The Piano Man Project Page 0,123

cab on the day of the protest, but the spur of the moment choice had actually been exactly what he’d needed. Leaving only once to go home and collect his things, he’d spent his days totally off the grid, cranked back in the armchair listening to the radio, not bothering to retune it from Billy’s preferred choice of Radio Four. He listened to late-night ghost stories, became well acquainted with the residents of Ambridge on The Archers, and found himself strangely soothed by the cadence of the shipping forecast in the early hours. It felt as if his life in the flat opposite Honey had been good training for this more extreme version of the same.

‘Stilton and grapes today, old bean,’ Billy said. ‘And I’ve managed to rustle us up a dram of port to go with them.’

‘That’s almost sophisticated,’ Hal smiled, righting his chair and sliding his dark glasses on.

He folded his blanket away as he listened to Billy unpack the food.

‘I looked in on Honey just now,’ Billy said.

Hal lived for and dreaded the daily report in equal measure.

‘How’s she doing today?’

Billy’s quiet moment unnerved him.

‘Poor thing looks as if she needs a good dinner. No colour in her cheeks at all.’

‘But she’s okay?’

Every day Hal looked for reassurance in Billy’s words, and every day it wasn’t quite there. She’s bearing up, or she’s quiet, or she’s pale. How long would it be before Billy reported that she was laughing again, or getting herself into the kind of scrapes only Honey could get into?

‘I think she’d be a damn sight better if she knew you were here,’ Billy said.

‘She wouldn’t,’ Hal said, accepting the plate that Billy put in his hands. He’d been on an eclectic diet since he’d moved into the potting shed, and had almost grown accustomed to sneaking in Billy’s bathroom window for a midnight shower.

‘I never married, Hal,’ Billy said suddenly. ‘Never settled.’

‘You seem happy enough,’ Hal said mildly.

Billy’s throat rattled. ‘I made the best of it, son, like we all do. Doesn’t mean I don’t regret some of the decisions I made over the years though.’

Hal heard the healthy glug of port as Billy poured it into the plastic cups.

‘Can’t go back and change ’em, though,’ Billy reflected. ‘And you might just spend the rest of your life wishing you could.’

‘Is this your roundabout way of telling me you think I’m making the wrong decision, Billy?’

Hal lifted the port to his lips and let the comforting heat fill his mouth.

‘I’m old, Hal. You get to this age, you know what matters.’

‘And what’s that?’

Billy huffed. ‘People. Hanging on to the ones who make you happy.’

Hal slid his cup onto the table. ‘You make it sound so simple.’

The creaking sound told Hal that Billy had reclined his chair.

‘That’s because it is simple, son. It’s easy as pie. You figure out who makes you happy, and then you work your backside off to make them happy too.’

‘We’re too different, Billy.’ Hal sighed, his heart heavy. ‘Honey … she’s kind, and soft, and she laughs more than anyone I’ve ever known.’

‘Not anymore she doesn’t,’ Billy said, not pulling any punches.

‘She will.’

‘Have you lost your mind as well as your eyesight, lad?’ Billy said brusquely. ‘It’s not obligatory to go through life bloody miserable, and you’re not doing her some huge favour by denying yourself, and her, the chance to be happy.’

Hal wasn’t offended by Billy’s words. He needed to hear them. He’d been living in suspended animation ever since he’d walked out on Honey over a week earlier, knowing he should go away, yet doing nothing to make it happen. He couldn’t live forever in Billy’s potting shed, but he wasn’t sure he could live forever without Honey either.

Billy cleared his throat. ‘You’ve wallowed long enough, son. It’s time to sink or swim.’

‘What if she sinks with me, Billy?’

‘She won’t, Hal. She’s your life jacket.’

CHAPTER FORTY

‘Billy’s throwing a Halloween party?’ Honey said a few days later, pulling a pained face at Mimi. Anything that included the word party was strictly off the menu at the moment. She couldn’t go to parties. Parties suggested fun and gaiety, and that was hard when you’d had your heart amputated less than three weeks ago. She was lucky to be breathing.

‘It’s only for an hour when the shop closes,’ Mimi said. ‘Humour him, or else we’ll never hear the end of it.’

Lucille appeared with a cobweb lace black dress in her hands from fresh stock that she was sorting through in