Heartbreak

My husband, Ryan, would be furious if he knew I was here. I’d broken my promise not to see this young man again, but I had to see him one more time. 

The choir shuffled noisily onto the stage – not quite the grand entrance their director of music would have wished for. A few younger men broke up the ranks of grey-haired chaps fumbling with their song sheets, but most of them were nearer my age, in their early forties. They were dressed in an assortment of rainbow colours, befitting a predominately gay choir. 

It was to be an evening of Show Tunes and Music from the Movies as part of the Brighton Festival. Old favourites such as “Do-Re-Mi” and hits from Cabaret were mixed up with Bond themes and other movies I’d never heard of. It was the staple diet for most community choirs throughout the country. But I hadn’t come to listen to the music, I’d come to see him.

I settled into the third row, hoping nobody would recognise me. Two children next to me waved excitedly at one of the guys that lived nearby. He waved back and for a moment I thought he’d spotted me. I slid down in my seat with the freshly printed programme held close to my face. That heady, inky aroma took me back to my first kiss in the stationery cupboard at St Josephs.

Several of the guys on stage know me quite well. I used to sing in the choir when it was first formed and still attended most of their concerts. They’d be bound to tell Ryan if they saw me. We’d been the focus of their gossip for several months now. Conversations would abruptly change when I entered the room, and friends I’d known for ages would avoid me. I guess it was easier for them, and if I’m honest I didn’t want to discuss it.

My heart sank when I realised the object of my obsession was nowhere to be seen. I wasn’t even sure if he was singing tonight. Daniel had one of those voices that made people sit up and listen. He sang from the heart and you could see the passion in his eyes. What if I’d snuck out of the house for no reason at all? 

A few latecomers shuffled onto the stage in the back row. Then I saw him beaming out into the audience. I bit my knuckle to hold back a little gasp. 

Daniel was in his early twenties, a few years older than my son. What would Ben say if he knew I was fixated on this young man about to burst into song? He’d accuse me of stalking him. Ben had been four years old when we’d adopted him. He’d changed our lives in so many ways. It couldn’t have been easy being the only kid with two dads at the school gate, but it never seemed to bother him.

I took off my corduroy jacket to cool down; the heat faded from my cheeks. Daniel shielded his green eyes from a shaft of sunlight that highlighted his torso. He had a swimmer’s physique with broad shoulders and a tiny waist. The top few buttons of his crisp white shirt were undone. I wanted to gently stroke his chest with my fingers.

He lifted his song sheet and sang a nervous rendition of “Somewhere Over The Rainbow”, harmonising with the other tenors as best he could. It was not his voice I so admired. I just wanted to feel the warmth of his skin again and rest my head on his body one more time.

The audience clapped enthusiastically and the choir director introduced the next song, but my gaze never left Daniel’s face. He pushed aside his fringe of curly black hair and made a comment to a fellow choir member; they both tried to stifle their laughter.

The choir director was not impressed and stared intently at the young men. Then the guys on stage fell quiet as their leader took his place at the piano. Music from a long-forgotten musical filled my ears and I took a moment to admire Daniel’s posture and square shoulders. Was he a policeman or a soldier? I felt embarrassed that after all this time I still knew so little about him. I knew he was from Brighton, loved motorbikes and show tunes. He’d probably told me what he did for a job, but I was sobbing when we last met so can’t really remember much at all.

It had been a few days after his heart operation. They’d only allowed family to see him at first, and then they’d said I could come and visit. I don’t remember how I got to the hospital, but I do remember asking if I could touch his chest. He’d looked embarrassed about the large scar that was still healing and turned his head away. My fingers had trembled as I slid them along the angry red slash. I’d muttered that I was sorry and had pulled my hand away, but he gently held it in his own before putting it back onto his beating heart. 

“It’s okay,” he’d said. “Really, it’s okay. I’m glad you came over tonight.”

I’d kissed him on the cheek and his emerald eyes glistened as one small tear escaped onto the pillow of his hospital bed. I’d wanted to tell him so many things about Ben: how he’d always talked about organ donation and had teased his younger sister for not carrying a donor card; how he’d also loved to sing; and that he’d hated muesli but loved cheese on toast covered in blackcurrant jam. I’d wanted to tell him how handsome he’d looked on the night of the accident, dressed in his DJ, as he’d left to go to the charity ball. I’d wanted to tell him all the things I’d never said to Ben. I’d wanted to scream. I’d wanted to die.

Daniel had nestled my hand in his and held it tight as I slumped in the chair by his bed. The clock on the wall ticked the seconds away. I couldn’t speak and my head spun from the mix of antiseptics with the freshly cut flowers from his friends and family.

“They said it was a perfect match. Do you want to hear it?”

I’d eased open his pyjama top and laid my head on his ribcage. I’d closed my eyes and listened to Ben’s beating heart leading the orchestra of this man’s journey back from the brink of death; it urged every muscle of his fine young body to repair itself as his liver and spleen danced to the rhythm of life. The beat had grown stronger, demanding his broken bones to heal, and I’d known Ben was there in the room as I’d hugged Daniel and wept.

I’d wiped the tears from my eyes and looked at this brave young man with his whole life ahead of him. I hated him for not being Ben, but Ben was now part of this man’s life and I wanted to be part of it too. Was that wrong? I’d argued with my husband about going to the hospital each day. Ryan was still in denial. He couldn’t even go into Ben’s room, and hated himself for encouraging him to buy a motorbike. 

“You’ve got to let go!” he’d yelled at me. “He’s gone. Head smashed in, and it’s all my fault.” Nothing I said could change his mind. I knew he needed time to grieve. We all did. We couldn’t live Ben’s life for him, or die his death for him. Everyone had their own path to follow and at some point it would come to an end.

The sound of applause dragged me back from my memories of that day. I’d completely missed the last song and joined in the clapping a little too enthusiastically. 

There was muttering and tutting as someone slid along the row and sat beside me. It was Ryan. He said nothing and reached out his hand. I gave him a quick peck on the cheek and mouthed the words, “I’m so glad you came.”

The choir director announced that the final song would be a solo from Titanic. There was a murmur of appreciation among the crowd, and then Daniel stepped forward to the front of the choir. 

He was yards away from us now. I could smell his aftershave: Grapefruit Cologne by Jo Malone. It’s the same brand Ben used to wear – uplifting and refreshing. Daniel buttoned up his shirt and planted his feet firmly on the parquet flooring. 

“This next song is dedicated to Ben Watkins, who sadly can’t be with us tonight, and to his parents and my good friends, Gareth and Ryan.” He turned towards us, his lip quivering. He swallowed hard and regained his composure. 

Daniel took a deep breath and continued, “The song is called ‘My Heart Will Go On’ by Celine Dion.”