Chapter 44 Angus
Flexing his fingers, Angus approached his parents’ house. Flanked by two stone pillars, the front door loomed tall. Gripping the bag in his hand tighter, Angus pushed it open and entered.
‘Hello?’ he called out.
From the back of the house, clipped footsteps could be heard. They drew closer until Ms Tillman came into view. ‘Angus, what a lovely surprise! I didn’t know you were visiting today.’
‘It was an impromptu thing. I’m here to see Mother.’
Ms Tillman nodded like she expected as much. ‘She’s resting at the moment. Would you like me to go up and tell her you’re here?’
‘No, thank you. I’ll go to her.’
As Angus approached the staircase, Ms Tillman moved to stop him, but then stepped aside. Angus understood her almost-objection. Gilly Fairview-Whitley prided herself on appearance above all else. Would she want anyone, even her son, to see her in bed in the middle of the afternoon?
But Angus didn’t care about appearances anymore. All he cared about was righting his wrongs. And, as he ascended the sweeping staircase, Angus was determined to do exactly that.
At the door to his parents’ bedroom, he knocked gently.
‘I’m fine for a drink, thank you,’ Gilly called from inside, but Angus entered anyway.
The number of pillows surrounding Gilly made her appear smaller than ever. The sight was painful for Angus, but ever since starting chemotherapy, he knew Gilly’s skin had felt hot and irritated. Enveloping herself in soft furnishings seemed to be the only way she could get comfortable.
‘Angus,’ Gilly said, struggling to sit upright. ‘What are you doing here?’
‘Don’t get up,’ Angus replied, moving closer.
‘I should have been up hours ago,’ Gilly said, but Angus reached her side before she could swing her legs from the bed.
‘Mother, please. It’s only me. Rest. Relax.’
Gilly paused but gave a small nod and settled back into her cushions. Only when she seemed relatively at peace did Angus exhale. He moved to sit in the chair beside Gilly’s bed, but as he did, the bag he was carrying banged into his leg.
Gilly frowned. ‘Have you been shopping?’
‘I have. For you, in fact.’
Gilly’s eyebrows shot up. ‘For me? What on earth have you done that for?’
‘I’ve been thinking about what you said. About listening to everything I’ve ever said, all my throwaway comments and dreams. It got me thinking about how we’ve been with each other in the past.’
A frown flashed across Gilly’s face. ‘Angus, I’m tired. I don’t want to fight.’
‘Neither do I. I want to show you something.’
‘Show me what?’ Gilly asked warily.
‘Well,’ Angus replied, clearing his throat. ‘I want to show that I’ve listened to what you’ve said over the years too.’
Lifting the bag onto the bed, Angus reached inside and pulled out a set of items.
‘When you were young, you used to paint,’ he said. ‘The illustration you did of your garden is one of my favourite things in this house, but all my life, I’ve never seen you pick up a paintbrush.’
‘My father told me that a lady doesn’t have paint on her clothes.’ Gilly sniffed. ‘I could hardly host dinner parties while covered in acrylics, could I?’
‘Exactly. You didn’t put yourself first, ever.
We let it happen, but we shouldn’t have.
We should have signed you up for a painting class and made sure you had the chance to do the things you loved.
Well, I went out and got you a sketchbook and some watercolours.
I thought you could use this time to paint, if you wanted to.
When you’re feeling better, we can look for a class to join too, if you’d like. ’
Dumbstruck, Gilly stared at the A4 sketchbook and paints Angus placed in her hands.
Next, Angus pulled an oversized shirt from the bag.
‘Last summer, you hosted a garden party on the sunniest day of the year. You burned your shoulders, but Corinne Smythe didn’t because she brought an overshirt with her.
You wanted one to throw over your outfit on hot days too.
So, I bought you one. If it’s not right, we can return it, but I think it will look good on you.
When you feel up to it, try it on and let me know. ’
As the buttery soft material slipped through Gilly’s fingers, she choked on a disbelieving laugh.
The third item Angus held in the air was a book.
‘You’ve always said you want to read Pride and Prejudice , but never got around to it.
When the film played on ITV last Christmas, you said you would only watch it after reading the book first. So, here’s a copy.
When you’ve finished it, we can watch the film together. I’ll even make popcorn.’
Placing the book on top of the paints, Angus went back to his bag. His hand paused on the next item. He knew how hard saying this would be, but as he heard Gilly struggle to swallow back tears, he knew he had to.
‘My favourite childhood memories are of you, me and Hugo baking together. We always made such a mess, do you remember?’ Angus braved a look at his mother.
Tears filled Gilly’s eyes, but she ignored them. ‘Chocolate cake was Hugo’s favourite,’ she said simply.
‘It was. The day of his funeral, you cried and said you would never eat chocolate cake again.’ The memory seared Angus, but he didn’t shy away from it.
‘We never baked one after that. In fact, we stopped baking altogether, but we shouldn’t have.
We should have made chocolate cake every year on Hugo’s birthday.
And we should have talked about him. Kept him with us. Shared that pain.’
‘We should have,’ Gilly agreed, closing her eyes as her tears escaped.
‘It’s not too late to start,’ Angus said, pushing through his emotion so he could speak. ‘I bought a Nigella cookbook. The lady at Waterstones said there’s a great chocolate cake recipe in there. We can bake it later, if you feel up to it.’
‘Oh, darling,’ Gilly whispered as he added the book to the stack on her bed.
‘I think it’s time we stop hiding from the pain, and from each other,’ Angus continued.
‘I want to spend time with you, and talk about Hugo more. Make new memories.’ With the paper bag now empty, Angus folded it in his hands.
‘I know some of this stuff is silly. I just wanted you to know that I care. I’m sorry I ever made you feel like I didn’t.
I’m also sorry if they’re not the right supplies. I’m not a painter or baker or—’
‘Stop, Angus,’ Gilly interrupted, leaning forward and catching her son’s hand. ‘They’re perfect.’
A smile lifted the corners of Angus’s mouth. Reaching forward, he wrapped his mother in his arms, holding her gently. A moment later, Gilly’s arms found Angus too.