Page 36 of Second Song

“Christ. I’m getting flashbacks of my old job.” He takes one. “What else is in your ration pack?”

I show him the sole Kit Kat I found. “Be grateful. I had to fight off the headmaster for this.”

He huffs out a small laugh. “Never thought I’d say this, but I think the army did it better. I’m not… I’m not exactly saying I miss it, but…”

His silence feels thick. I thrust a French stick at him as if crusty bread might cut through it, and once breadcrumbs are all that are left between us, he unwraps the Kit Kat. “Okay,” he admits as he tears off the red wrapper and snaps four chocolate fingers into equal portions. “I do miss parts of it.”

“Like what?”

He tells me story after story, smile flickering over people and places his work took him. About someone called Neck Brace, and another called Twin One. About what he calls being away on ops, and homecomings. About more friends, although those stories keep fading into silence, but I’m okay with quiet when it comes with this view. I don’t mean of these gardens or of the sea in the distance.

Liam’s got my whole focus. I’m not sure how the bell can chime again so quickly, a first hour gone already. Perhaps that’s down to how easy it is to talk and listen here in this empty garden where the roar of the sea is muted.

It isn’t so easy when he turns the tables, intent on hearing all about me.

“Me? I only came back yesterday. Still finding my way around. It all kicks off tomorrow. That’s when I’ll cover a lot more duties until the rest of the teaching team gets back from a trip.”

“So you weren’t here last week? Good thing you got a chance to go home before work keeps you busy.”

“Home?” I rub my arms. “No. I shared a house near uni. I came straight back from there.”

Liam’s gaze is lowered, focussed on my rubbing hands, which I must still a beat too late for him not to notice. “You didn’t want to go home?”

It’s the second time the subject has come up in this garden. We aren’t too far from where Luke first raised it. I don’t want to waste our evening rehashing what feels like my own tightly closed compartment. “Nope. My stepdad already thinks I’m a fuckup.” That’s not entirely true. “Or maybe disappointing.”

Liam asks a logical question. “And your mum?” He also comes to a quick conclusion. “Ah.” He inhales slowly, exhaling a quiet apology before speaking up over seagull cries. “So it’s just you against the world.”

I could let him think that. Maybe there’s something in the air here. Like with Luke, more truth spills out. “My stepdad did make sure I got a good education.”

I rub my arms again, stopping as soon as he says, “At a school you hated?” His eyes narrow. “That’s what you said on the cliff, yeah? You hated it, Row. Doesn’t sound like he did you many favours.”

“At least he made sure I learned that boarding schools should do better for kids who don’t fit in.”

“You think Glynn Harber does it better?”

“It’s like night and day, which is probably why I’ve got the jitters about working with the little ones and Charles tomorrow.”

“You’ve got the jitters?” He takes a last sip from his juice box, his cheeks hollowing, which only accentuates all those angles. So much so that I miss that he’s teasing. “You’re seriously telling me that Mr. No Shit Sherlock is scared of a few toddlers?”

“They aren’t toddlers.” I explain how I’ll support a combined class of four- to six-year-old children. I also confess this. “I’m only scared of getting it wrong for them. Especially the ones with extra needs.” Charles made each of those colours sound amazing—important—worth taking time to shape his teaching around. “I don’t want to do or say the wrong thing again. I’ve got a track record for that.”

He snorts. “Sounds to me like the school picked the right person for the job.” His feet nudge mine under the table. “Some of the kids are different? Well, you’re not exactly standard issue, are you?”

I’m not sure what crosses my face at hearing versions of that twice in twenty-four hours.

Both of his feet squeeze mine. “I mean you aren’t scared of going all out.” He also murmurs, “Muppet.”

I duck my head, smiling, feeling as warmed by that as when he doodled on my bare belly. We’re fully dressed now, both sitting with the remains of a shared picnic supper between us, when his feet squeeze mine again and he touches a finger to my chin until I raise my eyes to his. “You go all out,” he repeats. “And I’m just saying that when shit goes sideways, those are exactly the kind of people I’d want on my side.” All of that steel softens. So does Liam’s murmur. “I did have people like that.”

“You still do, don’t you? Like Matt?”

“Yeah.” He scrubs at his face. “Yeah, like Matt.” He takes my hand to pull me upright. “See? You didn’t fuck up saying the right thing just then.” He adds, “Don’t you change, or worry about the kids,” and it’s wild how much I like it. The next section of garden we wander through is wild as well. We cross bridge after bridge with me still talking about everything I hope tomorrow will prove, and him still listening until he misses a question. That prompts an explanation of why I agreed with Luke’s suggestion of this location.

I face him. “I thought meeting somewhere like this might be better because of your…” I touch the lobe of my ear. “Which side is better?”

Seagulls wheel overhead, still crying. Perhaps that’s why he only catches the last word of my question. He repeats, “Better?” and for once, I wish the sun’s low angle didn’t bathe him quite so clearly. There’s no avoiding that his expression fractures. Maybe that’s the wrong word for what I witness, but fractured is how this next sounds to me. “I won’t get better.”

His head bows, and at some point during this walk he must have brushed too close to one of the rose bushes. A petal is lodged in his hair, but that’s only fair. Something’s lodged in my throat at his change in tone, but I’ve always been susceptible to shifts in pitch, haven’t I? To sharp or flat notes. Hearing this flat tone from Liam is painful because it’s familiar and aimed firmly inward.

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