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Chapters (77)
  1. Landing Page
  2. A TERRIBLE KINDNESS
  3. Dedication
  4. Contents
  5. ABERFAN
  6. 1
  7. 2
  8. 3
  9. 4
  10. 5
  11. 6
  12. 7
  13. 8
  14. 9
  15. 10
  16. 11
  17. CAMBRIDGE CHOIR
  18. 12
  19. 13
  20. 14
  21. 15
  22. 16
  23. 17
  24. 18
  25. 19
  26. 20
  27. 21
  28. 22
  29. 23
  30. 24
  31. 25
  32. 26
  33. 27
  34. 28
  35. 29
  36. 30
  37. FAMILY BUSINESS
  38. 31
  39. 32
  40. 33
  41. 34
  42. 35
  43. 36
  44. 37
  45. 38
  46. 39
  47. 40
  48. 41
  49. 42
  50. 43
  51. 44
  52. 45
  53. 46
  54. 47
  55. 48
  56. 49
  57. MIDNIGHT CHOIR
  58. 50
  59. 51
  60. 52
  61. 53
  62. 54
  63. 55
  64. 56
  65. 57
  66. 58
  67. ABERFAN
  68. 59
  69. 60
  70. 61
  71. 62
  72. 63
  73. 64
  74. 65
  75. Acknowledgements
  76. About the Author
  77. Copyright

‘You’ve been inflicting pain every day for years. On your own mother.’ She shakes her head. ‘You can choose not to be a father, but you can’t choose to stop being a son and she can’t ever stop being a mother.’ A couple are leaving the christening. They glance at the car, then, heads down and hands loosely clasped, they walk quickly towards their Morris Minor. ‘You think you’re this wounded, bleeding heart, but really, you’re a tyrant who hurts everyone who gets close to you.’ She waits. ‘Well?’ Her voice is sharp. ‘Have you got anything to say?’

‘You’re right,’ he replies eventually, eyes still on the cat licking its striped flank. ‘I’m a tyrant who hurts everyone close to me.’

‘So,’ she says. He hears her swallow and catches the slight uplift of her chin. ‘What are you going to do about it?’

‘Simple,’ he says, finally turning to look at Gloria’s troubled, beloved face.

Part IV

MIDNIGHT CHOIR

50

For all he knows, he sleepwalked to the station. William has no memory of boarding the Birmingham to Cambridge later that day. He registers dashes of fields, fresh growth on the trees. The sun on his left burns through the glass and makes the dusty seat smell toasted. He didn’t bring sunglasses, it’s only March. The corner of a shirt is poking out of his suitcase. He doubts he can carry it to Martin’s without the handle breaking, but has no cash for a taxi.

The walk to Jesus Lane tires him out, the sun a malign bore at his temples. He knocks the door and leans his head on the blue paint as he waits for Martin to come down the stairs.

He stands upright at the clink and rattle of the chain on the inside. ‘Hello? Can I help you?’

William registers blond curls on broad shoulders. The black and white stripe of the rugby shirt hurts his eyes.

‘Is Martin in?’

The face considers him, then turns and shouts up the stairs, ‘Martin! It’s for you!’

William thinks of introducing himself, but can’t summon the energy.

‘You should leave him in peace, you know,’ the man says quietly, leaning in, ‘he does have a life.’

William can only nod as he hears Martin thundering down towards them.

‘William! Have I forgotten something? I haven’t looked in my diary for days.’

‘No,’ he says, trying to raise a smile, ‘I’m not meant to be here.’

Martin puts his hand on his shoulder and guides him in. ‘Steve, this is my oldest friend, William.’

Steve smiles awkwardly. ‘Sorry, William, I thought you … you must think I’m a complete arsehole.’

‘Not at all,’ William says, putting out his hand to shake Steve’s but misjudging it and jabbing him in the stomach.

Steve turns to Martin. ‘Sorry, I thought he was …’