William shakes his head, still embarrassed at his reaction to Colin.
Martin puts his arm across the back of the sofa and looks at William for a moment. ‘We’ve never talked about it, have we? Your “Miserere”.’
‘No,’ William says from the other end of the long settee, ‘and I’m grateful that you haven’t tried.’
Martin frowns. ‘But you loved that piece of music. Why deprive yourself because of one unfortunate incident over half your life ago?’
William stares at Martin, teeth sinking into the soft sides of his mouth.
‘The music is still the music, it’s bigger than one choirboy’s cock-up. It’s bigger and better than that’ – he takes a drink of tea – ‘and so should you be.’
‘Back off, Martin.’ William’s on his feet, a mug in his hand that needs to be flung against something. ‘You think you know everything about me, but you don’t know how it feels. That’s what I can’t cope with. How it feels!’
Martin stands too, less than a foot away from him, and gently takes the mug from his hand.
‘Well, ponder this, Mr Damaged,’ he says softly, ‘you don’t know how I felt when I kissed you. Trust me, you have no idea. Or when you let the other boys think I’d molested you. If I’d let those things be more important than the people involved, I wouldn’t have talked to you when I saw you outside college with Gloria, and I certainly wouldn’t have let you come and live with me.’
It’s true, of course. Every word Martin says is true. What if he’d chosen differently? What if all that had happened could have made him a bigger person? If each disaster had been a crossroads at which he could have taken a better path? It’s too painful to dwell on.
‘I’m not coming.’ William puts his hands in his pockets. ‘I’ve sung with you, I’ve listened to music I swore I’d never listen to again, but I’m not going back to that chapel to hear that piece of music.’
‘The men will be disappointed,’ Martin calls after him as he leaves the room.
‘I’m sure they’ll get over it,’ William calls back. ‘Goodnight.’
He gets changed, washes briefly in the bathroom, then walks over to the small mantelpiece over the blocked-up fireplace and picks up the small rectangle of thick white card with wavy gold edging.
Evelyn and Frank invite you to their wedding
All Saints’ Church, Mumbles
Saturday 4th May at 2 p.m.
And afterwards at the Langland Court Hotel.
(Apologies for short notice, we decided life’s too short to waste any chance of happiness)
At the bottom, in the familiar italic script he was so skilled at forging, she has written, Time to move on? It would mean the world to me if you came.
? ? ?
The severed arm is warm and wet in his hands.
‘Take this outside,’ Jimmy says. ‘Hold it up and ask the parents whose child it belongs to.’
‘I can’t!’ he says.
Jimmy is shoving from behind. ‘Yes, you can!’
He’s struggling to turn and run back inside. Jimmy pushes him again and he stumbles out into the crowd of mothers. They’re mauling him, trying to get the arm. His chest heaves in and out; a terrible screaming starts. Strong hands are clasped round both his arms.
‘William! Wake up. You’re dreaming.’
He’s sitting up in bed, breathing heavily with the familiar blend of distress and relief. Martin’s next to him in T-shirt and underpants. He wonders briefly where he is and why Gloria isn’t there. He tries to quieten the panting, relax his tense arms, open his fists.
‘I didn’t know if I should touch you or not.’ Martin looks shaken.
William flops back onto his pillow. ‘Was I yelling?’
‘I’ll say.’ Martin smiles weakly. ‘I’ve kind of been waiting for it to happen, but you still scared the life out of me.’
‘You’ve been waiting for it to happen?’
Martin picks up the blanket that has fallen off the end of the bed and starts folding it. ‘Gloria told me once about the screaming, that’s all.’
Martin sits back on the bed in his underwear, hair tousled, T-shirt rucked up his back, and it suddenly feels like boarding school. William laughs suddenly. ‘I’m not easy, am I?’
Martin smiles. ‘You know I’ve always preferred interesting.’
William’s eyes blur and he doesn’t fight it. ‘I’ve made such a mess of everything.’
‘For the gentlest, most kind-hearted person I know, you are extraordinarily good at making a pig’s ear of things.’
A warm tear trickles into his ear. ‘You’re a good friend, Martin.’
‘I can see the music bringing you back to yourself. You shut it out as if it was the thing that hurt you, when all along, it’s been the thing that can save you.’ He puts a hand firmly on William’s leg. ‘Listen to it, sing it, teach it, breathe it, in and out, every day. You’ll get there.’
‘Mum’s getting married,’ he blurts out, pointing to his mantelpiece. ‘She wants me to go.’
Martin goes over and peers at the invitation. ‘Wow.’ He straightens and turns back to William. ‘That’s big.’ He sits back on the bed. ‘Will you?’
William shrugs. ‘I’m so bloody confused.’
‘Where are you going?’ William asks as Martin stands up. He doesn’t want to be on his own yet.
‘It’s three in the morning,’ Martin says, walking out, ‘where do you think I’m going?’ His head appears back round the door. ‘To make us cocoa, of course.’
54