Of Love, Loss, and London

Chapter 3: Promises

MAC felt nothing. Heard nothing. He barely registered that his feet were moving. There was only one thing currently consuming his senses. I'm sorry, son his father had said. I'm so sorry.

He barely recognized the tell-tale sigh of his assistant as he passed the small desk. He was saying something to him. Something about tea? He mumbled in the affirmative before heading into his office, not even bothering to shut the door. Making his way to the window, Mac stared blankly at the city before him. London had always been his home. The skyline was comforting, welcoming. Nothing better in the world. But today— today the sight was as bitter and frigid as the brewing storm clouds just above. There was nothing we could do. Through the fog of his thoughts, he heard a far off voice. After a few moments, he was finally able to focus on it.

'Sir? I have your tea...'

He turned, reaching for the cup, but his grip was not what it should have been. With a splash, it tumbled to the ground. Mr Higgins quickly made to clean it, but Mac simply stared at the fallen beverage, the dark stain a perfect metaphor.

He sat down, facing his beloved city. With a very deep breath, he tried to find the words that had been spoken to him not ten minutes prior. His voice was cold, distant, and certainly a far cry from the commanding presence he was used to using within those walls. But he had to say it now, or he feared he might never get the words out. 'My mother has died.'

There was a beat of silence as the younger man's jaw dropped. 'Your— but I just saw— she was just here! You were ducking in your office not even a month ago to avoid her! How—'

'Brain aneurysm. Apparently, she's known about it for years. She didn't want to tell me, because—' He trailed off, getting lost in the swirl of clouds before him. It was pointless to worry you, son.

'Mr MacIntire... I'm so very sorry— I— I don't know what to say.'

'You always think there's more time, don't you? It's all right if I miss this birthday or that Christmas. I'll make the next one. Always the next one. You never think— it could be the last one.'

'Sir— what can I do to help? Is there anything I can do?'

But Mac wasn't listening. He was miles away. She went peacefully, with no pain.

'Mum wasn't like that. She never was. She never missed a birthday, not a school event or celebration. She'd reschedule entire tours of performances just to make sure she was home in time for Christmas. She always said, "Augie, it doesn't matter if you are the Prime Minister or a janitor. If you have people in your life, you remember their birthdays". It's the only teaching I took from her, as far as business goes. Maybe I should have taken more from her and less from Father.'

His assistant's voice had started to shake. 'Sir, I should go. Cancel your appointments. Make arrangements—'

'She liked you. Did you know that?' He finally turned, facing Mr Higgins in the darkened office.

'M— me, Sir?'

'Yes. Said you had spunk. That you were honest. And strangely loyal. Her words, not mine. Said I'd be a fool not to keep you on for as long as I could. Said you were going to be good for me. Do you have any idea what she meant?'

His assistant shook his head, unsteadily. 'I'm afraid I don't, Sir.'

'Neither do I. But she seemed so sure of herself.' One moment she was there, the next...

For a moment, they shared a heavy silence. Mac rotated his chair, returning his gaze to the skyline. When he spoke again, the tears had finally fought their way to the surface. His voice was broken and cracked, sobs building with each word. 'What do I do, now, Mr Higgins? What do I do?' Augustus, I need you to listen very carefully: there was nothing you could have done. Nothing the finest doctors could do. Trust me, we tried. It was simply her time. This is the way she wanted to go.