The girls unwrap in tandem and exclaim in unison when they uncover matching University of St Andrews hoodies in their favourite colours. Brianna’s loud shriek of delight is tempered by Georgia’s more muted cheer.
‘We knew you both wanted one,’ he says.
His eyes flit to Heather’s. Did she pick up on the careless pronoun there? “We” almost implies some kind of association. Which, he supposes, is reasonable given they discussed two weeks ago what each girl might like for a Christmas gift. Heather appears oblivious. She roots around on the floor by the base of the tree for Georgia’s main present: a MacBook. He’d helped her choose the specification and had bought Brianna the same.
The girls’ screeches are unmatched when they unwrap them.
‘So, what’s next?’ Heather says now the pile has been depleted.
‘Sit down, Mum,’ Georgia instructs, ‘I want to give you mine.’
Scott smiles as Heather wiggles her fingers in anticipation, her manicured nails (green to match her dress) catch the lights from the Christmas tree. She sits as requested but looks bemused when Georgia gets up and leaves the room.
‘Well, it would’ve been a dead giveaway if I left it under the tree,’ she shouts down the hallway.
Georgia returns a few moments later with a large rectangular package, which hides her whole face as she enters the room. She leans over to present the gift to her mum.
‘What’s this?’ Heather says.
‘Open it,’ the girls instruct together.
Heather tears the paper away to reveal a beautiful painting of a cockatoo surrounded by tropical foliage. Scott’s no expert, but even he can appreciate the artistry of the piece. Who’d have known that there are greys, purples and reds incorporated in theplumage of a bird which is entirely white? And the eyes draw you in as though they’re alive, probing yours.
‘Oh my,’ Heather says with a gasp.
‘You said you always wanted to get it framed,’ Georgia says. ‘The art shop in town had one the exact right fit. I measured it before and everything.’
Heather’s fingers dance over the surface of the glass.
‘It's so lovely, Georgia. Thank you. I love it.’ Tears glisten in her eyes.
‘Wait. So, who painted it?’ Brianna asks, and Scott’s shoulders sag with relief. It saves him from appearing like the ignorant one.
‘Mum did,’ Georgia says. ‘It’s her pet parrot from when she was my age. Grandad had it stuffed when it died, so mum painted it in its natural surroundings so she could remember it … well … better.’
‘Your grandad had her pet stuffed?’ Brianna’s face is incredulous.
‘Not just had it stuffed,’ Georgia says for almost comedic affect, ‘he stuffed it himself.’
‘No! Gross.’
Scott watches as Heather’s face flushes and her lower lip slips between her teeth.
‘It wasn’t a very nice thing to find when I came back after my first term at university,’ she says.
‘Gosh no.’
Heather’s face, as always, betrays her emotions: suppressed hurt, anger, grief. Scott wants to haul her into his arms and smooth those feelings away the way he had in the hospital that night. He knows he hasn’t always got things right as a father, but stuffing a kid’s pet? What kind of parent does that?
‘I think Mum should commission stuff like this and sell it,’ announces Georgia. ‘It’s what you planned to do before I was born, wasn’t it?’
Heather’s shoulders lift, and her head tilts from side to side.
‘It had been my plan for a while, yes,’ she says. A soft blush rises through her cheeks. ‘But I wouldn’t know where to start.’
‘But surely you could do something about it now?’ Georgia insists. ‘You hate your job.’
Heather looks down at the carpet. ‘Gerry - Mr. Hargreaves - offered me a display area in the school vestibule. But I’m not sure it would be appropriate anymore.’ Her cheeks go redder still.
