Page 91 of The Life Experiment
From the bedside table, Angus’s phone rang. Like all the times before, Angus ignored it, even though the vibrating device felt like someone jackhammering inside his skull.
Curling into a ball, Angus winced as his stomach somersaulted. When he’d crawled into bed at 4 am, he thought vomiting had expunged all last night’s alcohol from his body, but clearly not.
Running through the patches of the night he could remember, Angus tried to find the positives. He had survived his third bender this week. He had made it home. That was good. At least he wasn’t in a gutter somewhere, choking on his own vomit, or locked in a police cell. Or worse, waking up in a bed that wasn’t his or Layla’s.
A sweat-dampened shiver rattled Angus’s body at the thought of making that hellish mistake. It would have sealed the end of him and Layla, but Angus had to hope it wasn’t too late for them. His heart still ached at the thought of her.
Suddenly, panic gripped Angus. Snatching his phone from the bedside table, he checked his call history and groaned. Five calls to Layla were logged. Each were made after 2 am. None had been answered.
Sighing, Angus debated tossing his phone in the bin, but his phone began ringing. A photo of Peter filled the screen. It was only then that Angus noticed the time.
His stomach dropped. Lunchtime had long passed, and so had the time Angus was meant to visit Gilly while she underwent her next round of chemotherapy. He’d promised he would be there.
Don’t make promises you can’t keep, Angus, Gilly had said during their phone call the previous morning, but Angus had been adamant that he would be there. He wouldn’t let her down.
Only, he had.
Guilt overwhelmed Angus as he imagined his mother in hospital, staring at the door, waiting for him to arrive. Pressing his palms against his eyes, he berated himself for his enormous fuck-up.Why are you like this? Why, why, why?
His thoughts were only interrupted by the sound of his intercom screeching to announce a visitor.
Swaying as he rose to his feet, Angus searched for clothes to throw on. Last night’s shirt, crumpled on the floor beside a pair of tequila splattered jeans, lay before him. Rank, but when the door buzzed again, Angus threw them on and shuffled towards the intercom.
‘Hello?’ his sandpaper voice croaked into the speaker.
‘It’s your father,’ Peter’s stern voice stated simply. ‘Are you going to let me up or am I going to have to use my key?’
Sighing, Angus buzzed his father into the building then trailed to the window for a moment of peace before the inevitable showdown began. Leaning his forehead against the cool glass, he watched as rain fell over London. Small figures on the ground rushed to escape the elements. Angus wished he could trade places with one of them.
Behind him, Angus heard his front door open, followed by the sound of footsteps marching towards him.
‘So, this is what you’re doing instead of supporting your mother. What an excellent way to spend your time.’
As Peter’s rage simmered behind him, Angus kept his gaze fixed on the window. He tried to focus on a single raindrop, to watch it trail down the glass, but the rain was too heavy.
‘Look at me,’ Peter said coolly, but Angus didn’t move. ‘I said look at me, dammit!’
Angus flinched at his father’s tone, then he turned, slow and weary.
When his furious eyes locked on his son’s defeated stance, Peter’s lips parted. ‘Jesus, Angus. What’s happened to you?’ he breathed, his anger fading.
Opening his clenched jaw, Angus hunted for the words to explain, but there were none. There had been no words, no joy, no life since Layla walked away. ‘I don’t know,’ he admitted.
Angus’s teenage years had taught him that one thing Peter hated was vagueness. When Angus purposely hit a golf ball through the kitchen window and couldn’t say why, when he took bottles of Peter’s rare whisky to a house party and paired them with Coca Cola… Peter demanded a solid reason every time. But this time, he didn’t push.
This time, Peter strode forward and enveloped Angus in his arms.
Slowly raising his arms to hug his father back, Angus began to cry. ‘I’m sorry,’ he sobbed. ‘I really am. I didn’t mean to let anyone down. I’m so, so sorry.’
Peter didn’t lie and say that it was okay. Instead, he held his son tightly, rubbing his hand over Angus’s back the way he had when Angus was small. ‘Whatever it is, son, we can fix it,’ Peter said.
Angus knew Peter couldn’t erase Gilly’s hurt or the pain Angus had caused Layla, but his father’s words helped nonetheless. Soon, Angus’s tears subsided.
When the men drew apart, Angus trailed to the kitchen for a glass of water. From the living room, Peter watched.
‘Your mother needs you, Angus,’ he said.
‘I know,’ Angus replied, gripping the sink for support as the water landed heavily in his stomach.
