‘But come ye back when summer’s in the meadow,

Or when the valley’s hushed and white with snow.’

The man nods, looks briefly at him, but still doesn’t sing, and after a few seconds starts turning the pages again.

‘David can’t read,’ the man on William’s right says. William is embarrassed at his faux pas and barely acknowledges the comment. ‘He’s deaf,’ the man adds.

‘Oh,’ William mouths back, nodding. He sings along quietly; he doesn’t want to be heard.

‘Right. Let’s get serious about this, shall we?’ Martin’s eyes are bright; he looks even taller and broader than normal. He eyeballs the men, one by one, and extends his hand. ‘Come on. Mean it.’ His hand closes to a fist. ‘Mean it.’ He looks briefly at the lyrics, rests the tips of his fingers over his heart, then seeks out each man’s gaze again. ‘“And I shall hear – I shall hear, though soft you tread above me.”’ His lively eyes sweep the room. ‘“And all my grave will warmer, sweeter be.” Come on. Gentlemen, make me believe it! “For you will bend and tell me that you love me.”’ He pauses again, then adds softly, ‘“And I shall sleep in peace until you come to me.”’

Really, Martin? William thinks. Can any of these men here know they’re loved? Really? Can any of them sleep in peace? But the men are watching Martin. They’re captivated.

‘Let’s do it again, from “And I shall hear”, and remember, don’t leave me in any doubt’ – he glances to the piano – ‘thank you, Jenny.’

They sing it again and from the first syllable, the difference is astonishing. A wave of energy floods the room, powerful and tender.

‘Yes!’ Martin beams, his torso bending and weaving with the music, and William is aware of certain muscles in his face. It’s been a long time since he has smiled like this. And for the final chorus, he lets himself sing like he hasn’t sung for even longer.

‘That’s more like it!’ says Martin, triumphant, looking at William and nodding briefly.

‘Bloody hell,’ says the man next to him, looking at William. They’re all looking at him, they’re all smiling, except David, who’s looking up at one of the windows.

Martin chuckles. ‘It’s a thing of beauty, isn’t it, gentlemen, that voice? Enjoy it while you can.’ He’s still grinning as he dips his head and rifles through the folder. ‘Right! Number six next. “What a Wonderful World”. Ready?’ He looks up and waits for the men to find their music, then nods at Jenny. ‘Here. We. Go!’