William reaches across and pats Martin’s back.
‘Anyway, never mind them, did you enjoy it?’ Martin says, twisting his body briefly towards William as they turn right to cross Parker’s Piece.
‘Yes.’ William smiles. ‘Actually, I really did.’
‘What did you enjoy most?’
‘Just singing.’ He’s still grinning.
‘Nothing like it, is there?’ Martin talks to the pavement.
‘Seems not.’ He laughs, and Martin puts his arm round his shoulders and pulls him briefly towards him. ‘You’re great with them, Martin, really great.’
‘Doing what you love brings out the best in you.’
‘So, David doesn’t sing, but comes every week?’
‘Never misses. We sang in a service last Christmas and he stood there in the second row giving the congregation the evil eye, didn’t open his mouth once.’ Martin laughs.
As they walk the diagonal path, cyclists shoot by. William finds himself keeping to the very edge of the path, while Martin wanders to and fro.
‘I had a chat with Colin.’ William wants Martin to know he made an effort.
‘You got him on a good day. His wife left him when he wouldn’t get help for the booze. She hooked up with some high flyer and last year moved their two kids to London. It kills him. Big house, private schools. He’s not allowed to even see them.’
‘Ouch,’ says William.
‘Some days, he looks ready to kill.’
‘The room must be full of stories like that.’
‘Yep, but for an hour and a half, they can leave that at the door and have a good sing. They might have lost everything, but no one can take their voices.’
‘Who’s Jenny?’
‘Member of the church. She organises the rota for people to provide the refreshments and sandwiches. Quiet saints, the lot of them.’
Once they reach the cast iron lamppost in the middle of the common, William turns to Martin. ‘You’re disgusted with me for leaving Gloria, aren’t you?’
‘Not disgusted.’ Martin looks straight ahead. ‘It just seems such an unnecessary mess, William. You’re surrounded by people who love you. Surrounded.’
‘It’s not easy being loved by people you keep hurting.’
‘For fuck’s sake.’ Martin speeds up, head down, then stops dead momentarily. A cyclist swears, swerving to miss them. ‘Do you think anyone deserves being loved, really deserves it?’ He shakes his head and starts walking again. ‘You’re not special, William. You’re like all of us. Sometimes we’re the best we can be, sometimes the worst. It’s called being human.’ They head left towards Drummer Street. ‘I don’t know how to help you sort yourself out, but I know how you looked this evening. Alive. And surely, the point of being on this earth is to live. If singing brings you back to life, warms your heart, stirs your blood’ – he comes to another halt and faces William, putting a hand on each of his arms – ‘don’t you think it’s your duty to bloody well sing? As if your life depends on it?’ He lets go and walks on, his brogues a steady beat on the pavement. ‘It’s all I’ve got, William.’
William rushes to catch up and get into time with Martin’s long stride. They continue in silence. After a few moments, he counts four footsteps, inhales.
‘Myfanwy, may your life entirely be
Beneath the midday sun’s bright glow,
And may a blushing rose of health
Dance on your cheek a hundred years.’
Martin’s voice slides in instantly, easily, alongside his. Two more students pass on their bikes; they slow down, smiling as they go, one bike lurching towards the other.
‘I forget all your words of promise
You made to someone, my pretty girl
So give me your hand, my sweet Myfanwy,
For no more but to say “farewell”。’
They come to a standstill outside the Methodist church and bellow the last note into the Cambridge sky, arms aloft, hand in hand.
Martin opens the front door to his flat and William follows him in, talking to his back. ‘I can’t make Gloria happy. She deserves to be happy.’
Martin walks up the stairs. ‘OK, William.’ He shakes his head. ‘If that’s what you want to tell yourself.’
And there it is again; the cocktail of fear and anger he felt in the car with Gloria. A bloody hypocrite, she called him. He reaches the top of the stairs, the familiar darkness rising in him, the same overwhelming dread.