Imperfect Harmony by Jay Northcote Page B

and didn’t want to put too much pressure on him.
    “Yes. I played through a few things. There are some good songs in there. If you wanted… maybe I could come with you this afternoon and give it a try?” He looked back over his shoulder and gave Rhys a small smile.
    “That would be brilliant.” Rhys grinned back. “You’ll make one old lady in particular very happy. Thank you.”
    “Don’t thank me yet. You haven’t heard me play.”
     
     
    Rhys and John walked a long loop through the woods while the dogs ran ahead, sniffing out rabbit holes and running back to them every now and again, as though to check they hadn’t strayed. The path led diagonally down a slope to a stream at the bottom of a dip where it was very muddy.
    “I should have worn better shoes!” Rhys grimaced as he picked his way carefully along the edge of the path, trying to avoid the worst of it.
    John, in his sensible walking boots, chuckled. “Yes, sorry. I forgot it was so bad down here. There was a lot of rain earlier in the week.”
    The path turned sharply and led steeply back up the hill. It was wider there and more rocky than muddy, but the thin soles of Rhys’s trainers—built for fashion more than practicality—were slippery with mud.
    “Shit!” he exclaimed as he lurched and nearly fell on his face. John grabbed his arm and held him upright. “Thanks. God, I’m like Bambi on ice. These shoes are crap.”
    John tucked his arm through Rhys’s elbow and kept it there as they made their way up the slope. When they got to the top, Rhys’s heart was pounding. He wasn’t sure whether it was due to the climb or because of John’s proximity and the touch of his arm where he held Rhys steady.
    “Thanks,” Rhys said, suddenly feeling awkward, foolish, and clumsy next to John’s solid strength.
    “You’re welcome.”
    John finally released his arm, and Rhys felt stupidly disappointed at the loss of contact. “I’ll wear some decent shoes next time,” he promised. As soon as the words were out of his mouth, he cringed.
    Who says there’s going to be a next time?
    God, he was an idiot.
    But John gave him a small smile. “That’s a good idea. It’s my fault, anyway. I should have thought before dragging you into the woods.”
    Rhys felt a tingle of excitement at the thought of John dragging him anywhere, but he stopped his wayward imagination in its tracks.
    They emerged from the woods back onto the grassy plateau of the playing fields. The dogs had slowed down now and were looking rather tired. Billy trotted up to John and sat down by his feet.
    “I think Billy’s had enough. I’d better get him home,” John said.
    They walked back across the fields and stopped to put the dogs back on their leads before they had to go their separate ways at the edge of town.
    “So, where shall I meet you this afternoon?” John asked.
    “How about I meet you there? You know where Beech House is?”
    “I’m not sure.”
    “I’ll text you the address. I play at two o’clock for about an hour, give or take. Can you get there just before two?”
    John nodded. “Sure.”
    “Right. Well, I’ll see you then!” Rhys beamed, excited at the prospect.
     
     
    Rhys arrived at one thirty. That gave him a chance to spend some time with his gran before he sang.
    “How are you, Gran?”
    “Oh, not too bad, dear.” She returned his hug and he kissed her tissue-paper cheek. “Same old, same old.”
    He took a seat in the chair beside her, unzipping his jacket and taking it off. The heating was always cranked up to tropical in the home to keep the residents warm. Most of them weren’t very mobile, so they got cold easily. Rhys was still uncomfortably warm, even in the thin T-shirt he was wearing.
    “How’s your choir going?” she asked.
    His gran liked to keep up with his news, so Rhys told her about the songs they were learning this term. Then she quizzed him about his work in schools.
    “The after-school clubs are going really