‘William, can you give the files out, please?’ Martin points to a lopsided table in the corner and the pile of A4 ring binders, with ‘Midnight Choir’ written on the spines. They slither and slide in his arms as he walks round the circle. The men take the folders in both hands, two feet flat on the ground, sit up straight.
‘Number three then, to finish the warm-up. William, you’re going to have to play piano. Do you mind? I don’t know what’s happened to Jenny.’
He hasn’t touched a piano since he left Cambridge. Walking across the hall, he wishes that Martin had warned him he might be called on to play, but then the door opens and a woman William guesses to be in her forties runs in.
‘Sorry, Martin, I had a puncture.’ She hurries over to the piano, taking off her coat as she goes. ‘Had to go back and get my husband’s and I can’t cycle very fast on his. Hello, gentlemen.’ The woman waves quickly to the group and a ‘Hello, Jenny’ comes back. They like her, William thinks.
‘Not to worry,’ Martin says, ‘we’re just going to finish the warm-up with “Danny Boy”. This is William, Jenny, an old friend who’s helping out for a bit.’
‘Hello, William.’ She smiles, laying her coat on the top of the piano and opening the lid.
Martin gives her a minute to find the music, then raises his hand and nods at her. She plays a few bars of the introduction, her back and head swaying. It’s striking how the men are holding their books. Straight-backed, heads up. Martin has been channelling Phillip.
It’s patchy of course, but there’s also a richness to it William didn’t expect. They’re really singing. And somewhere in there are one or two good voices.
On William’s left is a gangly, skinny man, impossible to age, but his long hair and wispy beard are mostly grey. He’s on edge, eyes flicking to William often, but never resting long enough for William to smile at him. He’s not on the right page and isn’t singing, but William is wary of helping him. He’s wary of all of them. But by the second verse, he can’t stand it any longer. He leans across, flicks forward two pages and points briefly at the words they are singing now.
‘But come ye back when summer’s in the meadow,
Or when the valley’s hushed and white with snow.’
The man nods, looks briefly at him, but still doesn’t sing, and after a few seconds starts turning the pages again.
‘David can’t read,’ the man on William’s right says. William is embarrassed at his faux pas and barely acknowledges the comment. ‘He’s deaf,’ the man adds.
‘Oh,’ William mouths back, nodding. He sings along quietly; he doesn’t want to be heard.
‘Right. Let’s get serious about this, shall we?’ Martin’s eyes are bright; he looks even taller and broader than normal. He eyeballs the men, one by one, and extends his hand. ‘Come on. Mean it.’ His hand closes to a fist. ‘Mean it.’ He looks briefly at the lyrics, rests the tips of his fingers over his heart, then seeks out each man’s gaze again. ‘“And I shall hear – I shall hear, though soft you tread above me.”’ His lively eyes sweep the room. ‘“And all my grave will warmer, sweeter be.” Come on. Gentlemen, make me believe it! “For you will bend and tell me that you love me.”’ He pauses again, then adds softly, ‘“And I shall sleep in peace until you come to me.”’
Really, Martin? William thinks. Can any of these men here know they’re loved? Really? Can any of them sleep in peace? But the men are watching Martin. They’re captivated.
‘Let’s do it again, from “And I shall hear”, and remember, don’t leave me in any doubt’ – he glances to the piano – ‘thank you, Jenny.’
They sing it again and from the first syllable, the difference is astonishing. A wave of energy floods the room, powerful and tender.
‘Yes!’ Martin beams, his torso bending and weaving with the music, and William is aware of certain muscles in his face. It’s been a long time since he has smiled like this. And for the final chorus, he lets himself sing like he hasn’t sung for even longer.
‘That’s more like it!’ says Martin, triumphant, looking at William and nodding briefly.
‘Bloody hell,’ says the man next to him, looking at William. They’re all looking at him, they’re all smiling, except David, who’s looking up at one of the windows.
Martin chuckles. ‘It’s a thing of beauty, isn’t it, gentlemen, that voice? Enjoy it while you can.’ He’s still grinning as he dips his head and rifles through the folder. ‘Right! Number six next. “What a Wonderful World”. Ready?’ He looks up and waits for the men to find their music, then nods at Jenny. ‘Here. We. Go!’
‘Some of us had good jobs,’ says the man who told him David was deaf, as most of them cluster in the corner over tea and biscuits. ‘See that bloke with the blue hat?’ William looks and nods. ‘Cambridge graduate. Solicitor. And that one there, in the wellies? Teacher.’
‘What about you? Sorry, I don’t know your name.’
‘Colin.’ He eats two bourbon biscuits, barely chewing them, and some brown crumbs lodge in the fringe of moustache that hangs over his pale narrow lips.
‘Accountant.’ William notices that amongst the layers of anorak, cardigan, shirt, deep inside there is a badly knotted burgundy tie. ‘Never thought I’d end up with the likes of him.’ He nods to David who’s making wide gestures and guttural sounds at Jenny. She’s nodding and smiling back at him, and before he can stop himself, William thinks how good Gloria would be, here with these men.
‘Hello, William,’ Jenny says, her shoes clip-clopping over the parquet floor to him. ‘Thanks for coming along.’ There’s a smudge of pink lipstick on her tooth.
He shrugs, thinks better of telling her he has no choice. ‘I’m happy to help.’
‘They’re a good bunch,’ she says, surveying round the room, ‘and Martin is wonderful with them. I can’t tell you what a good job he does.’
‘If nothing else, it’s great hearing him sing after all these years – he’s a bit deeper these days.’
Jenny smiles at him, and he wipes his front tooth. ‘Thank you.’ She laughs and wipes hers.
William feels Martin’s hand close round his arm. ‘I’m going to ask you to sing with me after the break to show how the tenor part works for “Sweet Caroline”, all right?’