Martin scrunches his face. ‘You do look dreadful, William. Come on in.’ He gestures up the staircase. ‘Steve, put the kettle on, would you?’

‘Sure.’ Steve bounds up the stairs like a big cat.

‘I’ll get this,’ is all Martin says about the suitcase. ‘Up you go.’ William feels the steady pressure of Martin’s flat palm all the way up the stairs.

The sitting room’s bay window is full of the fresh magnolia leaves. The patterns of their shadows flicker and dance over the wooden floor. On the table are two willow pattern plates with half-eaten bacon sandwiches, a bottle of brown sauce, two mugs.

Steve appears from the little kitchen off the sitting room. ‘Tea or coffee?’

‘Coffee, thanks. Black.’ He thumps down onto the sofa and leans forward, his head in his hands. He feels the shift and sway as Martin sits gently next to him.

‘Do we have a problem?’

William’s throat constricts at the we. ‘We do,’ he says, grateful for how Martin never lets him feel alone.

Steve puts the coffee onto the little ebony table carved into the shape of an elephant. ‘I’ve got things to do, I’ll see you later.’

‘Thanks, Steve,’ he says.

After a few light bounds down the stairs, the door opens, closes, and then silence.

‘Who’s he?’ William asks. ‘I hope I didn’t interrupt.’

Martin shrugs. ‘Just a friend, don’t worry about it.’ He shifts in his seat to face William. ‘What is it? What’s happened?’

A weight pushes on his chest. He breathes in, sips the strong filter coffee and puts it back on the table. He stares at the pot plant’s two-toned leaves, vivid against the ebony wood.

‘William?’

His eyes wash warm. ‘I’ve left her.’

‘You can stay for a while, on two conditions.’

Martin has come into his bedroom to open the curtains. William covers his eyes as light slices his pillow. He’s obviously slept all night, but as he remembers where he is and why, William feels bone-tired.

‘Thanks. What are they?’

‘You help me with the choir.’ Martin pulls the sash window down an inch and leans against it, arms folded.

‘I’m sorry, Martin.’ He shakes his head. ‘Anything else, just not that.’

‘I could do with the help and there isn’t anything else.’ He has a hint of a smile on his face.

William can’t help but smile back. ‘I don’t have much choice then, do I?’

Martin steps towards the bed and pats William’s leg. ‘Marvellous! OK. I’m off to work. Today’s task is to type up the words for the new songs we’re working on this week. Scores are on the table, next to the typewriter. Then go to the reprographics department at college – one good thing about working in the library – say I sent you, and get twenty copies.’

‘Can I do it tomorrow?’