Imperfect Harmony (3 page)

Once he’d finished eating, Rhys took his plate back to the kitchen and washed up the pots and pans that were stacked by the sink. His mum came through when he was almost finished.

“Oh, thanks for doing those.”

“No worries.” His mum yawned, and Rhys noticed how tired she looked. The lines around her eyes seemed deeper than usual. “Are you okay? You look exhausted.”

She chuckled ruefully. “Just a long day, as usual. I was on call last night and had to go out at midnight. But it’s my day off tomorrow, so I’ll get to lie in—well, once I’ve kicked Max out of bed and made sure he’s left for school.”

Rhys’s mum was a doctor, a GP at the local medical centre. She mostly worked normal office hours, but when she was on call, it sometimes made for late nights.

“I’ll leave you in peace, then. Sleep well.” Rhys stepped forward and gave his mum a hug.

She wrapped her arms around him and squeezed tight for a moment. “You too, darling.”

As Rhys rounded the corner into the bakery aisle of the supermarket, he spotted a familiar figure. Maggie, with her crutch in her shopping trolley along with her groceries, was reaching up, trying to get some bread from the top rack. With one hand on the trolley for support, it was obviously hard for her to stretch that far.

“Hi, Maggie. Need a hand?”

Her face brightened when she saw him. “Hello, Rhys. And yes please, either a hand or a leg-up. Those top shelves are hard to reach at the best of times.”

Rhys grinned. “I’ll go with the hand. I don’t want to break you. Here you go.” He took a loaf of the granary bread she’d been after and put it in her trolley.

“Thank you.”

“Are you here on your own? I thought you couldn’t drive yet?”

“I can’t, not for another three weeks or so. But I had a doctor’s appointment earlier and got a taxi for that. I thought I might as well pick up a few things while I’m here. Then I’ll call for another taxi to take me home.”

“I can give you a lift back if you want?” Rhys offered. He’d borrowed his mum’s car today. Lambury was only a small market town. Even if Maggie lived on the opposite side to him, it wouldn’t be too far out of his way. “Where do you live?”

“Applewood Road, on the estate behind the Baptist church.”

“Oh yeah, that’s only a small detour for me.”

“If you’re sure it’s no trouble….”

“Totally.”

Maggie smiled. “Okay, thank you.”

Rhys only had a couple of things to pick up this afternoon—the milk and bread he already had in his basket and some dog food for Starry that his mum had asked him to get. But he kept Maggie company on her slow trip around the supermarket. He resisted the urge to help her unless she specifically asked him to reach something for him. She had an air of determination about her that told him his interference wouldn’t be welcome.

As they browsed the aisles, he couldn’t resist asking her about John.

“So, what did your friend John make of choir last night, then? He seemed to enjoy it in the end.”

Maggie chuckled. “I couldn’t believe John stayed. He was dead set against it. I’ve been trying to persuade him to come ever since he moved back here. I’m so glad he finally came along to a session, even if I had to have my hip replaced to get him through the doors.”

“Do you think he’ll come back?”

Maggie had a twinkle in her eye as she replied. “I reckon so. He couldn’t stop talking about it on the way home, telling me he could see why I loved it and how great it was to be part of something like that. He’s promised to be my chauffeur for choir till I can drive again, so hopefully he’ll stay next week. I think he’s hooked.”

Rhys felt a flush of pleasure at her words. It wasn’t new feedback. He knew how much his choir loved the sessions; they made no secret of their enjoyment. Singing together was good for the soul. It made people happy. But to know John had been moved by it gave Rhys a particularly warm feeling.

Something about John had made Rhys want to know him better. He was touched by his gentle kindness with Maggie and the aura of sadness that surrounded him. Maybe being part of a choir would be healing for John. Music had saved Rhys—perhaps it could help John too.

Feeling guilty but unable to resist the temptation to pump Maggie for information, Rhys said, “So, John’s your neighbour?”

“Yes, that’s right. He was born and brought up here. He moved back here last year when Audrey, his mum, was told she only had a few months left.” A shadow crossed Maggie’s features. “It was an awful time for him. He came back to help out, but wasn’t in a good way himself. He’s been through a lot. Lost his partner two years ago, then his mum back in August.” She shook her head. “That’s a lot for a person to deal with.”

Rhys swallowed around an uncomfortable lump in his throat. “It sounds it.”

He wasn’t sure how much Maggie knew about his own history. Rhys didn’t like to talk about it; he wasn’t proud of his past. Much of Rhys’s story was on the Internet for people to find if they looked, but Maggie wasn’t the type to google his name. She was the wrong generation for that. Local gossip only spread so far, thankfully, and Rhys was old news now. In the two and a half years since he’d returned to live in the quiet Cotswold town of Lambury, he’d reinvented himself. He felt like a different person to the one he’d find if he typed “Rhys Callington” into a search engine. He was unrecognisable on the inside as well as out.

“I shouldn’t gossip,” Maggie said, “but I worry about John. He seems so lonely. It’s not good for a person to be so isolated.”

Rhys nodded. “Maybe the choir will be just what he needs.”

“I hope so.”

Back home that evening, Rhys was on his laptop after dinner, surfing through videos of songs on YouTube, looking for inspiration for new arrangements. He stopped on Sinead O’Connor singing “Nothing Compares 2 U.” It was a song that always brought tears to his eyes and made it hard to breathe, but he didn’t shy away from it anymore.

He’d listened to it on repeat for hours one night shortly after Lyle died, hoping that if he poured out the well of grief and guilt consuming him, it would finally run dry. But the tears had kept coming until Rhys had passed out, drunk and high. When he’d woken in the small hours with a pain in his head to match the pain in his heart, the song had still been playing.

He listened to the haunting melody now, seeing it through to the end before shutting the lid of his laptop, closing his eyes, and sighing heavily. John’s face swam into his mind, the sadness etched on his features.

Rhys hoped John would come back to choir. He wanted to see him again.

CHAPTER THREE

The second week, Maggie needed less help getting out of the car. John stayed close to her, just in case, and helped her to the door.

“Are you coming in?” she asked when they reached the door of the church hall.

John hesitated for a moment. He’d loved the singing last week and had come away feeling lighter than he’d felt in a long time. But he was still embarrassed about having nearly broken down in public, especially as Rhys had noticed. He was nervous about having that sort of emotional response again, but perhaps it would be easier to deal with this time, now he was prepared for it.

The lure of the music won out. “I might as well. Seeing as I’m here.” He held the door open for Maggie, who beamed.

“Brilliant. Rhys will be pleased.”

Rhys was pleased and didn’t try to hide it, welcoming them with a wide smile that did funny things to John’s insides. “You came back, then?”

John shrugged. “Thought I’d give it another go.”

“It’s addictive,” Maggie said as she signed the register. “You’ll get hooked.”

“It was fun last week. I enjoyed it.” John was rewarded by a flash of happiness on Rhys’s features, and he felt absurdly glad to have put it there. His cheeks heated, so he busied himself with signing in and putting his money in the cash box.

As other members of the group arrived, they greeted John with smiles of recognition.

“Hi, John. Good to see you back,” Ken said as he arrived. “We didn’t scare you away last week, then?”

John chuckled. “Not at all.”

The session had much the same structure as the week before. They started with a warm-up and did some short, easy songs standing in a circle before getting chairs and sitting in their different parts to work on longer, more complicated arrangements.

John enjoyed it again. He was feeling more relaxed this week as he knew what to expect, and the people around him were no longer total strangers. They started a song that was new to all of them, so it was a level playing field, and John was gratified to find he could pick things up faster than most. All those years he’d spent immersed in music hadn’t been wasted, then, even if he’d avoided it since David died.

John found Rhys fascinating. He was so good at what he did and obviously loved it. Enthusiasm and energy poured off him, inspiring everyone in the room. John couldn’t take his eyes off him. Luckily that was expected because Rhys was conducting and giving directions. Rhys used his whole body to keep the beat, not just his hands. He was in constant motion, tapping his feet, clapping his hands, clicking his fingers, swaying in time. John was entranced by the way he moved.

John barely noticed the time pass, so involved in what Rhys was doing, and he was surprised when Rhys announced there were only fifteen minutes left.

“That just gives us enough time to quickly revise and sing through the gospel song we did last week, “There’ll Be No Sorrow….”

John’s heart lurched and he took a steadying breath, determined to keep a lid on his emotions this time. He focused on the music as Rhys took each section of the choir through their part. When they were all confident, Rhys asked them to stand again.

Like last week, Rhys had them layer up the harmonies one at a time, and John lost himself in the voices around him and the sensation of his breath, the physicality of his own singing. This time, there was no lump in his throat; his voice rang out with the rest of them as he experienced a glorious rush of warmth and joy at the beauty of the sound. He closed his eyes until the last notes died away into perfect silence.

“Beautiful,” Rhys said, his eyes shining and a smile on his lips.

“I love that one,” one of the women said. Other people murmured their assent, and when he looked around the room, John noticed several people looked moved by the song.

“Yeah. It’s gorgeous.” Rhys glanced at the clock on the wall. “Okay, I’d better let you get home. Thanks, everyone, that was a great session.”

John helped stack the chairs as people got ready to leave.

“Oh, I forgot to say last week”—Rhys’s voice rose over the hubbub in the room, and John turned to pay attention—“those of you who are new, if you’re planning on staying, I have a mailing list if you want to give me your contact details. I send out lyrics that way, and information about dates, et cetera.”

The two other new people who’d started with John last week went over to the table where Rhys kept his paperwork. John hung back while they wrote on a sheet of paper, trying to decide whether he wanted to commit. He glanced at Rhys and found Rhys looking at him. Rhys smiled and raised an eyebrow in an unspoken question. John felt his face grow hot. Long-forgotten feelings stirred in him when he looked at Rhys: attraction and the desire to please and impress. It unnerved him.

His heart pounding, John shuffled forward and took the pen offered by the woman who’d just finished with it. He bent down and carefully wrote his name and email address on the page. There was a column for a mobile phone number too. John hesitated.

“It’s only for emergencies.” Rhys was leaning his slim hips against the edge of the table, arms folded as he watched John write. “I only text if I have to cancel a session at the last minute because I’m ill or something.”

John added his number to the page and straightened up.

“Thanks,” Rhys said. His gaze flickered over John’s torso before settling on his face.

John resisted the ridiculous urge to pull in his stomach and straighten his shoulders. As their gazes locked again, he thought he saw a flash of interest in Rhys’s eyes. Surely he must be imagining it? Someone like Rhys would never look twice at him. He was too old and boring to capture Rhys’s attention. He felt like a big, clumsy oaf in comparison to Rhys’s grace and cool composure.

There was an awkward pause, but John couldn’t tear his gaze away.

“I’m glad you came back,” Rhys finally said. There was a definite flush to his cheeks before he turned and started packing things into his bag. He added, “We can always use more basses.”

“You ready to go now, John?” Maggie called from across the room.

They were the last two singers there again.

“Yes,” John replied. “I’ll, um, see you next week then, Rhys. Thanks.”

“Yep,” Rhys threw over his shoulder. “Bye, then.”

John’s thoughts whirled on the drive home. The last song they’d sung was playing on repeat in his head, and he kept remembering the oddly intense look that Rhys had given him at the end of the session.

“Rhys is a great teacher,” he said, trying to keep his voice casual.

“He is, isn’t he?” Maggie replied enthusiastically. “We all love him, and the choir’s grown since he’s been leading it.”

“How long has he been in charge?”

“About eighteen months now. He took it on when our old leader moved away. The group nearly folded, but then Rhys stepped in after we advertised for a leader in the local paper. At first some of the group were bit unsure because of how young he is, and all his tattoos and piercings and what have you. But it only took one session for him to prove them wrong.”

John smiled, imagining the surprise the choir must have had when Rhys first turned up to teach them. John was more open-minded than most, but even he’d been taken aback when he first set eyes on Rhys. Humans inevitably reacted to first impressions, and it was always good when people were able to look beyond the superficial.