Page 87 of Second Song

The kids like that idea, some of them waving the same streamers that also hang high up from tree branches. They weren’t here at last night’s rehearsal. The guy I guess is responsible for filling this space with fluttering colour stands back, watching. I know that outsider feeling, so I lift my chin, and he joins us.

“Did you hang those decorations, Hayden?” He nods, so I murmur. “Surprised Rowan didn’t try to break his neck by doing it himself.”

“Oh, he tried,” Hayden murmurs back, and there’s a smile hiding behind that thick beard, one I’ve glimpsed a few times since he moved into the stables and started taming these wild woodlands, but it’s Rowan who recaptures my attention. He crouches next to Hadi, listening.

“You want to sing your song?”

I’ve met more than my share of brave people. This little boy is up there with some of the bravest. His daddies too, because they could step up to help him, but he wants to do this alone, or that’s what I think until Hadi stops singing.

I’d guess this was stage fright, only he looks the opposite of scared while repeating a move I’ve seen Rowan make so often in his outdoor classroom. He points his shaker the same way Rowan usually points his whistle as if to say, “Your turn.”

And Rowan?

He doesn’t quite freeze.

He doesn’t quite sing either, and he definitely doesn’t need me to save him.

I know that. Fuck it, he’s saved me right here in this spot. I still can’t help stepping forward, and maybe that’s because love is a to-and-fro between us, a shoulder offered instead of an order issued. But here’s the thing about him—when Rowan commits, he goes all in, and fuck me, he tops my brave list. Has done ever since I saw him from my surfboard. Now he’s as committed to finishing a song that sums him up to me. These lyrics that he opens his mouth to croak out in front of an audience for the first time could have been written for him.

Brave?

There’s no doubt about that as his voice shakes.

A good friend?

A beam of sunlight spotlights my very best one, Rowan giving it everything he has.

Strong?

Rowan’s already proven that to me. Later today, he’ll prove it to the rest of the world if he wants to, and I’ll be there for him like he’s been here for me during this rebuild. He isn’t alone, and I think he knows that when we’re joined by arrivals delayed by a late train.

Matt comes first, holding aside a tree bough for more children. Little Irish cousins join us, shouting as soon as they see Rowan. His stepdad follows, carrying a jingling box of tricks bearing a familiar phoenix image, and Rowan’s voice doesn’t shake any longer.

It rises, soaring all the way to heaven.

ROWAN

After the bridge opening is over and we’ve shared a party lunch together, I show Dad and my cousins around my classrooms before driving them to the beach for the afternoon while I’m busy. When I get back to Glynn Harber, Charles meets me in the car park.

He doesn’t make a wind down your window gesture like the first time we met here. Months of working together means he slides into the passenger seat without asking or waiting. He also launches into an eerily familiar pep talk.

“You aren’t late. There’s no need to hurry or worry.”

“I’m not worried.”

“Really? Not about the interview?” His brow furrows. “It’s okay if you are.”

“I know it is. And I know I’m not late.” I take my phone from its dashboard holder. “Look.” I show him the time. “I’m a whole six minutes early. Let’s do this.”

“Without Liam?”

“He’s with Dad on the beach.” There’s no chance of any of my little cousins getting into trouble with my soldier watching. Plus, I can face what’s coming all by myself now that I’ve had time to manifest a happy ending for both of us. All I have to do is get through this interview first.

“Wait.” Charles covers my seat belt release before I can press the button. “I just want to make sure you know you still have options.” He’s so sweetly worried. And smudged, although not with chalk dust or sand. Today, tiredness is the cause for the shadows under his concerned eyes, which prompts my own question.

“Are you okay?”

“Me?” He blinks. He also gets brutally honest. “Twin foster babies. What on earth was I thinking? It’s chaos. Round the clock double trouble.” Like my new bearded housemate at the stables, Charles can’t keep a smile hidden. “I absolutely love it.” He pulls out his phone. “Look at them with Hugo and little Adam. Or should I say, with big Adam? Doesn’t he look like a giant next to them?” He shares image after image of the cause of his tiredness, then follows me once we get out of the car and I set off at a brisk pace. “Can you hang on for a moment?”

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