‘I could do with the help and there isn’t anything else.’ He has a hint of a smile on his face.
William can’t help but smile back. ‘I don’t have much choice then, do I?’
Martin steps towards the bed and pats William’s leg. ‘Marvellous! OK. I’m off to work. Today’s task is to type up the words for the new songs we’re working on this week. Scores are on the table, next to the typewriter. Then go to the reprographics department at college – one good thing about working in the library – say I sent you, and get twenty copies.’
‘Can I do it tomorrow?’
‘I’ve got other things for you to do tomorrow.’
William closes his eyes again.
‘Problem?’
With his eyes still closed, he says, ‘I’d hoped I could just rest for a while.’
‘I came back to Cambridge in a similar state, but at least I had the gumption to know what I needed. Nourishment.’
William opens his eyes to see Martin moving back towards the window.
‘OK, I’ll try.’
‘Can’t ask more than that, can I?’ Martin pulls the window down a few more inches. A wave of air cools the room as he walks to the door. ‘Oh!’ He leans his head back in. ‘The second condition.’
‘Yep?’
‘When I come back tonight, you tell me what’s going on. You clearly weren’t up to talking yesterday, but if you’re staying, I deserve an explanation.’ He disappears before William can answer.
‘Martin?’ William calls out.
‘Yes?’ he replies from the landing.
‘Is Steve living here?’
‘No.’ The door opens and Martin’s head reappears. ‘And that’s a third condition. No judgements.’
‘Of course not,’ he says, disappointed that Martin would think he even needed to ask.
Once the door slams, the sudden and complete silence feels almost hostile. William pulls the duvet over his head, but knows within seconds he won’t be able to sleep again. He flicks it back and stares at the quarter-paned sash window. What’s happening at home now? What’s Gloria doing? What conversations is she having with Robert and Howard?
To remind himself why he’s doing this, he imagines Gloria with a family that has nothing to do with him. His stomach pitches him out of bed and he makes it to the bathroom just in time to hurl last night’s chicken pie across the cracked sink.
51
It’s dark by the time William finishes telling Martin. The windows and curtains of the sitting room are still open. The budding horse chestnuts on Jesus Green glow a coppery gold under the street lamps.
Martin tilts the teapot over his mug for a last brown dribble, drains it in one gulp and stands. ‘Did you get the lyrics copied?’
William nods to the piano against the wall. ‘Over there, in the folder.’
‘Good. We need three more ring binders, can you get them from Smith’s tomorrow?’ He reaches in his back pocket and puts two pound notes on the table. ‘I’ll go straight to rehearsal from work, so you need to sort yourself out with food and meet me there.’ He closes the window, draws the curtains, takes their mugs to the kitchen, and then walks back through the living room. ‘Goodnight, William.’
‘Is that it?’
Martin pauses near the door and looks at William, his eyes unusually fierce. ‘Yes, that’s it,’ he says eventually and leaves.
William doesn’t move. The creak of Martin’s footsteps on the floorboards stops after only a few minutes. He wants Gloria, pictures her waiting for him in bed, her cotton nightie soft and pretty against her skin, brushed auburn hair dark on the white pillow. He closes his eyes. What would peace even feel like? he wonders. Can he remember ever feeling it?
Yes. And there he is, back in his mother’s kitchen after a nap, watching her take biscuits out of the oven.
? ? ?
‘Good evening, gentlemen.’ Martin’s eyes dart from one man to another; comfortable, authoritative. One copy of the lyrics that William had copied for him yesterday sits neatly on his broad lap. ‘I hope the week has been kind to you.’ The chairs are in a circle. He and Martin set out fifteen; four are empty. The men smile or nod; one waves a raggedy arm. ‘This is William, an old friend from my chorister days. He’s going to help us for a few weeks.’
William nods with a quick smile, looking at no one in particular. He’s very uncomfortable, in part because of the company, but also because he’s worked so hard during his adolescent and adult life to ignore the past he shares with Martin. To be so casually introduced in this way seems somehow brazen, like a violation.