She swallows and her mouth shrinks. ‘What are you talking about?’
‘I wrote to him, about how excited I was.’ William puts the letter on the table. ‘And he sent me this.’
Evelyn stares at the small brown envelope with four lines of Robert’s neat, italic script and wipes her mouth with the napkin, leaving a smudge of lipstick on it.
‘When did you write to him?’
‘I write to him every week.’
Evelyn smooths the napkin across her lap. ‘You’ve never mentioned that.’
‘I knew you wouldn’t like it.’
‘Nonsense!’ She tries a little laugh.
‘It’s not,’ William says, trying to keep his voice gentle, ‘you know it’s not.’
They both eat for a few moments, then William picks up the envelope, pulling the blue paper from it. ‘“Of course,”’ he reads slowly, ‘“I wouldn’t miss hearing you sing the ‘Miserere’ for the world, but your mother thinks the pressure of having her, me and Howard would be too much for you. I thought of coming on my own, but I’m afraid I’d be too sad to leave Howard out, so I’m sorry, William, we won’t be there for this one. I hope you understand, I must respect your mother’s wishes.”’ William drops the letter on the table.
‘Robert’s been economical with the truth,’ she says softly.
‘How?’
She lays her cutlery down, though her plate is half full, and puts her hands in her lap. ‘Turning up at the flat late at night, crying and carrying on about Howard having a right to hear you sing, isn’t respecting my wishes.’
‘He did that?’ The chips in his mouth are too big and dry.
‘I was worried the neighbours might call the police!’ Her face creases in irritation. ‘Oh, for goodness’ sake, William, why are you getting teary?’
‘You made him cry!’ William wipes his eyes with the back of his hand. ‘How could you? He must have been so upset.’
‘So was I!’ Evelyn frowns. ‘And now to find out the two of you have been going behind my back writing letters.’
‘It wasn’t like that. We just knew you wouldn’t like it.’
Evelyn leans forward, her body nudging her abandoned plate. ‘What else don’t I know about?’
He just looks at her.
‘What else?’ she repeats firmly.
‘In my first term, I was homesick and didn’t want you to worry. Robert sent me Dad’s old blanket.’ Evelyn’s mouth is a straight line, her eyes hard and bright. ‘He comes to evensong once a term. He drives all the way, then drives back straight afterwards. And when he gets home, he writes to me about the music.’ William’s eating as he speaks. Evelyn’s cutlery still lies either side of her plate. ‘But he’s never said anything unkind about you. Ever.’
Evelyn looks down momentarily. ‘I’ve been honest about how hard it is to even look at Robert sometimes, but this isn’t about that. I’m worried about you getting dragged into the family business.’ She frowns again. ‘You’ve got talents. It would be a waste.’ She pauses and shakes her head. ‘A complete waste.’
‘What about Dad,’ he says quietly, ‘do you think he wasted his life? Were you ashamed of him?’
‘Never!’ She looks almost afraid. ‘But William, you’re special. You’ve got a gift. Please don’t throw it away.’
‘Relax,’ he says, dipping a chip into the scarlet pool of ketchup, ‘I want to stay in music. Uncle Robert won’t change that. But if we move to Wales, I’ll always want to stay in touch with them and you can’t stop me.’
She sighs. ‘Of course.’ She finally lifts her cutlery.
‘But Mum?’
‘Yes?’
‘Be honest, that’s not the only reason you don’t want Howard to come and sit in the pew with you and Robert, is it?’
‘I’d rather it just be me, but I know I wouldn’t get away with that. I just don’t want to have to share it with them and that’s the truth.’
‘Is it? Really?’ He’s surprised he feels more sad than angry. The memory of her failing the monkey mask test that Christmas, and how gentle his dad was with her afterwards, when she’d spat out the word ‘homosexual’ as if it was poison. ‘Are you sure it’s not because you’re ashamed of them?’
‘Does Howard come too?’ Evelyn’s suddenly crisp and alert. ‘On these evensong visits?’
‘Yes.’
Evelyn scrunches up her face.
William leans forward and takes her hands. ‘Mum, please, I want them both to hear me sing. I promise, they won’t turn me into an undertaker, or a homosexual!’
‘William!’
‘Mum! I live in a boarding school, do you think I don’t know about this stuff?’
‘OK! I admit it. If they both come, first of all, I won’t get a look in, you know what it’s like. And second, yes, I’ll be embarrassed. So shoot me!’ She takes a deep breath and sits back. ‘Please, William, let me have this one day, without all the stuff I have to deal with when I’m with them. I just want to enjoy it. And not think about anything but being the proudest mum on the planet.’
There’s no point arguing, nowhere for them to go with this. ‘OK, Mum, but it’s not what I want. At all.’
She’s radiant in her relief. ‘Let’s order pudding, and then I’ll hit the road to Swansea! New life, here we come!’
He orders jam roly-poly and makes small talk, but he can’t stop images of a distraught Uncle Robert pleading with his mother late at night.
29
The days are getting longer, but at 7 p.m. that evening, it’s already pitch black. William and Martin are sitting on the vestibule bench, back from evensong, leaning down, changing shoes, almost cheek to cheek.
‘Good time with your mum?’ Martin says quietly, busy with his shoe laces.
‘Yes and no,’ William replies, also focusing on his feet. This is the first conversation Martin has initiated all term. ‘She told Robert he couldn’t bring Howard on Ash Wednesday because it’d be too stressful for me having them all there, but she told me it was because his back couldn’t take the journey and the pews.’ They remain on the bench as the others start to head upstairs. ‘So I called her out on it.’