‘I know,’ she said after a moment, leaning on his shoulder. Then she pulled out of his embrace. ‘I’ll try harder, but I’ll tell you this: if Howard ever sticks a bunch of red tulips in my face again, I’ll not be held accountable for what I do with them!’

Dad laughed then, and though William didn’t get the joke he was relieved it was all OK again.

A couple of weeks later, William was telling his dad about a teacher scolding a boy in his class. The boy had tutted, sending the teacher off into an even worse rage. When the boy was eventually allowed back to his desk, he sat down, and after a couple of seconds’ silence, he tutted again.

‘And?’ William’s dad said, eyes wide. ‘Did she explode?’

William nodded.

‘Like a red rag to a bull,’ his dad said.

‘What?’

‘It means something that’s sure to make someone angry. If you flash a red rag in front of a bull, it will charge at you.’

William nodded again. ‘Like a red tulip to Mum.’

His dad started laughing, and that glorious thing happened; something ignited, and they kept going till they could barely breathe and their stomachs hurt.

20

By the time December arrives, moist and grey, and the walks to and from college are in the dark, William is enjoying himself. The putting on of his cassock and the graceful, weighty swing of the gown at his ankles makes him excited and eager to get to morning practice, or even better, evensong. With Martin at his side, talking, laughing and singing their way from school to college, scrunching down the gravel avenue towards the chapel, William’s heart expands to make space for his new home. The classrooms, the austere dorm, and the dining hall heavy with its smells, are no longer strange to him and have no more nasty surprises, but it’s in the chapel that he feels himself expanding. It’s in here he is often so happy, so full up with joy, he has to wiggle his toes and fingers to stop himself laughing, or whooping or bouncing up and down.

‘I know it’s just a building, but it doesn’t feel like just a building,’ he tried to explain to Martin once.

‘My dad doesn’t care much about church, but he says that coming to hear us sing is like being hugged by God,’ Martin offered. ‘Is it like that?’

‘Sort of, but the chapel feels like itself, not God. Bigger and older than us, but still letting us join in with a great game it’s been playing for hundreds of years.’

Martin shook his head and laughed, but as usual, it made William feel better, not worse about what he’d said.

‘Don’t tell anyone else, but when I’m singing, it feels like the chapel is smiling at me.’