Page 14 of Play Our Song

“Bye.” She turned to leave.

“Don’t forget the book,” Tilly called after her. She cringed inside.

But Sophie just laughed. “I’ll bring it next rehearsal if I’m done with it, but no promises.”

And then she was gone and Tilly could breathe normally again.

“She’s alright, that Sophie, isn’t she?” Sylv from the shop was wrapping a scarf around her neck. “Pretty girl.”

“Mmm,” Tilly said, still watching the door that Sophie had left through.

“Just watch out for that family of hers,” Sylv said, pulling her handbag over her shoulder.

“What do you mean?” Tilly asked, but Sylv was already leaving.

Tilly put her own jacket on and went out into the night. She smiled all the way home.

Mila had made her promise to come in through the front door so that she could know that she was home safe, which seemed like a sensible precaution to Tilly, so she did as she was told.

“Have fun?” Mila asked from the kitchen as Tilly got in.

“Yes,” Tilly said. Then she grinned. “Yes, it was really fun, actually.”

Mila raised an eyebrow as Tilly got closer. Papers were scattered over the table, but as Tilly came nearer, Mila scooped them all up and tidied them away. Not so fast that Tilly couldn’t see they were financial papers, bank statements, that sort of thing. “Want a hot chocolate before bed?” asked Mila.

Tilly hesitated, then shook her head. “No, thanks,” she said, backing back out of the kitchen. “It’s been a long day. Think I might just… head up.”

Another eyebrow lift, a small smile. “No news to report from choir?” asked Mila. “No… muggings or blackmail or… or attractive people?”

For an instant, Tilly considered telling her, but then she shook her head. They didn’t know each other that well and the last thing she needed was gossip in a small town. “No, no, nothing like that.”

“Right,” Mila said as though she didn’t believe her in the slightest. “Night then.”

“Night,” said Tilly.

And she went up to bed, clutching the memory of the touch of Sophie’s fingers to herself like a soft cushion.

Chapter Seven

“You’re cheerful for a Wednesday morning,” Gio grumbled as he took a seat at the breakfast table.

“There’s nothing wrong with facing the world with a smile,” his father said.

Sophie stuck a tongue out at him. “I’m in a good mood, that’s all.”

“Oh yeah? Anything to do with that choir meeting last night?”

“How did you know about that?” she asked.

Gio shrugged. “Stu told me.”

“You joined a choir?” her father asked. He grinned at her. “That’s nice. Your mum liked to sing.”

“Did she?” Sophie said. Her father didn’t mention her mother often. When he did, she tried to wring every last drop of information that she could out of him. “What did she like to sing then?”

Her father screwed up his face in thought. “She liked Duran Duran,” he said. “And ABBA, and anything Italian. She sang you and Gio to sleep with Italian lullabies, which was all very well until she offed out on a girl’s night and I couldn’t get the two of you to sleep.”

Sophie smiled. “That sounds really sweet.” But when she looked over, Gio was bent over his cereal, not saying anything.

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