“Not really, no. I’ve got cancer. Stage four: breast, liver, lymph nodes, lung. The doctors think I’ve got about three months left. I haven’t wanted to make it public—I’m sure you can appreciate why.”

She might have said more but horror was spreading across Ben’s face like ink on blotting paper.

“God, Audrey, I’m so sorry. I had no idea. I don’t know what to say. Should you really be here? Shouldn’t you be—I don’t know—at home resting or something?”

Audrey couldn’t help smiling. “I joined the choir to escape unnecessary fussing. I’m more than well enough to take part this evening so please don’t worry. I wouldn’t miss it for the world.”

It was only as she spoke that Audrey realized the truth of it. Waiting to go onstage, she finally allowed herself to acknowledge how much she’d been looking forward to the concert, how much she’d been holding on to it with both hands, determined not to let the opportunity slip from her grasp. There had been so many times over the past three months when she’d thought she might not make it, when she’d feared the cancer would beat her to the finish line. But here she was, about to head out onto one of the most famous stages in the world, and there was nothing she’d let get in her way.

“Well, I’m very glad to hear it. We wouldn’t want to do it without you. But I really am very sorry. If there’s anything I can do to help—not just tonight, but whenever—you will let me know, won’t you?”

Audrey nodded, and as they exchanged a rueful smile, she had an uncanny feeling that she would know Ben for the rest of her life, however fleeting that might be.

“But what about you? That day at rehearsal before I fainted, you were in the middle of telling me about your family and I feel bad we haven’t had a chance to talk about it since. I wanted to say how sorry I am about your son. I don’t think there’s anything worse for a parent than losing a child.” Audrey was conscious of her airways narrowing, of a struggle between her desire to say more and her fear that she simply couldn’t.

Ben stared at her, unblinking, and Audrey felt sure he was going to turn around and walk away. But then he took a deep breath and began to speak. “There’s no need to apologize. I haven’t wanted to talk about it for five years so there’s no reason anyone else should.”

Something in Ben’s voice—a thin shard of light edging around the frame of a closed door—emboldened Audrey to continue. “Well, if ever you did want to talk about it, I don’t think I’d be the world’s worst listener.”

Ben glanced at her, then down at the floor, his body quite still, and it seemed to Audrey that she could see the grief leaking out of him, a vapor rising from his skin like a plume of gas from the surface of a distant moon.