Page 52 of Second Song

“It was?”

“Yes.” Luke explains why. “He said you noticed Hadi’s reaction to the demolition work in the courtyard.”

He must mean where I got creative by suggesting me and Dom’s team could take down a storm-damaged gable at the end of the stables. Working on that had seemed a good way to fill time while the library was off-limits. Spending the next hour taking down the rest of the storm damage had been a no-brainer. Now I get to hear what us making that pile of rubble prompted.

“Charles said that you shifted gears fast to mask the sound.” Luke turns to include us, giving a sudden and stark reminder of a photo on this school’s website. Not that I spent a lot of time searching it while I was away on my last job, just long enough to find Rowan’s photo on the staff page. Now Luke shows me those forehead furrows, aiming what he says next directly at me.

“My son.” He points to a very happy drummer still playing with that high hat, his ting ting tings now so much lighter. “The sound of that stable wall coming down would be a horrible reminder for him.” Of what I’m not sure until another overheard conversation trickles back about some kid here having PTSD. All Luke says is, “Rowan must have realised that drumming might help to mask your demolition.”

The class teacher confirms that. “I didn’t realise Rowan’s little legs could run so fast.” His gaze is merry, sparkling. “Whoosh! Off he went, like a rocket at break time.”

That’s around the time we got noisy, bringing down granite blocks and smashing them into useful pieces for the library rebuild. I’m still not clear on how that relates to those PTSD initials, which feels a lot like wearing my defenders. I’m alone, but for once I want to know more—to be involved in this conversation—to be part of a group that has Rowan at its centre. I’m all ears as his teacher finishes explaining.

“Then he was back with part of the school drum kit.”

“No. This is pretty much all of it.” Rowan points to that bass drum, a snare, and that high hat. “Glad it was enough to make a difference.”

I’ve seen Rowan covered in sheep shit while laughing. Seen him blissed out after coming so hard you’d have thought it was the first time anyone lit that fuse for him. But this version of happiness on him? It’s like watching a rose unfurling. He’s pink with pleasure. “It was no big deal to change plans.”

“No. It was a lot.” His boss is firm about this. “Today? To Hadi? Your quick thinking was everything.”

I blink at what that praise does to Rowan. You’d think no one ever told him that he was useful. He almost squirms with pleasure. I see more of that when his class teacher tells him, “It was beautifully planned. You having all those buckets and washing-up bowls ready? Genius. Good thing we had enough spoons. One set of real drumsticks really isn’t enough to keep in your box of tricks, is it?”

Luke’s frown deepens. “Is that really all we’ve got? One set for all the little ones?” He pulls out his phone, tapping a note to himself. “Right. The next time I can squeeze some cash from the budget, whatever you need is at the top of the list.” His forehead is still furrowed when Charles clasps his shoulder.

“Hadi wasn’t scared for long, I promise.”

I blurt, “Scared?” before realising I’m not part of this conversation. Not part of this school. I’m passing through, that’s all. I still can’t help apologising. “I’m sorry. It was my idea. I didn’t?—”

“Mean to scare anyone?” Luke’s gaze drops. I realise I’m clutching the barrier. I can’t let it go, not when he says, “Of course you didn’t mean to. You were only doing your job.”

I’ve heard that before. Seen it written in reports. I also took responsibility back then like Luke does now.

“I’m the one who should have predicted and planned to keep him safer.” He also answers more of my unasked questions. “Because in Cornish, the words Glynn Harber mean valley refuge, and a refuge is exactly what Hadi and his sister needed after losing their family in Syria. It’s what he still needs whenever he’s reminded.”

Little Maisie Dymond lifts her arms up on the other side of the fence, and Dom vaults the barrier to head for the gate, perhaps to shield her from hearing this. I cross it too, so Luke can keep his voice down, and Rowan drifts in my direction until there’s only wood and wire between us. He’s almost shoulder-to-shoulder with me, and I’m glad he’s there to lean on when his boss gives more detail.

“Jamila is too little to verbalise what happened when they were first shelled.”

“First?”

“Oh, they’ve both survived multiple shellings. The first was the worst. Hadi lets us know every single time he faces what orphaned them both. That’s how I know that I set off this latest crisis, not you.”

He’s devastatingly honest, but I get it—there’s no denying pain when you’re the one who caused it.

Luke watches his son, his voice still low. “Only I set it off here.” He gestures around us at this high-sided valley. “Right where he’s meant to feel safest.”

Maybe I shouldn’t ask, but the question slips out. “How?”

“By crossing a bridge in the woods while carrying his only surviving family.” Here’s another bare look from Luke. “That’s where he lost his family—on a bridge. I didn’t know that. Not then. And I didn’t realise the one in the woods was in such bad shape until it almost collapsed with me and Jamila on it. It breaking must have sounded just like…”

Warfare.

Like the end of the world for another family unit.

I don’t need the fine detail. I can easily imagine, so I nod, and he continues.

“It all came back then. Everything he’d locked away. Now he can’t face any type of crossing, but he wants to. He’s got more than enough language to tell us that. He wants to stop being frightened. To stop losing sleep. To stop checking over and over that we’re all still with him. That’s why Charles and Rowan have been building bridges for him. Not to relive that moment or all of his awful losses. Everything they’ve been doing for weeks now has been to help him rebuild trust in himself. To grow his resilience.”

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