Page 41 of Second Song

“Because?”

“Because Cameron already has a guaranteed early offer of a place at London’s best art and music college. That’s how he can afford to be away from his studies right now. Why he can take the next year off to travel if he wants and still not lose his golden ticket.” Luke leads me uphill to Glynn Harber’s one and only restored building to show me how Teo’s friend scored that shiny ticket. He lets me into a light-filled space where the reason is obvious, and it doesn’t matter that I saw these artworks once already. It’s only now that my head is clear enough to truly see them.

“These are all his?” I pass hyperrealistic portrait after portrait, stopping to touch the frame of one where an old woman smiles out. She’s way older than Mum. Her eyes are just as lively, as full of an emotion that I locked into a closed compartment. This comes out thickly. “Does Cameron even need to go?”

“To art college?” Luke makes a weighing-scale gesture. “With this level of talent, arguably no. He’s gifted with almost perfect visual recall. With sight that misses absolutely nothing. But there’s a lot to be said for being stretched even if you’re already gifted.” He adds a certain-sounding, “But you must already know that.”

This space has no ceiling. There’s only a glass roof above us. My incredulous, “Me?” echoes, but Luke isn’t finished.

“Why else put yourself in a highly competitive situation?” He could mean by applying to work here. Luke goes further back. “Everything you’ve mentioned during our walk-and-talks this week suggests that contest pushed you to your limits.” He stands below a painting of a knight in tarnished armour, and for a moment I’m back in that sculpture garden where Liam was burnished by sun yet tarnished by the shadow of lost friendships.

This knight’s stare could be his. It’s as steely as the one Luke swings my way. “I can’t say I ever watched the show, but I assume you had to write all your own music? Your own lyrics? Record it, then compete against others with similar talent levels?”

He couldn’t be more wrong. By the end, I only lip-synced to easy boy-band ballads and made choreographed dance moves with my shirt off. The real challenge was trying to understand how I got myself so cornered. It made no sense then. It still doesn’t. All I can do is shrug, and perhaps Luke sees that it’s time to add more walking to our talking.

The moment we’re outside and heading downhill I can speak. “How can I help Teo?”

“To be successful?” Luke is silent almost all the way to the bottom of the hill. He stops outside the chapel. “Give him every chance to reach his potential while managing his expectations. I’m no musical judge, but I do know he’s struggling to record an audition file of the quality it will take to score him an interview, let alone a place at the same specialist college as Cameron.”

His eyes meet mine, and one day I’ll figure out why I can look into some people’s but not into others. Right now, Luke’s remind me again of Liam’s, so it’s easy. It also means I get to see him wince from close up. “If Teo doesn’t make that cut, he’ll need friends to lean on. And he’ll need examples of how success doesn’t always mean winning first place.”

We’re on a sunny path outside the chapel. This still slips icily from me. “You want me to tell him what happened to me?”

“Not if that makes you uncomfortable.” He tilts his head, studying me before saying, “We talked about you having strategies ready in case a student brings up your past. You speaking up first could be powerful. For you. But no pressure,” he promises. “You don’t owe anyone that story, and Teo is making incredible progress regardless.”

I don’t know why I feel defensive on Teo’s behalf. “That’s because he is a good musician. And he’s getting better.”

“I don’t disagree,” Luke clarifies, and yes, the more I look, the easier it is to see kindness instead of disappointment. “I mean that he’s making incredible progress with opening up to people. With making conversation instead of keeping everything bottled. That’s helped by the give-and-take I keep hearing between you each evening whenever I pass the practice rooms. The more times I hear it, the more I think that’s the real key to success for him. You’ve been listening, and he’s starting to believe he’s worth hearing.”

The chapel door opens, the padre waiting, and Luke leaves me to join him. He also leaves me with a final piece of advice. “Keep him talking.” He turns before entering the chapel. “Thank you, Rowan.”

“For?”

“For throwing yourself into this first week with us. For doing more than I asked of you. I’ve been watching. You’re making a real difference.”

That praise is a million miles from feedback I got after other observed lessons. I grin all the way back to the outdoor classroom.

Charles notices. “Wow. There’s a blast from the past. Let’s have plenty more of those traffic-stoppers.” He brushes sand from his hands and opens the gate to get this afternoon’s session started. “Look who’s here to have some Friday afternoon fun with us!”

And that’s what we do all afternoon—we have nothing but fun that I catch sight of later once the session is almost over. A mirror reflects the same wide blast from the past that Charles mentioned and that I recognise from old contest headshots. Today, it stops me in my tracks, and I almost touch my own lips before spotting that my fingers are streaked with mud and spotted with paint and glitter. I drop my hand but I can’t drop my smile. It lingers as I collect up instruments, and Charles notices again.

He herds children inside to wash their hands for home time and nudges me on the way past. “See what happens when you relax? When you go with the flow instead of worrying?” He also nudges the box I carry. “You could relax even more by letting someone carry that terribly heavy box for you.”

“Heavy?” It only holds cheap plastic castanets and maracas that Mum would shake her head at. Compared to her collection of wooden instruments, it’s no weight at all. “It really isn’t.”

“Well, if you’re sure.” Charles inclines his head towards the outdoor classroom. “Only there’s someone out there with enough muscle to do all of your lifting and carrying for you.”

Charles moves out of my line of vision just as the bell rings. Children hurry, eager to collect their book bags and artworks, but I go still. There’s no mistaking who has his back to me while standing on the path from the car park, and it doesn’t matter that the man he talks with wears a similar dusty T-shirt stretched across a strong frame. Liam’s the only one who shifts, so I get to glimpse a granite profile.

I’ve seen it from close up, haven’t I? Seen Liam cover an ear too, like he does as soon as the school bell rings again.

It’s a move he told me he can’t help making, even though it’s pointless. I also can’t help calling out, “Liam? What are you doing back already?”

He turns, that hand over his ear falling, and I might not be able to give him inner peace and silence, but I can smile again exactly like Charles ordered. I don’t even try to hold back. I can’t, and Liam doesn’t only stop frowning. He comes closer, stopped by a barrier. “Someone had to check you were still in one piece.”

He’s gruff.

I love it.

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