Page 32 of Second Story

“You never needed my help to be that for him.” He heads for the door just as Lenny laughs one more time, and I turn around to see him happy.

He’d be even happier to see Joe, even once.

I turn back a beat too late.

Joe’s gone before I can suggest it.

9

JOE

I leave the library and hurry to join the padre, who leads me to a room with his name on a sign outside along with the job I once had my sights set on:Head of Pastoral Care.

It’s a cosy space, warm and welcoming, just like the room I had at the last school I worked in. The only difference is the view. This window doesn’t overlook bleak concrete. It offers a clear view of that grassy courtyard full of children working around picnic benches, and I back away in a hurry.

“Sorry.” I hover in the doorway, neither inside nor out, not willing to put myself on view where I won’t be wanted. “Isaac really doesn’t want his brother to see me.”

“Ah.” The padre crosses to that window. “That’s a shame. It sounded as if Lenny appreciated your support, but he won’t see you through this glass. It’s reflective. For privacy.”

I get it. Students need to believe they can share some of their worst moments without an audience. So do my courtroom clients, although securing that for them takes some arguing with court officials.

The padre reassures me. “He won’t know you’re in here, I promise.” He also colours a little. “My husband took it as a personal challenge to test whether anything that happens in here could be seen from outside.” He crosses himself, and I hope to fuck this room is soundproof; I can’t help laughing.

“Padre!”

“Hugo,” he insists, and just like that, he’s a different person. Not that he hasn’t been friendly since our first meeting. This version is helpless. Happy, even if only one side of his mouth shows it. Both sides of his face turn rosy. “I could apologise for Charles, but I won’t. More people could stand to feel as wanted as my husband makes me. As supported, like it sounds you made Isaac feel too.”

I join the padre and watch Isaac find his brother. I can’t tell exactly what he whispers into Lenny’s ear, and I didn’t have witnessing joy or relief on my scorecard for today, but I’ll take this snapshot of both home with me.

“Bless him. Bless them both,” Hugo says as if I spoke aloud. “I guessed Isaac had walked a difficult road to get here. A lonely one, perhaps, without you.” He doesn’t ask why, and that’s good. I’m not certain right now that I could speak clearly, especially when he adds, “If he needs community, he’s found one.”

I’m aware Hugo looks at me next, and I bet he sees a mirror image of the relief visible outside this window. I don’t even try to stop myself from voicing what I’ve already confessed to myself once today. “Killed me to walk away.”

His hand lands on my shoulder, and then we sit together and talk for ages.

Not about the family of two I watch gradually relax outside this window. I see Isaac yawn, and I also notice more exhausted children and teachers in photos lining this cosy space built for safe confessions.

Hugo studies them with me. “The school is aligned with several refugee projects across the channel. Our teaching staff rotate through a few months there and here.” He points out a man playing beach football in one photo. “Ruth’s husband.” He finds another teacher, this one reading a story that could look normal if not for the sea of tents behind him. “Luke’s partner, Nathan.”

Perhaps he spots a reaction I’m unaware of making. He’s wry. “It is possible that we’re the queerest school in Cornwall. All I can tell you is that Luke has made it his mission to recruit diversely. And to make sure our student body is supported by dynamic men and women who model an outreach ethos. One the students can recreate when they leave us to build networks of their own.” He nods at the photos of absent teachers. “It has left us a little stretched lately.” He yawns, and behind him, I see Isaac do the same again outside. So does Lenny, as if it’s contagious.

A ringing bell signals home time. It also makes me jump, suggesting I’ve lost some time to staring.

Hugo lands a hand on my shoulder again. “I predict early bedtimes all around. I have a few more resources back at the Rectory I’d hoped to talk through with you. Would you have time to take a look before leaving?”

I walk away from Isaac again then. Not that he realises. I do catch a last glimpse of him scooping up an action figure and the book I gave his brother, fingers trailing across its rough and bumpy title as if he’s done that often.

My own fingers find a rough and bumpy reminder that I’d be the last person Isaac would choose if stress didn’t cloud his vision. At least, that’s what I’ve told myself all year. But after that kiss…

I pass that tall willow on the way out with Hugo. We pass a school chapel next, where he tells me he first met his husband.He keeps walking, keeps talking, keeps not demanding answers from me, but I know what he’s doing. This running commentary about everything and nothing gives me the headspace to tell him, “Nothing unprofessional happened back then.”

“With Isaac, when you supported his brother? But it could have?”

All those long nights of wishful thinking come home to roost like pigeons do in these woods around us. I sigh a long and low-pitched, “Yeah,” and they coo, as if they listen closely. So does Hugo. He must have to circle back to this detail.

“But you left them both before that could happen.” He stops at the edge of woodland. “Turn around, Joseph. What do you see?”

I stare at greenery. At leaves and branches. “Trees.” So, so many of them.

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