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‘And six,’ he said, changing the subject, ‘just because five roses is an odd number. Literally and figuratively.’
That last bit made her smile, to his relief. ‘Thank you. They’re lovely.’
‘I am sorry, Abby,’ he said. ‘I was tired and out of sorts last night, and I shouldn’t have taken it out on you. I was rude, ungracious, and stubborn.’
‘So only part of a chip off the old block, then,’ she said.
Meaning that, unlike his father, he actually apologised? ‘Maybe.’ He looked her straight in the eyes. Today, they were sea green. ‘Abby, I meant what I said. I’d like to take you to dinner tonight. To say thank you for looking out for me, to apologise, and to kind of cement a proper truce between us so Ruby’s wedding day is perfect.’
She was silent for so long that he thought she was going to say no, but then finally she nodded. ‘All right. I won’t finish here until seven, though.’
‘Fair enough. I’ll book somewhere local for, what, eight? Will that give you enough time to be ready?’ Not that Abby had ever been the high-maintenance sort who took hours and hours to get ready. Though he had no idea how much she’d changed since their divorce. Maybe she was different, now.
‘That’s fine,’ she said.
‘And I’ll call for you at quarter to eight.’
She nodded. ‘That’d be nice.’
‘I can see you’re busy,’ he said, ‘so I won’t hold you up.’
‘Thank you.’
‘I’ll see you tonight.’
He was at the door when she said softly, ‘Brad.’
He turned round to face her. ‘Yes?’
‘Did you go to the church?’
He inclined his head. ‘And I’m going to see Mum now.’
‘That’s an awful lot to face in one day.’
The quayside. The church and the churchyard. His childhood home. ‘I might as well deal with most of the ghosts at once. I’ll live.’ It was time he stopped avoiding his past; and maybe being stubborn about it would help, for once. Doing it today would give him a couple of days’ breathing space before the wedding, so he could get his mask perfect again. ‘I’ll see you at quarter to eight.’
* * *
Brad walked up the driveway to his parents’ house—his mother’s house, he corrected himself—just as he’d done so many times before. The house hadn’t changed; although the paint was fresh the colour was the same and the flowers growing in the front garden were the same.
He paused with his hand on the doorbell. How many times he’d stood on this step as a teen, hoping that his dad wasn’t working from home, ready with a lecture about how many more opportunities Brad would have with a law degree than with a chemistry degree. Or the row over the Cambridge college he’d applied to—not the one where James had studied. Brad had never been able to get through to his father that he loved him dearly but didn’t want to follow in his footsteps; he wanted to make his own way, not trade on his father’s reputation.
And now he never would.
He took a deep breath, nerving himself to ring the doorbell, when the front door opened abruptly; his mother swept him into a hug, and Ollie the Collie bounced around, barking madly.
‘Brad, it’s so good to have you home,’ Rosie said.
Home.
‘And you know you don’t have to ring the doorbell. You’re not a guest. This is always your home, any time you need it.’
A home with an empty space where his father should be.
Brad hugged his mother a little bit tighter, then made a fuss of the dog. ‘I know, Mum.’
Her eyes were full of tears, but she blinked them away. ‘It’s so good to see you.’
‘And you.’
She squeezed his hand. ‘Last time you were here...’
She didn’t need to say it. They both knew. The day of James’s funeral.
‘I know this is hard for you, Brad.’
It was. And her understanding made him feel worse. The lump in his throat was so huge, he could barely get the words out. ‘I’m sorry, Mum. I should have come back before.’
‘You video-call me twice a week and you spoil me in London. That’s an awful lot more than some mothers get,’ Rosie pointed out.
