He looks left at Martin, who stares straight ahead. Since the caning two weeks ago and what happened afterwards in the toilets, he and Martin haven’t spoken, haven’t looked each other in the eye. Yesterday, in the changing rooms after rugby, someone shouted, ‘Don’t stand with your back to Mussey!’ and William simply carried on buttoning his shirt.
The organ starts, loud and riotous, and William could scream at it all. Here he is, on the day he’s dreamed of since he was five, and yet he’s never felt as wretched and anxious. At the threshold of the chapel, Martin dips his head close to William, so swift and sudden it makes him jump.
‘Did you send the letter to your uncle?’
‘Yes,’ William replies. ‘I should have listened to you.’
Martin raises his eyebrows and exhales, cheeks like ping-pong balls. ‘What did you say?’
‘Not much – “Just leaving Cambridge for Swansea. Back in two weeks for William’s big day. Please come. Both of you. I’m sorry.”’
Martin says nothing.
Too late now; his mother, Uncle Robert and Howard are in there. Perhaps they’ve already spoken, worked out what he’s done. The possibility that Evelyn could be anything but furious to see them is now so completely ludicrous, he hates himself.
He won’t try and spot them. He breathes in sharply, and resolves that for the next hour, he’s a chorister and principal soloist. That might be enough. If not, well, he’ll worry about being a son and nephew afterwards.
A hard slice of daylight widens to their right. Sixteen boys turn to see William’s mother dashing in. She notices William immediately.
‘Sorry!’ she mouths, two or three yards away, hand on her panting chest. ‘There was an accident.’
The clerk appears, black cloak swinging with the speed of his approach.
‘You’ll have to wait until after the choir have processed.’ His hand is at her elbow, guiding her away from the boys.
‘Of course. Sorry.’ She points at William. ‘I’m his mother.’
Martin is staring at Evelyn and William hears him swallow. As they start to process, William fixes on the colour-flecked glow of the windows behind the altar and lets the faces of the congregation, turning so eagerly to watch them, remain a claustrophobic blur.
Setting his music down, his decision to ignore everything except Phillip and the music is obliterated, because here’s Evelyn, tiptoeing in on shiny high heels. With the pews ranged at the sides, facing the aisle, no one can sneak in unseen. William doesn’t recognise a single thing his mother is wearing; coat, bag, scarf, shoes. All new. She stops before a pew on which the people aren’t too squashed and waits for them to create a space for her. To her left, William is shocked to see Mr and Mrs Mussey. When he stayed at Christmas, they said they’d like to come if he got the solo, but he assumed Martin would have told them not to.
It’s not until Evelyn’s removed the silky yellow scarf and accepted an order of service from the man to her right that William realises, with a hot rush of blood to his face, that Uncle Robert and Howard are sitting directly behind her.
‘The sacrifices of God are a broken spirit: a broken and a contrite heart,’ the dean begins, ‘O God, Thou wilt not despise.’
Robert and Howard are smiling uneasily. What has he done? Evelyn glances at the order of service, but her body is turned towards the choir. Towards William.
‘Let us humbly confess our sins to Almighty God.’
‘We have erred, and strayed from Thy ways like lost sheep. We have followed too much the devices and desires of our own hearts.’ On a usual Wednesday evensong, the dean’s words are answered with a smattering of subdued responses. Today the swollen congregation booms back at him. ‘We have offended against Thy holy laws. We have left undone those things which we ought to have done; and we have done those things which we ought not to have done; and there is no health in us.’
If only he could undo the things he ought not to have done recently. As the congregation thunders its way through the Lord’s Prayer, Uncle Robert and Howard still look uncomfortable. His mother remains focused on William, with what Martin would call her slices-of-fruit smile.
With not so much as a glance at Phillip, William sings the responses he has sung hundreds of times.
‘O Lord, open Thou our lips.
And our mouth shall shew forth Thy praise.
O God, make speed to save us.
O Lord, make haste to help us.
Glory be to the Father, and to the Son, and to the Holy Ghost;
As it was in the beginning, is now, and ever shall be:
world without end. Amen.
Praise ye the Lord.’
The congregation sits and there’s a settling, a concentration of focus onto the choristers. The main event. In the silence, William opens his music, and for the first time in four years, approaches a solo without his eyes locked onto Phillip’s.
A nudge from Martin and a split second late, he joins in.
‘Miserere mei, Deus …’ Trebles, tenors and basses blend, like the easy flow of water over pebbles in a stream. Have mercy on me, O God.
Uncle Robert is looking at William now.
William pulls his attention back to Phillip and notices how tight his choirmaster’s face is and how intense his gaze on him. He stays for two bars.
‘Secundum magnam,’ they sing in unison.
Now the tenors lead – ‘misericordiam’ – now basses, now trebles, whose rising voices hint at their imminent, startling ascent.
But William can’t help himself. Evelyn, Robert and Howard are all watching him intently. He sings with the trebles and basses as they weave together, silken and soft into the gently stretched close of the line, ‘Tuuuu-aaaam.’ According to your great kindness.
Back to Phillip, whose eyes are fierce now, demanding his attention, but they’re in the first deep basket of silence and after that, the basses have another whole line before they even get to him.
Evelyn still has no idea. She gives him a gentle nod.
‘Et secundum multitudinem miserationum tuarum.’ The plainsong blossoms, powerful and mellow, filling the chapel. According to the multitude of Your mercies.
What’s Howard doing, rummaging at his feet? Uncle Robert is reaching forward to his mother; he wants her to know they’re there, before he sings.