‘We have erred, and strayed from Thy ways like lost sheep. We have followed too much the devices and desires of our own hearts.’ On a usual Wednesday evensong, the dean’s words are answered with a smattering of subdued responses. Today the swollen congregation booms back at him. ‘We have offended against Thy holy laws. We have left undone those things which we ought to have done; and we have done those things which we ought not to have done; and there is no health in us.’

If only he could undo the things he ought not to have done recently. As the congregation thunders its way through the Lord’s Prayer, Uncle Robert and Howard still look uncomfortable. His mother remains focused on William, with what Martin would call her slices-of-fruit smile.

With not so much as a glance at Phillip, William sings the responses he has sung hundreds of times.

‘O Lord, open Thou our lips.

And our mouth shall shew forth Thy praise.

O God, make speed to save us.

O Lord, make haste to help us.

Glory be to the Father, and to the Son, and to the Holy Ghost;

As it was in the beginning, is now, and ever shall be:

world without end. Amen.

Praise ye the Lord.’

The congregation sits and there’s a settling, a concentration of focus onto the choristers. The main event. In the silence, William opens his music, and for the first time in four years, approaches a solo without his eyes locked onto Phillip’s.

A nudge from Martin and a split second late, he joins in.

‘Miserere mei, Deus …’ Trebles, tenors and basses blend, like the easy flow of water over pebbles in a stream. Have mercy on me, O God.

Uncle Robert is looking at William now.

William pulls his attention back to Phillip and notices how tight his choirmaster’s face is and how intense his gaze on him. He stays for two bars.

‘Secundum magnam,’ they sing in unison.

Now the tenors lead – ‘misericordiam’ – now basses, now trebles, whose rising voices hint at their imminent, startling ascent.

But William can’t help himself. Evelyn, Robert and Howard are all watching him intently. He sings with the trebles and basses as they weave together, silken and soft into the gently stretched close of the line, ‘Tuuuu-aaaam.’ According to your great kindness.

Back to Phillip, whose eyes are fierce now, demanding his attention, but they’re in the first deep basket of silence and after that, the basses have another whole line before they even get to him.

Evelyn still has no idea. She gives him a gentle nod.

‘Et secundum multitudinem miserationum tuarum.’ The plainsong blossoms, powerful and mellow, filling the chapel. According to the multitude of Your mercies.

What’s Howard doing, rummaging at his feet? Uncle Robert is reaching forward to his mother; he wants her to know they’re there, before he sings.