Sunshine Through the Rain

by Gilly Stewart

  But even if he did give in and get professionals to do a lot of the work, he still needed to be on hand to supervise. That was the reason he gave people for not wanting to move down to Deer Bridge and live with his mother. He didn’t mention Craigallan and the animals.

  Later he went out into the soft evening to review again the half-dug foundations and septic tank. Recent rain had made them little more than ugly, unnaturally shaped ponds, but if he tried he could see them for what they were. The beginning of something special. Tomorrow morning he would get on to a couple of local building firms and see when they could let him have a team of joiners. And he would give the timber merchants a definite delivery date. That would give him something to aim for.

  He watched Ellen as she walked up the hill behind Craigallan with the dog in her wake. Seeing her put his own problems into perspective. He hadn’t lost a dearly loved sister, nor had to uproot a perfectly planned life. The fact that he had never had a perfectly planned life was beside the point.

  Sitting talking to her at the ceilidh had made him realise something. He wasn’t sure what, yet, but it would come to him. He waited to see if she would turn in his direction, whether she might even come and talk over that awful incident with Angus, but she carried on, walking slowly up and over the ridge to where the horses were. Disappointed, he turned back to the caravan.

  Chapter Sixteen

  Angus had been looking forward to seeing his gran. He hadn’t told anyone he missed her, because they wouldn’t be interested. And then, when he came home from school early, he overheard his aunt on the telephone and everything else was forgotten.

  ‘Yes, I would definitely like you to put it on the market,’ she was saying. ‘I’m happy enough with the particulars you’ve e-mailed me, and we can talk about the viewing arrangements later. I’d like you to go ahead immediately. Yes, yes, of course. Yes. Thank you.’

  Angus slid slowly out into the yard and headed for the byre. He had to get away before she knew he had heard. He had to get away before he killed her. All this talk of discussing things and children having the right to their opinion too. It was all rubbish, absolute bullshit. She was putting Craigallan on the market. How could she do that? It wasn’t fair! She couldn’t just do that. Could she?

  The calves were out in the fields now but the byre still smelt of cow, and he sank down on a bale of hay, breathing it in, not crying.

  How could he stop her? What could he do, at almost thirteen, against a grown up? He thought of going to Kit, to try and get him to make her change her mind, but what could Kit do? He wasn’t family. And he knew, he just knew, that she would already have talked Gran round, she wouldn’t have dared do this without discussing it with her first. He’d planned to persuade Gran of a few things of his own over the weekend. But he had left it too late.

  He had visions of himself uprooting the For Sale sign and burning it, of petrol-bombing viewers’ cars, of catapulting stones at them as they toured the fields. It made him feel very slightly better, just to imagine the satisfaction it would give him. He pushed his fringe back from his eyes. Stupid hair, always getting in his way.

  After half an hour or so, when he heard Callum and Lucy’s voices and knew he wouldn’t attract particular attention, he slipped back into the house and up to his room.

  When Angus came down stairs, Ellen stared at him, aghast. ‘What …?’

  He scowled at her, his face pale and set. And his hair shaven to the scalp.

  ‘What have you done to your hair?’ she said, stupidly.

  He put up a hand and touched the stubble that was left. ‘I cut it.’

  ‘But …’ Ellen had thought she could no longer be surprised, but she was wrong. He looked, quite frankly, awful. The stark, uneven cut did not suit his bony face and made the bruises all the more prominent. ‘How did you do it?’ And why?

  ‘Used that razor thing Mum had. It was easy.’

  Ellen remembered, vaguely, that Jess used to cut Sam and the boys’ hair, but she would never have dared herself. She hadn’t even known where the electric cutters were, but Angus clearly had. ‘If you wanted it cut, I could have taken you to a hairdresser’s.’ She remembered how the fringe had irritated her, but she hadn’t got as far as suggesting doing something about it. Had he suspected?

  ‘I don’t need a hairdresser’s. Mum said they were a waste of money. You’re always wasting money.’

  ‘What will your grandmother say?’ said Ellen. It sounded feeble but it was the only thing she could think of just then. They were just about to leave for the station.

  Angus was slinking out of the back door when Callum and Lucy burst in. ‘Auntie Ellen, can we … Jesus, what have you done?’ This was Callum.

  ‘Angus has cut his hair,’ said Lucy in awe. She put a hand protectively to the blonde locks that now reached to her shoulders, and were a nightmare to keep tidy. ‘Did you do it all by yourself?’

  ‘Cool,’ said Callum, walking slowly round his older brother. ‘Makes you look really tough. Can you do me too?’

  ‘We haven’t time to discuss this now,’ said Ellen, more calmly than she felt. ‘You need to finish all your chores before we go to collect Gran. So scoot!’

  ‘I don’t need to go to the station,’ said Angus, not looking at her. ‘There’s a lot to do. I’m old enough to stay here alone now.’

  Ellen shook her head, both a negative and an indication of despair. She thought Angus was looking forward to seeing his grandmother. She didn’t think she would ever understand him.

  Kit was pleased to be invited to Craigallan for Angus’s birthday tea. It would take his mind off his mother, who he had taken on a depressing and inconclusive visit to the hospital earlier that day. He hadn’t seen Ellen properly since the ceilidh. Now he had the afternoon off work, and was determined to make the most of it.

  Ellen had told him the tea – a traditional afternoon tea, to be held when the children came home from school – was to be a secret and not to mention it to Angus. He wasn’t sure that it was the sort of secret a thirteen year old would appreciate, but what did he know? He did as he was told and appeared at the kitchen door at four o’clock, clean if not smart, in moleskin trousers and a denim shirt.

  He entered to find Ellen and Angus mid-argument.

  ‘You’ve what?’ said the boy. ‘You’ve invited Simon Scott here? What made you think he would want to come? And why couldn’t you ask me first? Why …?’

  ‘We thought it would be a nice surprise,’ said his grandmother, who was hovering anxiously in the background. ‘Someone your own age.’

  ‘He’s not my age. I hardly know him. Who else have you invited?’ Angus was shouting now.

  Kit made a gesture to Ellen that perhaps he should retreat, but she shook her head. ‘Here’s Kit. We invited him as well. I suppose that’s all right?’

  Angus swung round and whatever else he had been about to shout died on his lips. He was too polite, or shy, to have a tantrum in front of neighbours. ‘Hullo,’ he muttered, dropping his head. He had done something very strange to his hair. It made him look older and more vulnerable at the same time, especially along with the quite spectacular bruises.

  ‘Happy Birthday,’ said Kit cheerily. He thrust out a parcel which he hoped to goodness was suitable. ‘Here.’

  Angus took the present but gave his aunt another murderous glare. He stood with the package in his hands, as though he didn’t know what to do with it. None of the ripping of paper and whoops of joy or disappointment that Kit recalled from his own childhood. But Angus wasn’t a child any more, wasn’t that what he was telling them?

  ‘Open it then,’ said Ellen.

  ‘Here’s Clare,’ said her mother, glancing out of the front window. ‘It’s just a few neighbours, Angus, that’s all.’

  Kit cringed, waiting for some complaint about the name, but Angus didn’t bother. He stood as near the door as he could without actually leaving the room. When Clare handed him her present he held both packages in his
hands, still refusing to open them. Kit wanted to kick him. Ellen had gone to a lot of trouble.

  He saw exactly how much trouble when she led them nervously through to the dining room a few minutes later. It was a dark room that Kit had never seen in use, but this afternoon there was a white cloth on the old wooden table, laden with plates of sausages, scotch eggs, sandwiches, crisps, and cakes. On the wall above the mantelpiece was a banner that Lucy had obviously been involved in making. It said HELLO TAENAGer and HApPY BIRThDAY SAMUEL ANgUS. There were balloons everywhere. Kit tensed, waiting to see how Angus would react. Ellen looked equally anxious.

  Angus said nothing at all, but at least he didn’t walk straight back out.

  Ten minutes later the front door bell rang. It had to be the boy, Simon, as anyone familiar with the house would have gone to the kitchen door. The desultory conversation halted. Angus made no move to go and answer it. If anything, he hunched himself lower and smaller.

  Callum, however, had no reservations. He put down his glass with a bang and leapt up. ‘I’ll go.’ At least he and Lucy seemed to be enjoying the occasion.

  Kit recalled Simon Scott vaguely from the fight at the ceilidh. He was a tall boy with curly hair and a ready smile. He followed Callum back into the room, looking about with interest.

  ‘Hi there,’ he said cheerfully, thrusting another parcel towards Angus. ‘Happy Birthday and all that.’

  ‘Thanks.’ Angus had managed to shed his other parcels, unopened. He looked around for somewhere to put this one.

  Simon continued breezily, ‘I’ll tell you what it is if you like. It’s the guitar book I’ve been using to practice. It’s in my own interest to give it to you, like, so you can practice the same stuff. That is, if you’re still interested in joining us? I haven’t had a chance to arrange anything yet ’cos all the Third Years have been doing work experience. God, what a waste of time …’

  The adults melted away towards the window and left the two boys to themselves. For the first time since Kit’s arrival, Angus didn’t look like he was about to scream or burst in to tears. He didn’t say much, but with Simon that didn’t seem to matter. He opened the parcel slowly and held the music book in his hands as though it was something fragile.

  ‘Have some more tea,’ said Ellen’s mother to Kit. ‘And tell me how you’re getting on with your house. Frank and I always thought it was such a fascinating idea …’

  Ellen wished that it was appropriate to have wine with a high tea. She was shattered and desperately needed something to buck her up. Coffee would have to do. She escaped to the kitchen to make another pot. While the kettle was boiling, she sat down at the table and rested her head in her hands. She was doing this all wrong, but she didn’t know where to start to try and do it better.

  ‘Are you OK?’ said Clare, coming quietly into the room, and making Ellen sit quickly upright.

  ‘Yes, fine.’ She began spooning filter coffee into the pot. ‘I love the smell of fresh coffee, don’t you?’

  ‘Heavenly,’ agreed Clare, but she was still examining Ellen closely. ‘You’ve arranged a really great party here.’

  ‘I got it wrong,’ said Ellen crisply. ‘It would’ve been more suitable for Lucy. I should’ve realised that when she was so excited about it.’

  ‘She loved the idea of a secret.’

  ‘Yes.’ Ellen shuddered. They had kept the party so secret she had been afraid that Angus wouldn’t turn up at all. She had had to tell him in advance that Simon was coming to stop him storming out into the fields straight after school. She hadn’t been able to speak to him at breakfast as she had hoped because he had spent all the time before school outside. His grandmother kept saying how worried she was about him, which didn’t help.

  Ellen poured boiling water onto the coffee grounds and breathed in the delicious fragrance. She said brightly, ‘Right, best get back through before they start throwing sausage rolls at each other. Isn’t that what teenagers do?’

  ‘Not these ones,’ said Clare. ‘I’m glad to see their wounds are healing. It was a horrible fight, wasn’t it?’

  ‘Yes,’ said Ellen shortly, and headed back towards the laughter and happy voices. At least it was starting to sound like a party.

  ‘Why don’t you show Simon your new guitar?’ Ellen said to Angus, a little later. She had tried so hard to find an appropriate present, and had hummed and hawed over this. Electric guitars didn’t come cheap. So far, Angus hadn’t even taken it out of its box.

  ‘It’s an electric,’ said Callum enviously. ‘A Fender something. Ang … Sam’s been wanting one for ages but he hasn’t played this yet. Maybe he’s scared he won’t be able to?’

  ‘I’ve got a Fender,’ said Simon. ‘They’re great. Can I see?’

  ‘If you want,’ said Angus. The three boys left the room, Angus easily the least enthusiastic.

  ‘What’s wrong with him?’ said Clare. ‘I thought he’d be over the moon. And music is one thing you can do in a city or the country.’

  ‘Maybe that’s the problem,’ said Ellen. Yes, maybe that was the problem. Angus was very tense about something and she still hadn’t told him of her decision. The sooner they got that out of the way the better. She wished she hadn’t arranged for Simon to stay all evening.

  ‘Ooh, look, six o’clock,’ she said. ‘Time for a proper drink. Who’s for wine? Beer? A double whisky?’

  Angus remained in his room when Simon’s parents appeared to collect their son. It was one of the many things Ellen found irksome, the children’s inability to say a proper hello or goodbye to visitors. Angus had grunted something from the door of his bedroom. The fact that Simon seemed to find this perfectly acceptable didn’t make it any better. On top of everything else that day, she was ready to explode.

  ‘I’ll go up and see how he is, shall I?’ said her mother. She was tired from the journey the previous day, the lines of worry seemed permanently etched on her face. Did Angus think he was the only one with problems?

  ‘I’ll go,’ said Ellen grimly.

  She knocked on the door and entered without waiting for an invitation, just in case none was forthcoming. That was another thing she was unfamiliar with – the etiquette of entering teenagers’ bedrooms.

  ‘We’re all tidying up the dining room. I know it’s your birthday but you could come and keep us company, at least. Your Gran has come down specially to see you and all you do is hang around outside or hide up here.’

  Angus put a hand to his shaven head. Ellen had made an attempt at tidying it, so that it was now short all over. It still looked awful. ‘I thought you wanted me to play my guitar.’

  ‘I thought you might want to play it while Simon was here. And you seemed to be having fun. Were you?’

  ‘It was OK.’

  ‘Good.’ Ellen took a deep breath, battling to keep her temper. ‘Are you going to join his band?’ Angus shrugged. She wanted to slap him. ‘Simon seemed keen on the idea.’

  Angus hadn’t met her eyes since she entered the room, but now he dropped his head right down. ‘What’s the point?’

  ‘The point is to have fun, do something, not mope around here on your own the whole time.’

  ‘I mean, what’s the point if we’re leaving Craigallan?’

  ‘What?’ said Ellen. ‘Who said anything about leaving?’

  ‘Oh, you didn’t. Not to us, anyway.’ He raised his head long enough to shoot her a venomous look from pale eyes.

  ‘Actually, I’ve been wanting to talk to you about that, but it’s difficult when you’re never there.’

  ‘It’s OK, I know already. I heard you on the phone. When do we have to move?’

  ‘You …? What are you talking about?’ Angus was sitting on the one chair in the room. Ellen dropped onto the carelessly made bed. This wasn’t how she had planned the conversation, but you had to take whatever opportunities arose. ‘What did you hear on the phone?’

  ‘You’ve put this place on the market.’ He scuffed his feet on
the carpet. ‘You’ve put Craigallan up for sale without even telling us! I thought you said Mum and Dad had left Craigallan to me and the kids? So how can you go and sell it? I suppose you want the money, that’s what it is, isn’t it? You’re fed up of forking out for us all the time and you want to go back to your nice life in Edinburgh and …’

  He paused to draw breath and Ellen said loudly, ‘Actually, I haven’t put Craigallan on the market.’

  ‘I told you, I heard …’

  ‘I’ve put my Edinburgh flat on the market. I thought if what you all really wanted was to stay down here, then that was what we should do. So you’re getting what you want, all right?’ She had raised her voice so much that it ended in a shout. ‘All right?’

  The silence that followed was total. Angus slowly raised his head. His shoulders unclenched. He swallowed. ‘Stay here?’

  ‘Yes. If that’s what you want.’ The anger was still surging through Ellen, although all opposition had gone from her nephew. ‘Or perhaps you feel we should discuss it first? As you say, I shouldn’t make all these decisions on my own. Perhaps Callum and Lucy want to move to Edinburgh. Shall we ask them? As you’re so good at discussing things, Angus.’

  He didn’t respond to her tone. After a long pause he said, ‘Why didn’t you say anything?’

  ‘I haven’t had much chance, have I?’ She had struggled so long to be patient with him, now she didn’t care. ‘Your Gran and I were going to break the news over breakfast this morning, a sort of extra birthday present. But you weren’t there. You’re never there, are you?’

  ‘I’ve got work to do.’

  ‘We’ve all got work to do. Life’s difficult for everyone. Try thinking of someone other than yourself for a change.’

  ‘You don’t understand …’

  ‘No, I don’t! And how am I ever going to, when you hardly speak to me? You need to make some effort too. You’re forever sneaking off outside.’