Imperfect Harmony (24 page)

“Are you okay?”

“Not very,” Rhys said honestly. “But I’ll survive.”

“Do you want to talk?”

“Has anything changed since last night?” Rhys tried to hide the hope that flared.

John sighed. “Not really.”

“Well, then, what’s the point in discussing it again? I just want to go home. I’ll call Mrs P’s daughter, and let you know the arrangements when I have more details.”

John reached out as if to touch Rhys, but Rhys stepped back.

“Don’t. Just… don’t.” He didn’t trust himself to hold it together if John hugged him.

John looked stricken, but he let Rhys go, standing and watching as Rhys mounted his bike and pushed off without a backward glance.

Back at home, Rhys propped up his bike in the passageway, hung his helmet on the handlebars, and stared at the two doors. One led to privacy and loneliness, the other to comfort and questions. The door to his mum’s house opened and the choice was taken away from him.

“Oh, Rhys.” His face must have said a lot, which was a good thing because the sight of his mum’s concerned expression, rendered Rhys completely unable to speak. His face crumpled, and he pushed his fists into his eyes as a tearing sob ripped through his chest.

“Come.” Her hands, gentle but firm, guided him inside. “It’s okay. Max is out.”

Starry followed them through the kitchen into the living room and curled up by his feet with a worried whine. Rhys’s mum sat beside him on the sofa and pulled him into her arms, holding him until the worst of his sobs had subsided and he was left snotty and shuddering.

Only then did she ask. “Is this about John?”

Rhys shrugged. “Mostly, but not entirely.”

“Tell me.” She handed him a tissue and listened with infinite patience as Rhys explained the stalemate he’d reached with John, and his fear that they wouldn’t get past it. “And then when I got to Beech House today,” he continued, “I found out Mrs Pickering died last week—you remember her? And maybe it’s daft to be so upset about that. She was old; she’d had a good life. But it just makes me feel so… I don’t know. What’s it all for? We only get one chance at life, and we should take advantage of the good things it offers. And then there’s John, pushing me away because of the age difference. It’s such a waste.”

“Yes,” his mum said, squeezing the hand she was holding. “Maybe it is. But he might realise that for himself when he’s had more time to think. He’s different to you. You’ve always been impulsive, quick to make decisions. You rush headlong into everything. Not everyone is as fearless as you.”

Rhys gave a watery smile. “Yeah, I suppose.”

“Remember how you learned to ride your bike in one morning? That boy who lived a few doors up was learning to ride without stabilisers so you insisted on having yours taken off too. He was two years older than you and was still wobbling around with his dad holding him steady at lunchtime while you were flying down the slope to the end of the cul-de-sac yelling, “It’s easy, look at me!” and taking your hands off the handlebars.”

“God, yes. I do remember. No wonder he always hated me at school.” Rhys chuckled.

“Well. The point is… some people need stabilisers for longer, but that doesn’t mean they don’t get the hang of it eventually. So don’t give up on John just yet. He didn’t say it was over, did he?”

“No.”

“Well, then. Give him time.”

John woke on Sunday morning when it was still dark outside, feeling as though he’d hardly slept. His dreams had been vague and unsettling. He’d been trying to make a phone call that he knew was important, but every time he tried to dial, he entered the wrong number no matter how many times he tried.

He stayed in bed for a while, closing his eyes and trying to relax, but sleep stubbornly eluded him. Eventually he gave in and got up.

Even though he wasn’t hungry, he forced himself to eat some breakfast and washed down his toast with a cup of tea. He tried to do a crossword but couldn’t focus. Instead, he found himself doodling in the margin: angry, jagged zigzags, spiky shapes, and spirals that twisted and tangled. His thoughts mirrored his drawings; he kept running over everything that had happened.

He remembered Rhys’s face in the car park outside Beech House yesterday, the flash of hope as he’d asked, “Has anything changed?” and the defeated slump to his shoulders when John gave his answer.

Hoping to seek solace in playing, John went to the music room. He got out his violin and played “Ashokan Farewell.” Losing himself in the haunting melody, John poured out all the unhappiness in his soul. His eyes remained dry but his heart was bleeding.

He lost track of time as he played through tune after tune, melodies that made his heart swell and yearn for something more, and tortured himself with the mournful beauty of his own talent until his fingers were sore from the strings and his arm ached from wielding the bow.

Desperate for more distraction, John cast around for something else to occupy his time. What had he done at the weekend before he’d met Rhys? The last two years had been a lonely grey wasteland until Rhys had exploded into John’s life in glorious technicolour. Now John knew what his life was like with Rhys in it, he couldn’t bear the thought of going back to that. But he wasn’t ready to take what Rhys was offering him.

John sighed. He had to try and keep busy, at least. Maybe some exercise would clear his thoughts and help him sleep better tonight.

He dressed in outdoor clothes and his walking boots and let himself out of the house. The sky was dark grey, threatening rain.

He went next door and rang the bell. The door opened after a few moments, and Maggie greeted him with a welcoming smile. “Hi, John. How are you?”

Billy was at her ankles, wagging his tail, so John stooped to pat him, letting Billy sniff and lick his hand.

“Okay, thanks. I was wondering whether you’d like me to take Billy out?” He looked up at her. “I’m going to stretch my legs, and I thought maybe he could use a longer walk today.”

“That would be great. You’d like that, wouldn’t you, Billy?” Billy wagged his appreciation. “Let me get you his lead.” She lifted it off a coat hook in the hallway. “Haven’t you got Rhys and Starry with you today? Or are you meeting them there?”

“No.” John tried to keep his voice neutral as the knife twisted in his chest. “I’m afraid it’s just me today. Come on, Billy.” He took the proffered lead and clipped it onto the little dog’s collar. “Let’s go.”

The rain started to fall as John walked through the town, and by the time he got to the playing fields, it was coming thick and fast. Billy didn’t seem to mind, nor did John. It suited his mood.

He crossed the fields and took the path through the woods, his head full of Rhys and how much he missed him. It had only been two days, but knowing it might be over for good made the ache in John’s chest swell and grow.

Billy trotted along in front of him, stopping to sniff and cock his leg occasionally. John walked with his head down, his hands in his pockets, and his shoulders hunched against the rain that filtered through the branches above him. Nothing became clearer as he walked. His unhappiness and longing for Rhys intensified, but John’s thoughts remained as tangled as the woods around him. He kept circling back to the belief that he wasn’t good enough for Rhys, that Rhys needed someone different, someone younger.

Someone else
.

When John got back to Maggie’s, he was drenched and tired. She insisted on making him a cup of tea, and he didn’t have the energy to decline. He left his wet coat and muddy boots in her porch and followed her into the kitchen.

Billy went straight to his bed by the radiator and collapsed into it with an audible huff.

John smiled for the first time that day. “I think I wore him out.”

Maggie chuckled. “It looks that way.” She put teabags into the pot, then brought mugs and a jug of milk to the table.

When the kettle boiled, she poured water over the tea and carried the pot to the table too, finally sitting down opposite John.

“Right, then.” She fixed him with a penetrating look. “Are you going to tell me why you look more miserable than you have in months? Or am I going to have to guess?”

Too tired to prevaricate, John let the whole sorry story spill out. Maggie listened, her expression thoughtful as she poured the tea and added milk. She slid a mug over to him wordlessly. He wrapped his hands around the mug of tea, staring at the brown liquid and letting the warmth seep into his chilled fingers.

Maggie sipped her own tea in silence, not interrupting John as the words flowed.

When he finished, there was a long pause.

John raised his gaze to meet Maggie’s.

“So.” She frowned. “What you’re telling me is that Rhys wants to be with you, and even though you’re mad about the boy, you won’t say yes?”

John shrugged and then nodded. “I’m afraid, Maggie,” he admitted quietly. “I’m afraid of so many things: of what people will think about us, of letting myself love him and then losing him, or of him losing me. I know it sounds crazy. Maybe I just need to be brave and take the leap... but I don’t know if I can.”

He picked up his tea and took a sip. It had cooled enough to drink easily, and he swallowed gratefully against the ache of emotion in his throat.

She shook her head sadly. “It’s your life, John. You only get to live it once, and only you can decide what’s right. But if you want my advice, it’s this: say yes. Say yes to the chance of love and happiness. Don’t let it slip away from you. Rhys might be younger than you, but he’s a grown man who’s capable of making his own decisions. Don’t throw this away and break both your hearts in some misguided attempt to protect him. Don’t let fear stop you from living. Because if you do? You’re a bloody idiot.”

The last words were fierce, and when John jerked up to meet Maggie’s gaze, her eyes were bright with unshed tears. She took a shaky breath. “Sorry. But I’ve said my piece. I just hate to see you looking so unhappy.”

John didn’t know what to say. She made it sound so simple, but he wasn’t sure he could do what she was suggesting. He wasn’t
ready
.

He drained his mug. “I’d better go… get out of these wet clothes.” He was cold, and his damp trousers were sticking to his legs. “Thanks for the tea and sympathy.”

She gave a sad little chuckle. “Is that what you’d call it? More like tough love, I think.”

He managed a wobbly smile. “It’s still appreciated.”

Maggie insisted on seeing him out. “Think about what I said.” She stood in the doorway as John stepped into his boots, not bothering to do up the laces.

“I will,” he promised.

John was sure he’d be unable to think about anything else.

Rhys phoned Mrs Pickering’s daughter on Sunday morning. He’d managed to catch up on some sleep and was feeling a little brighter, but he still had to steel himself to make the call.

“Hello?” she said.

He looked at the name on the paper. “Hi. Is that Pam? This is Rhys, one of the musicians from Beech House. They gave me your number and asked me to call. I was very sorry to hear about your mum.”

“Oh, thank you.” She sighed. “It was a shock. She went so suddenly in the end. But maybe it was better for her that way…. Anyway, thanks for calling. I know it’s short notice because the funeral’s on Friday, but I was wondering whether you and your friend would be able to play that Frank Sinatra song she loved so much. We thought it would be a lovely way to end the service and lighten the mood a little after all the serious stuff.”

“Yes, we’d be happy to.”

“We can pay you, of course. How much do you charge?”

“No, there’s no need. We’re both be happy to do it, and we don’t… I mean…. Neither of us would want to be paid.” Rhys was sure John would feel exactly the same.

“Are you sure?” She sounded choked. “That’s so kind of you.”

“I was very fond of your mum. Even though she didn’t really know who I was, she was always pleased to see me. I think she remembered the music even if she didn’t remember me.”

There was a sniffle at the other end of the line. “Sorry….” And then more clearly “Yes, she always loved music. It reminded her of my dad.” Pam cleared her throat. “Okay. Do you have a pen? I’ll give you the details for Friday.”

When Rhys had written everything down, she thanked him again and they ended the call.

Rhys considered phoning John but decided he wasn’t up to a conversation, so he texted him the information instead.

John replied almost immediately with
Okay. Do you want to meet before then to practise?

Rhys stared at the words and bit his lip. He wasn’t sure he could cope with seeing John this week while everything was still so uncertain between them. He remembered his mum’s advice about giving John time.

No. I think we know it well enough
.

He waited a while for a reply, but none came.

On Wednesday at choir, Rhys was nervous about seeing John. Half desperate for the sight of his smile and half dreading the inevitable awkwardness of a reunion with no privacy, his tension mounted as he waited for him to arrive.

But then Maggie turned up alone with a line of worry between her brows and a smile less bright than usual. “John sends his apologies,” she said. “He’s feeling a bit under the weather.”

Her expression suggested she knew or at least suspected, more than she was letting on.

“Oh, okay. Thanks.” Rhys tried to hide the disappointment that settled in his stomach like lead.

Maggie studied him and gave a small shake of her head. “If it’s any consolation, he looks about as miserable as you do,” she said quietly. “He told me what happened.”

Apparently, Rhys hadn’t done a very good job of hiding his feelings. He flushed. “Really?”

She nodded and kept her voice low, careful of the other people gathering in the room. “I told him he’s a bloody idiot.”

Rhys grinned, shocked into amusement despite his gloomy mood. “Did it help?”

“I don’t know. I hope so.”