Really, Martin? William thinks. Can any of these men here know they’re loved? Really? Can any of them sleep in peace? But the men are watching Martin. They’re captivated.
‘Let’s do it again, from “And I shall hear”， and remember, don’t leave me in any doubt’ – he glances to the piano – ‘thank you, Jenny.’
They sing it again and from the first syllable, the difference is astonishing. A wave of energy floods the room, powerful and tender.
‘Yes!’ Martin beams, his torso bending and weaving with the music, and William is aware of certain muscles in his face. It’s been a long time since he has smiled like this. And for the final chorus, he lets himself sing like he hasn’t sung for even longer.
‘That’s more like it!’ says Martin, triumphant, looking at William and nodding briefly.
‘Bloody hell,’ says the man next to him, looking at William. They’re all looking at him, they’re all smiling, except David, who’s looking up at one of the windows.
Martin chuckles. ‘It’s a thing of beauty, isn’t it, gentlemen, that voice? Enjoy it while you can.’ He’s still grinning as he dips his head and rifles through the folder. ‘Right! Number six next. “What a Wonderful World”。 Ready?’ He looks up and waits for the men to find their music, then nods at Jenny. ‘Here. We. Go!’
‘Some of us had good jobs,’ says the man who told him David was deaf, as most of them cluster in the corner over tea and biscuits. ‘See that bloke with the blue hat?’ William looks and nods. ‘Cambridge graduate. Solicitor. And that one there, in the wellies? Teacher.’
‘What about you? Sorry, I don’t know your name.’
‘Colin.’ He eats two bourbon biscuits, barely chewing them, and some brown crumbs lodge in the fringe of moustache that hangs over his pale narrow lips.
‘Accountant.’ William notices that amongst the layers of anorak, cardigan, shirt, deep inside there is a badly knotted burgundy tie. ‘Never thought I’d end up with the likes of him.’ He nods to David who’s making wide gestures and guttural sounds at Jenny. She’s nodding and smiling back at him, and before he can stop himself, William thinks how good Gloria would be, here with these men.
‘Hello, William,’ Jenny says, her shoes clip-clopping over the parquet floor to him. ‘Thanks for coming along.’ There’s a smudge of pink lipstick on her tooth.
He shrugs, thinks better of telling her he has no choice. ‘I’m happy to help.’
‘They’re a good bunch,’ she says, surveying round the room, ‘and Martin is wonderful with them. I can’t tell you what a good job he does.’
‘If nothing else, it’s great hearing him sing after all these years – he’s a bit deeper these days.’
Jenny smiles at him, and he wipes his front tooth. ‘Thank you.’ She laughs and wipes hers.
William feels Martin’s hand close round his arm. ‘I’m going to ask you to sing with me after the break to show how the tenor part works for “Sweet Caroline”， all right?’
‘I’ve never sung it in my life.’
‘You could do it with your eyes closed.’
William glances at Jenny and Colin, and raises his eyebrows. ‘All right.’
After rehearsal, after singing to them, with them, William finds it easier to talk to the men; as if they’ve exhaled together and can breathe more easily. He knows a handful of names: David who’s deaf and looks like Catweazle, Phil with the missing tooth, Andrew who’s softly spoken but belts out the songs so hard his voice cracks. And Colin, the biscuit-eating accountant. They’re given sandwiches before they leave, cut into quarters, filled with fish paste, tinned salmon and egg, which disappear into mouths, pockets, and even under one woolly hat. David comes back from the door to shake William’s hand, which he finds unexpectedly touching.
‘Do you ever think it might be painful for them? Singing about love and how wonderful the world is?’ William leans on the wall while Martin locks up.
‘What did you feel? In the room?’ Martin drops the keys into his coat pocket and they start walking. ‘Did you feel they were in pain when they were singing?’
‘No,’ he has to admit, ‘but I felt awkward singing it with them.’
‘Just because they’ve lost everything, doesn’t mean they’ve stopped being human. I’m guessing most of them have probably been in love. Most of them have probably thought at some point, the world was a good place. The way I see it, singing about it keeps them in touch with who they were, are, could be. I don’t know, William, but when they really connect with the song, with the lyrics and music, it feels like it’s doing good, not harm. I’m damned if I’m going to look for songs that aren’t about love and life and loss and pain and joy. This is being human.’ He briefly raises both arms into the air. ‘I treat them like humans.’