‘Wasn’t it great to hear her speak? To laugh.’
I turn to him. ‘Who knew mopping a floor could be such fun? Any time you want to come over and help me clean the bathroom, let me know.’
He smiles. ‘My mother always used to tell me, “Most of the things you do in life, son, are mundane, so we owe it to ourselves to make each chore fun.” I can see her now, on the tractor, mowing the lawn, fag in her mouth, or hoovering the house, Dolly Parton playing at full volume.’
‘Your mother sounds fun. More fun than mine, anyway.’
‘Sounded. She died a year ago.’
‘Oh, I’m sorry.’
‘She was eighty-two, riddled with cancer. It was her time to go. “Put me down, Angus,” she’d say. She was a terrible patient, furious to be old. In her young days she was a serious party girl, that is before she met my father and settled down. She despised illness, couldn’t deal with it. When I was a little boy, if I so much as coughed she’d turn the other way. We weren’t always close, I caused her too many headaches.’ He shrugs. ‘But I do miss her. I loved her. She was both insane and a wise old soul.’
‘What do you mean?’
‘She looked down on the “conventional type”. If a mother said their son was planning on marrying and getting an accountancy job she’d say, “Doesn’t it bother you how ordinary his life will be?” I remember once telling Mum there was a weirdo at school, all he did was talk about stick insects. “Life is full of dull people, Angus, so speak to this interesting boy who hunts for stick insects. Find out what he loves about them.” Best lesson I ever learned is to make friends with people who are different.’
As I listen, finally it dawns on me why Angus is good with people. Sure, he puts his foot in it, but he doesn’t judge or ignore anyone. He dives right in, trying to make others feel welcome. I reckon his mother did a good job. ‘She doesn’t sound insane,’ I say.
‘Oh believe me, she was, but that was partly because… well, put it this way, the sheer volume of detentions I received and visits to the headmaster’s office drove her to insanity.’
‘Were youthatbad?’
‘Worse.’
‘You’re showing off.’
He raises an eyebrow. ‘I’d sit on the school roof at four in the morning, smoking. I stole the key to our housemaster’s car once, just for fun. I was expelled twice. I’m not proud, but I did have a good time.’
‘Why did you end up in banking?’ I ask, curious, as it seems to me Angus could have done anything. We turn a corner, my house sadly in sight now.
‘Good question,’ he replies. ‘Why did I want to sit behind a desk, doing sums and slowly dying and disappointing my mother by being so conventional?’
‘I bet you didn’t disappoint her, come on.’
‘You’re being way too nice, Holly. Mum’s probably watching from above, seriously furious with me and all my fuck-ups.’
‘No, she wouldn’t feel that way. I mean, look at you today.’
‘Nina’s been asking me to volunteer ever since she set up this place, but I kept on telling her I was too busy. Now I’m doing it so I can stay with Scottie. I’m no saint, Holly.’
‘We all make mistakes, but I’m sure you can put things right.’ The moment I say those words I want to take them back. I have no idea what has happened in his past, and I know, more than I’d like, some things can’t be fixed. Jamie will never come back.
‘Nina’s great, isn’t she?’ I reflect.
‘One of a kind. We lived in a house together at uni. She was like our mother, keeping us in order. She never fitted into the world of law. What’s that expression, a square peg in a round hole? A bit like me, really, I never fitted into banking. Anyway, she slots right into the world of saving food and helping others. She’s helped me enough.’
I long to know more about Angus’s life, but we are only a minute from my home now, and I don’t want a hurried version, a whole life packed into mere seconds. ‘Well, this is me.’ We stand outside my front door. I open the gate. ‘Would you like to come in?’
‘I won’t, thanks, better be getting on.’ He shifts awkwardly from one foot to the other. ‘What are you doing for the rest of the weekend? Will your, er, husband be home?’
I dig around for my keys in my handbag. ‘No,’ I tell him. ‘He’s dead.’ I laugh nervously. ‘He died.’
‘Oh Holly, I’m so sorry.’
‘Hopefully he’s with your mother, under some cloud, having a laugh,’ I suggest.
‘I hope so.’ He inhales deeply, and looks at me with those sad brown eyes. ‘Sorry, put my foot in it again.’
