From the rectory garden came a cacophony of shouting followed by the clink of glasses. They were toasting the baby. The band struck up again: swaying notes, leisurely and syncopated; and suddenly a woman’s voice hung languidly above them, pure and vibrant even through the distortions of the loudspeaker system. The crowd instantly hushed, as though she’d waved a magic wand.
‘Ah,’ said the rector. ‘ “Summertime.” This’ll be worth listening to. Long, hot days in Catfish Row.’
The stranger seemed transfixed. ‘She’s good, isn’t she?’
‘She certainly is.’
‘I’ve seen her on YouTube.’
‘Oh, yes.’ Angus inclined his head. ‘Of course.’
Neither spoke again for some time. They listened quietly as the unseen singer conjured a mood of longing, of hope and love. The beautiful lullaby was nearing its end when the young man got to his feet, brushing thistledown from his knees.
‘Thank you,’ he said. ‘I can go now.’
Angus stood too and held out a hand. ‘Come and see us if you’re ever passing through.’
‘Thanks.’ The young man took the proffered hand and held it for a moment. ‘But I don’t think I’ll pass this way again.’
The song ended. Cheers and clapping swelled to greet its final notes, and over the loudspeaker echoed a woman’s joyful laughter.
The young man stood listening, with a distant smile. Then he turned, and strode down the path towards the main road. He didn’t look back.
Freeing Grace Page 38
