Imperfect Harmony (4 page)

“Well, he’s wonderful. The choir’s lucky to have him.”

“We are.”

John slowed down for a set of traffic lights that had turned red. He kept his gaze fixed on the tail lights of the car in front as a vision of Rhys swam into his mind’s eye: the peacock blue hair that brought out the blue of his eyes, his sharp features and quick smile. John’s heart thumped harder at the thought of it, and he tried to push the image away.

“He’s gay too. Rhys, I mean.”

Maggie’s words snapped John back to the here and now. He was grateful for the dark interior of the car as his cheeks flamed. He felt as though she’d known exactly what he was thinking.

Unsure how she expected him to respond, John mumbled, “Um, okay. I thought he probably was.”

“Well, he doesn’t exactly hide it.”

“No.” John smiled, thinking of Rhys’s rainbow-equality T-shirt from last week. It wasn’t just the clothes, though. There was a subtle flamboyance about Rhys that he didn’t try to conceal.

“He seems to like you.” Maggie’s tone was neutral, but when John glanced sideways at her, she was smiling.

“Stop it.” He glared at her.

“Stop what?” Maggie said, all innocence. “I’m just saying. He looked glad you came back this week. Hurry up—the lights have changed.”

The car behind revved its engine impatiently, so John put the car in gear and pulled away.

Once John had seen Maggie to her front door, he let himself into his mum’s house. It was
his
house now, of course, but he couldn’t get used to thinking of it that way. He turned on the light in the hallway and looked at the faded wallpaper and the well-trodden carpet. It hadn’t been redecorated since John’s dad left when he was a teenager. That summer John helped his mum gut the whole house and redo everything to her taste. It was her way of putting her stamp on it, moving on from the betrayal when his dad moved out to live with another woman.

The dark rose carpet and floral wallpaper wasn’t what John would have chosen, but he’d already been looking ahead to leaving home back then. He believed he could see his future, and it wasn’t within the walls of the house he’d grown up in.

Yet here he was.

It was funny how things turned out. Perhaps he should get around to decorating. Even if he didn’t end up staying in Lambury long-term, the house would be easier to sell with clean paint on the walls, new carpets, and more neutral colours than the warm pinks and reds his mum had favoured.

John went into the kitchen and turned the kettle on. When it boiled, he made a cup of herbal tea—some blend with valerian that would supposedly help him sleep. He wasn’t sure it helped, but maybe he’d sleep even more poorly without it.

Heading for the living room, he paused by the closed door to the small room on the back of the house, next to the kitchen. Originally intended as a dining room, it was never used as one after his dad left. His mum had always eaten in the kitchen, and John did too, or on his lap in front of the TV. He opened the door and stepped inside, flipping on the lights, and stood just inside the doorway, heart thumping hard as he stared at the old upright piano he’d learned to play as a child. Always musical, John had begged his parents for a piano. For his twelfth birthday, they’d bought him a second-hand one through an ad in the paper. By that time he was already having violin lessons at school, and his parents couldn’t pay for two lots of music lessons, so John had taught himself from books.

His violin case stood in the dark corner by the window. The sight of it made his heart twist like a blunt knife in his chest and his breath catch. He still wasn’t ready for that, but maybe….

A floorboard creaked under his foot as he moved slowly towards the piano. For the first time since David had died, John felt the urge to make music. That had to be a good thing, if only he could find the courage to answer the call.

He sat on the piano stool and ran the sleeve of his jumper along the lid, sweeping the dust away before lifting the wood to reveal the black and white keys beneath.

It’s been so long.

He let his fingers hover over the keyboard, orienting himself before bringing them down gently in a chord. The sound filled the room, the tuning surprisingly good considering the years of disuse. John played the chord again, then moved his hands to form a different one, then back to the first again, and then a third.

At first he didn’t realise what he was playing. He was just experimenting, finding his feet—or his fingers—after a long break from playing. But as he repeated the chord progression, he recognised the tune that fitted these chords.

In a voice husky with emotion, he started to sing.

There’ll be no sorrow there….

On the final word, John’s voice cracked and tears ran down his cheeks. The aching hole in his chest that never completely went away had split wide open again, and every breath fought against a constricting band that tightened around his lungs. The piano made a discordant, jarring sound as he put his elbow on the keyboard, lay his head in his hands, and let the grief pour out of him in harsh sobs.

When the onslaught of emotion passed, he was drained and exhausted. Picking up his now-cold tea, he stood. He hesitated, his hands on the lid of the piano, then left it open. And when he walked out into the hallway, he left the door to the music room ajar.

That night John’s mind turned to David, as it often did. Instinctively he tried to push the thoughts away. Sometimes the memories, although precious, were too painful.

John made himself think about choir instead, and inevitably his thoughts turned to Rhys. He rolled onto his back and shook his head, chuckling ruefully into the darkness. How daft was he, having a crush on his teacher? His teacher who looked young enough to be his son.

David crept back into John’s musings as he wondered what David would think of Rhys. He would have been impressed by the boy’s talent. David had always been attracted to brilliance, especially of the musical variety. It was what had drawn him to John when they met at university; a shared interest in folk music brought them together. John thought David was a million miles out of his league, with his confidence, his coolness, his ability to pick up almost any instrument and coax a tune out of it. But David noticed him because of his playing, and a tentative friendship had blossomed into love.

John couldn’t win the battle tonight. His subconscious was determined to take him down memory lane. So he gave in, turned his bedside lamp back on, and reached into the drawer beside his bed for a battered old packet of photos. One day he would put them in an album, but he hadn’t been able to bring himself to do it yet. It was a motley collection of photos from their life together. Twenty-two years of ups, downs, love, laughter, and music making. He leafed through them carefully, looking for one photo in particular: the one that showed David in the year they met.

There you are.

John ran his fingertip over David’s face. His square jaw, covered in stubble. Back in those days, David’s blond hair had been in dreadlocks, full of coloured wooden and metal beads. Dressed in ripped jeans and a band T-shirt, adorned with an armful of bracelets, David couldn’t have looked more different to John, who had always been very conventional, even in his student days. In the photo, David had one leg crossed over the other as he sat playing his mandolin with long, clever fingers. His brow was furrowed in a frown, intent concentration stamped on his features.

As John stared at the picture, the familiar pain of loss was there, but as a dull ache rather than the breath-stealing sharpness he expected when he let himself think about David too much.

“I miss you,” he whispered. “I wish you were still here.”

Then he sighed at the pointlessness of that thought, put the photos aside, turned out the light and closed his eyes, willing sleep to come.

That night, John dreamed of David. They were swimming in a calm sea, unbroken blue sky above them and seagulls wheeling overhead. They were tired, especially David, and John knew they couldn’t go on much longer. There was a rock sticking out of the water just a few metres away.

“Come on,” he kept saying to David. “We can make it. We’re nearly there.”

But David was falling behind.

“Don’t wait for me,” David said. He was calm, almost serene-looking, and his complete lack of panic made John angry.

“No!” he shouted, grabbing David’s hands and trying to pull him into his arms so he could drag him to the rock. “I’m not leaving you behind. I need you.”

David’s hands were slippery with water and John couldn’t grip onto them securely.

“You have to,” David said, and although his eyes were sad, he was smiling reassuringly. “It’s okay. I love you, but you have to go on without me.” His hand slid out completely of John’s grasp, and he drifted away, carried by an invisible current.

John tried to cry out but the sound stuck in his throat.

He woke, gasping, his heart pounding. Tears wet his face for the second time in just a few hours, but David’s smile was imprinted on John’s mind’s eye, and he could still hear his voice.

You have to go on without me.

CHAPTER FOUR

On Saturday Rhys woke earlier than usual. He normally slept in at weekends, but this morning his brain was annoyingly wide awake. By eight o’clock he gave up trying to doze off again and got up to make himself some breakfast.

“Fuck.” He tipped out the last few dusty crumbs from the box of cornflakes and realised he’d forgotten to buy more. Luckily his mum wouldn’t mind him going next door to help himself.

He pulled on a pair of jeans and a hoodie over his boxers and T-shirt and slipped his feet into an old pair of trainers. As he let himself into the kitchen next door, he was greeted by Starry, who wagged her whole body in delight as he patted her.

“Hey, girl. Yeah, it’s good to see you too.” He kept his voice low as the house was still in darkness. His mum had been on call again last night so she was probably sleeping in, and Max was never up before eleven at the weekends.

He fed Starry before pouring out a bowl of cereal and helping himself to some milk from the fridge. He sat at the counter and ate while Starry wolfed down her breakfast. When she finished, she trotted off and came back with her lead in her mouth, looking hopefully at him.

Rhys chuckled. “You’re a clever girl, aren’t you?” She’d learned to jump up and knock it off the hook when she was just a year old. “Okay, I’ll take you out. Then Mum gets a lie-in. I know you—you’ll start barking if you get bored.”

When he finished eating, he wrote a quick note and left it on the counter.

I owe you some milk and cornflakes, and I’ve taken Starry for a walk.

See you later,

R x

Rhys nipped back into his flat to grab a coat and a hat because it was cold out, then went back to get Starry.

“Come on, then.” He patted his thigh until she came to him, wagging her tail again and wearing a doggy smile. “Give.”

She resisted for a moment but finally relented, letting him take the lead so he could clip it to her collar.

“Good girl.”

They set off towards the edge of town where the houses gave way to green spaces, ideal for dog walking. It was a gorgeous morning. As Rhys reached the playing fields, the sun was just rising over the line of trees, painting the few low clouds shades of apricot and pink. Rhys’s breath misted in the chill air, and frost crunched under the thin soles of his trainers when he left the path and set off across the grass towards the woods.

Starry whined and tugged at the lead, reminding him to let her off, so he crouched and released her. “Off you go, then.” He grinned as she bounded away joyfully, running in a wide arc before stopping to sniff at something.

She came back with a stick, which she dropped on his foot, and then stood before him panting, tongue lolling out. Rhys picked it up and threw it for her to chase.

They played that game for a while, until a small ball of white fur on legs came charging out of the woods and over to Starry, yapping with excitement. Starry growled at first, defending her stick, but then decided the newcomer was interesting enough to drop the stick so she could have a good sniff. The dogs circled each other, warily at first, although their tails were wagging.

A figure emerged from the trees, hurrying over to where Rhys stood watching the dogs. As he got closer, Rhys recognised John, his cheeks pink from the cold and his breath puffing out in clouds of vapour.

“Billy!” He called sharply, and the little white dog—Billy, presumably—had the grace to look sheepish for a moment before going back to sniffing Starry’s bum.

“Sorry,” John panted. “Is he behaving? The little blighter ran off.” His face broke into a shy smile of recognition. “Oh, hi, Rhys. Sorry I didn’t recognise you at first. I was too focused on catching up with Billy.”

“The hat probably threw you.” Rhys smiled back. “It’s covering my main distinguishing feature. Hello. And yes, they’re fine. Looks like they’re making friends.”

The dogs had finished checking each other out and were playing chase now.

“Phew. Billy belongs to Maggie. I’m walking him for her while she’s out of action. I’d hate it if he got into trouble on my watch.”

The dogs had run to the far end of the playing field, so Rhys and John fell into step together, walking in that direction. Rhys had been planning on walking through the woods, but Starry appeared to have other ideas now that she’d found a friend.

“It’s a nice morning, isn’t it?” Rhys said and immediately cursed himself for the weak conversation starter. He felt oddly awkward about this unexpected meeting. When they’d interacted at choir, Rhys was in his role of choir leader. He wore that role like armour, confident and in control. Here, with the pale winter sky above them and the grass beneath their feet, they were just two men who were still almost strangers. But Rhys didn’t want them to be strangers.