mother. ‘It’s bad, isn’t it?’ he whispered.
For once, Peter didn’t hide the truth. ‘Yes, Angus, it is.’
Reaching for his father, Angus crumpled.