The maid admitted him without so much as a word, and hurriedly he gave her his hat, tearing up the stairs with his coat and scarf still on. As soon as he had got the message he had left Oxford and as fast as he could, he had torn away from Manchester train station and into a taxi cab, until he reached the front door of the house.
He did not pause on the landing of the stairs, not slowing at all until he saw the door of his parents' room opening ahead of him. No, no, it was too soon, surely he was not too late-...
It was his mother leaving the room. She looked up sharply at the sound of his heavy footfall, her face one of sadness, but still it lifted a touch at the sight of him, before once again her expression fell into one of grief. He knew then that he had been too late. His father was dead.
"Mother?" he asked, still questioning, not wanting to believe it until he heard it from her lips.
But her face said it all. She stood by the frame of the closed door for a second, lingering for just a moment, before stepping towards him, her hands outstretched to take hold of his.
"Oh my darling," she told him, "I'm sorry. I'm so sorry. He's gone."
She was not crying, but her face spoke volumes of suffering and in a moment the iron fist that was clenched around Matthew's heart loosened, and all of his heart went out for his poor mother, who was standing before him, taking this so very bravely. He felt his lip tremble a little and he bit it hard between his teeth.
"I'm sorry you couldn't get back before-..." she told him.
"I tried, Mother," he promised her, "I promise I tried."
"I know you did, my love," she told him gently, "I know you did."
He sniffed hard.
"You were with him?" he asked.
"Yes," she told him, "Right until the end."
And suddenly he seemed to dissolve and he was crying, not for the first time, in front of his mother. He covered his face with his hand, embarrassed to be so weak in front of her, but she unabashedly pulled him into her arms and embraced him tightly, standing up on her tiptoes to rest her head on his shoulder. He clung onto her; increasingly she was the only still thing in the moving world, and never more so than in this moment. She hushed him gently, rubbing his back as he cried and rocked him gently. He felt like a child again, and never wanted her to leave him.
"It's alright, my darling," she told him, "Everything is going to be alright."
He straightened up a little, collecting himself.
"When I came home at Christmas," he told her, his voice returning gradually, "I had a talk with Father. He knew he was ill then."
"Yes," she told him, "I know he did. We both did."
Matthew nodded.
"He made me promise to look after you when he was gone," he continued, his head bowed, his hand trembling a little where it rested on her shoulder, "And I did. But can we stay like this a little while longer, Mother?"
"Oh, my darling boy," she murmured, her own voice straining with emotion as she pulled him firmly back into her arms, holding him so securely, "Of course we can. I'll always be here. Right until the end."
Please review if you have the time.