Page 34 of Second Song

The teacher’s answer sounds testing. Important. “What did you notice in Hadi’s learning journey?”

“I saw…” Rowan’s cautious. He doesn’t want to get this wrong, but just like the first time I saw him, he throws himself into problem-solving. “I saw that all his activities are paired.” Here he goes, making another leap. “So that he’ll make friends? So he doesn’t have to keep being alone? I could make paired musical activities for him.”

“Exactly!”

I like that this teacher sounds proud. He’s a nice guy. Reminds me of Twin One steering me and Matt through so many demolition close shaves and rebuild near-disasters. It’s gutting to hear someone do the same for Rowan while saying, “PTSD does such an unfair number on brains. It’s a real life-limiter.”

I’m the only life-limiter around here.

I turn away, heading for my van.

The teacher’s voice follows, and for someone who speaks with a cut-glass accent, I don’t know how he can sound soft enough that I falter.

“We can’t ever magic it away, but we can keep offering bridges from one side to another. There’s a way across for Hadi. And I wouldn’t be without him, or without any of the colours that diverge from the norm in my classroom. Look.”

I turn back to see him sketch a chalk line in a bright green, adding to a picture now reminding me of one of my dad’s old Pink Floyd album covers.

“This is me. Fully dyslexic, nothing neurotypical about me, and still getting to do what I love. All of these colours? You can’t make white light without them. Anyone who isn’t typical can make the world so much brighter, so don’t you apologise for being a little bit extra. Think about your unique gifts.”

“Music.” Rowan nods, standing straighter.

“Yes.” This teacher has already got his number. “You definitely dance to the beat of your own drum.”

Rowan’s laugh rings out, a repeat of the chime that first drew me to pause here, only I’m not certain it signals that he’s happy. “More like I’m a space cadet or away with the fairies.”

“Well, whoever called you that missed their chance to dance to your beat with you. That’s their loss. And that’s what we’re going to do together, okay? Dance every single day now that we have your music.” He picks through his box of chalk sticks. “I’m green,” he says much more quietly, so quietly it’s hard to hear over an internal roar that still hasn’t subsided. He holds out a handful of white chalk. He also offers a rainbow of colourful options. “What are you?”

Louder voices approach.

Dom and Luke Lawson round the corner of the building, so I head for my van and the paperwork I promised, which we talk through until I glance over their shoulders. Rowan isn’t where I last saw him. “Take a look for yourselves.” I shove the paperwork at Dom. “I’ll just go grab my hammer. Left it in the library.”

That’s not much of an excuse for retracing my steps. I make it regardless, and once I’m around the corner, I run because if there’s a colour reserved for people with a death wish, it’ll be the same pink as Rowan’s flush. Or the same honey shade as eyes that widen after he leans through that gap in construction netting outside the library and I have to pull him back to stop him. “I can’t leave you alone for a minute, can I? You’re a health and safety liability.”

Here’s the payoff for worrying about that nervous edge to his voice—when he’s pleased, the whole world knows it. “You are working here!”

“Good thing too. Although not officially until next week.”

He’s still in my arms, and yes it’s the weekend, but this school isn’t empty, is it? There are still people around. I should let him go, not walk him a few steps back so that netting closes behind us, but here I go, not following my own orders. I wrap him even tighter, scrapbooks between us instead of a lamb, and his grin widens. “I wasn’t actually planning on sticking my head through there.” He nods towards the exploratory hole in the wall.

“You better bloody not. Not without a hard hat.” Or without me. Christ knows what would happen. “You got the job then?”

His smile flickers. “Not exactly.” He rallies. “But I definitely get to be here while they’re short-staffed. I’m helping out with the little ones and covering some evening and weekend duties.”

He turns the tables by going up on tiptoe to snatch a quick kiss with more of that bravery I didn’t expect when I first saw him. Here’s more evidence of it. “I’m on duty tonight but I’m free tomorrow evening if you want to…” He shrugs. “I don’t know. Want to save me from myself, or something?”

I regret shoehorning in a job all the way up-country in Blackpool. It’s a six- or seven-hour drive. I should travel tomorrow if I want to make an early start on Monday. He must read that from my face the same way I can read his tone despite tinnitus static buzzing. I watch his smile slip before he slides through the gap in the netting as if putting distance between him and my answer.

“No worries,” he calls back before I can reply. “Just an idea. I don’t even know where would be good around here.”

Someone else answers. “Good for what?”

I grab my hammer and push netting aside to see that Rowan’s dropped all of his scrapbooks at his headmaster’s feet. His face flames, his focus on the floor rather than Luke Lawson. He doesn’t move to pick them up, and I don’t need purple chalk to recognise someone frozen. I’ve been that person, haven’t I? Today I step in—step up—do what I should have back then.

I shield Rowan by sliding between them. “A good place for Row and me to catch up tomorrow evening.”

“Ah.” Luke’s gaze flicks from me to Rowan, who is at my side now, his scrapbooks safely gathered. “So Liam’s the old friend you were hoping to catch up with? Well, the garden where we talked is open until nine on Sundays. Beautiful sunset views and it’ll be quiet this early in the season.”

“There you go, Row.” I rest the head of my hammer on my shoulder and back off. “What time do you get off?”

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