Page 55 of Second Song

One of Luke’s guests can. “That’s Polish.” He translates a journey that brought a child from Poland to Glynn Harber’s shelter. About nights full of fire and bombing, his hopes and fears for his fighter-pilot father, his uncles, his big brothers, his dark worries for them. All while my gaze locks with Luke’s across the table because here’s a version of exactly what he asked me to write out but I still haven’t managed.

The school is so often noisy. Tonight, even Teo must have stopped his drumming. A pin dropping right now would clang like a falling anvil while students, teachers, and workmen collectively pause until Luke’s guest says, “He says he loves it here. Loved it. He hopes that whoever finds this does too.”

Luke’s voice doesn’t ring out but I think we all must hear it. “What else did he write, Hayden?”

“Oh, that he’s been teaching some of the really little evacuees how to play recorders. That they put their favourite pieces into the capsule, and they all hope that whoever finds it gets to play them.” He slides another piece of sheet music over. “Think you could play this on a recorder like they did?”

Charles snorts. “On a recorder? Rowan could play it on a hosepipe.”

Liam’s eyebrows rise. “Hosepipe?”

“I told you he can play anything,” Charles insists. “He did it earlier after filling the watering cans for me. It was brilliant. My little ones cracked up.” Charles presses his lips together but not tightly enough to keep this in, and I’m glad the students have followed the historian to the far end of these tables so they aren’t close enough to hear him. “Pretty sure Rowan will give anything a good blow at least once.” He quickly tags on, “To see if he can get a tune out of it,” but it’s too late.

Here comes one of the out-of-control laughs I haven’t been able to keep in lately, but Liam huffs out something similar so it’s worth everyone looking at me, even if my skin does prickle. In the past, my reply would have prickled as well—would have shot out with a spray of Teo’s staccato bullets. Charles makes it hard to be defensive. Besides, he isn’t finished.

“It was brilliant. And hysterical,” he tells a smiling Dom. “Your Maisie nearly wet her knickers, she couldn’t stop giggling. What tune were you playing?” Charles drifts closer to take a look at the music, almost as gentle with these old sheets of paper as Liam’s thumb is brushing the small of my back, a touch that means I don’t want to escape this spotlight even now that the students have drifted back, all waiting for my answer.

Liam’s thumb moves in a back-and-forth sweep just as steady as him, and I find one. “Just something I wrote a while back.” And that I haven’t played or sung until last Friday when a tor amplified it. Now I hear it everywhere I go, night or day, conscious or unconscious, and I can’t believe I almost forgot it.

Charles hasn’t. “You played it on those jam jars as well. The ones you partially filled with water? It sounded very pretty. Almost as good as whenever you play that whistle you keep in your pocket.” His eyes widen. “Oh, have you got it? You could play this music right now.”

He backtracks just as quickly, maybe remembering that public performance and I don’t mix these days, unless it’s with little children.

Or with Liam.

His thumb stills, hand edging to my hip as if he feels what always happens when I’m under pressure. Liam pulls me a fraction closer, my hip against his, and I can drag a breath to answer, although Charles speaks first.

“Or not. No worries.” His quick grimace comes with him mouthing a silent sorry. “Teo’s musical, isn’t he? Maybe he could play it for us?” He nods across the table, and I’m pleased to see that Teo’s joined us, even if he hangs back. Those drumsticks clutched to his chest scream an equally silent, fuck no.

That means I have to step up and shield him.

Charles mouths another apology. He doesn’t need to. I’m not in front of white-bright footlights this evening. I’m in a courtyard surrounded by people who are interested, that’s all, not judging, so I do as he asks and play this long-buried music on my whistle. It’s absolutely worth being under the spotlight when Liam’s real laugh rings out.

“Baa, Baa, Black Sheep? Really?”

Someone else calls out that the first hot dogs are almost ready, and students cheer. The crowd clears, everyone heading for the playground at the front of the building, but Liam stays where he is, right beside me. “Of course it had to be about a sheep,” he mutters. “You’re a bloody magnet for them.”

He’s a magnet for me.

I’ve already thought that. It’s almost a wrench when he peels away to retie construction tape and move a barrier back in front of his exposed foundation. Everyone else moves in the opposite direction, leaving for the start of the social side of this evening, apart from Luke and the historian. They carefully pack away Liam’s finds while deep in conversation that I don’t want to interrupt, but I have to ask, “Luke? Am I…”

I hold out my phone. I’m timetabled on duty, only nothing is as usual, is it? And Liam’s here, which means I can’t keep my next question bottled. “Do you still need me?”

Luke studies my face.

His gaze holds for a long and searching moment before shifting to where Liam hefts more of those heavy barriers back into position. Because he’s wired for safety, isn’t he? Maybe Luke is too—he asks a quiet and careful question. “Do you want to be off duty? Because if you don’t, I can always find a reason to say you’re busy. But if you’d rather be free?—”

“Yes.” I’m not sure I’ve ever nodded faster. I do it again. “Yes. I want to be free. If… if that’s okay with you?”

It must be. Luke looks so much younger when he smiles. “You better scoot then, Mr. Popular. Quick, before Hadi comes looking for you.”

“For me?”

Here’s more of the softening I’m still not used to. “Rowan, there’s a very good reason why he drummed for you today. Why all of them played for you.” Luke glances up as if he sees his study window at the front of this building instead of the science labs above us. “I’ve watched you working with them all week long, and seen how Charles has stepped back. Hadi wants to trust you, has already started to. Your time is your own, but I know he’d love you to share some supper with us before his bedtime. Both of you?”

I nod. I also back off when maybe I should acknowledge what sounds like praise, but there’s no speaking around the lump made by what he just shared, no emotion to describe the smile Liam must notice when I join him. I don’t know why he says, “Fuck me, you’re a health hazard,” when I’m nowhere near the edge of the foundation he hefts a last barrier in front of. He also takes off his hard hat and plops it on my head.

It’s left a mark across his forehead, but I’ve just been marked by what Luke shared, so that makes us even.

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