Page 78 of Second Song

Rohypnol.

30

LIAM

If the army taught me one skill, it was how to survive on catnaps. Almost two years after leaving, I still only need to catch a few Zs before chasing the dawn to Cornwall.

As soon as I cross the county border, I’m sorely tempted to break every on-site school rule by pulling into Glynn Harber’s car park out of school hours and heading straight for the stables. Not to sneak into bed with Rowan at five o’clock in the morning—although I wouldn’t say no to crawling under his covers. No, the real reason I feel the need to check in is a text I only noticed after my Blackpool job was finally done and dusted. For now, I make do with pulling into my usual sea-view spot at the campsite where waves roar as I reread that message.

Dom: Your boyfriend okay? Maisie told me it all got a bit shouty between him and Teo in the playground.

I’ve spent the whole drive back picturing another shouty outburst, because I’ve seen Teo explode before, haven’t I? Only he’d also thrust his drumsticks at Rowan, who hadn’t been one bit fazed. Whatever caused this latest outburst probably won’t have fazed him either. That didn’t stop me from sending a pair of messages of my own before starting the long drive south.

Liam: You okay, Row?

Liam: And Teo?

Now I stretch out on my bed in the back of the van and scroll through his answers.

Rowan: I’m making things right for him.

Rowan: Miss you x

Same. I can’t wait to see him, even if this weekend has to be about immovable demolition deadlines. I’m still going to carve out time for him and I’ll carve out even more once that library is a pile of rubble.

Maybe stone and hammers aren’t romantic, but I’ve never been one for hearts and flowers, have I? Wouldn’t say I’d ever been one for love songs either, but I lie back and yeah, the sea still roars along with my personal radio station, but it’s Rowan’s song I hear. His lullaby lilt. All that bruised and battered angel softness. And that’s what falling for him has made me. I’m so soft for him I almost drift off again to his melody and lyrics, only…

Neither of those replies answered my first question, did they? I sit up, about to send another are you okay question.

A knock on the van door stops me.

I slide it open. It doesn’t matter that the man waiting outside isn’t in uniform. He’s definitely a soldier. “Liam Sexton?”

“Yeah.”

It’s barely past five, too early for visitors to my van or for sending worried texts to Rowan. It’s also too early for seagulls to cry when this soldier repeats what Teo once did while I watched from a study window, but not by thrusting a pair of drumsticks at my chest.

He shoves a letter my way. A request. An apology. A song that’s pure Rowan from start to finish.

I read it, and here’s a second skill the army taught me.

By the time I turn the last page?

I’m combat-ready.

Rowan’s gone back to his old school, Ed Britten tells me as he drives us both to Glynn Harber in his minibus.

Part of me listens. The rest of me rewinds and replays every mention of a place Rowan told me plenty about without ever speaking. Each remembered old-school shiver has me rubbing my arms as we pass fields full of sheep with their lambs. By the time we reach Glynn Harber’s car park, I’ve never been closer to staging a one-man hijack—to taking the wheel of this vehicle and stamping my boot on the accelerator.

Because that letter? Those lyrics?

They don’t quite fill every gap about a stupid game he played once and lost so badly, but here’s the thing about Sappers like me. We don’t only dig trenches and build bridges, we also clear mines, so I know an IED when I spot one.

Rowan believes something bad happened to him.

Not being able to name it still terrifies him.

I’m gutted that he was ever frightened. That he is still. And that he’s ashamed of actions made under duress, even though the duress I read between these lines isn’t explicit. Another passenger in this van fills in why Rowan ends his letter with an apology.

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