Turner. Jonathan De Montfort

Still seems easy. Shall we?’

      Upstairs in one of the practice rooms, he sat down at the piano and swallowed dryly. The fur on his tongue had absorbed every drop of moisture in his mouth, and the heat in his face was hoovering the energy from his trembling hands.

      ‘So, any requests?’ he croaked.

      She shrugged. ‘Anything.’

      ‘Well then, I think you’ll like this.’ He launched into Beethoven’s ‘Moonlight Sonata’.

      ‘Whoa,’ she murmured.

      He played all of the most famous part, the part he knew she would be familiar with and appreciate.

      ‘You know, Beethoven was losing his hearing when he composed this piece, and you can hear the sadness in his heart all the way through it.’ He looked out of the window to hide the rush of emotion. ‘Imagine that. You dedicate your whole life to your one true love, your passion, and then through no fault of your own, it’s ripped away from you. I don’t think I could handle that.’

      He glanced back. She was watching him intently with shining eyes.

      ‘This next piece is different.’ His smile trembled as he gathered the music in his head. His throat and chest tightened in antici­pation. Then deliberately, as the piece demanded, he began ‘Meine Freuden’.

      The electricity of the music drew her like a magnet to lean closer over the keyboard.

      ‘It’s beautiful,’ she said.

      She moved sideways so that she was looking directly into his eyes.

      He could nearly feel the heat from her blushing cheeks; he was mesmerised. She closed her eyes and pushed her lips against—

      ‘Whoa, bruv.’ James leaned back, amazed. ‘So your second day at a mixed school, and you got your first kiss? I am so proud of you. C’mere.’ He opened his arms for a hug.

      Hero obliged, wrapping his arms around his brother.

      ‘Growing up fast, eh, buddy?’ James ruffled his hair. ‘So tell me—and I’m pretty certain I know where this is going—what did that have to do with Martin?’

      ‘Well, that day after school, I was putting my books back into my locker . . .’

      ‘Hey, Hero.’

      There was a little laughter. He turned around to see Martin and his three friends.

      ‘I hear you’ve been getting it on with Fi,’ Martin said.

      Wow, good news spread fast. He shrugged and gave what he hoped was a humble, friendly smile.

      ‘Stay away from her. She’s mine.’ Martin loomed over him, blocking what little light there was in the corridor.

      ‘I’m not sure you can really own people, you know.’

      With no warning, Martin shoved him backwards against the lockers and held him there by the throat. Hero struggled for breath. His head felt as if it were going to explode, thumping in time to his heartbeat.

      ‘Don’t talk back to me. Just stay away from her, you little shit.’

      Martin dropped him to the floor and stomped off with his friends.

      ‘So why didn’t you just stay away from her?’ James enquired.

      ‘Well, I did. But then Fi asked me why I was ignoring her. She was worried that I didn’t like kissing her. So I told her that I really enjoyed it and wanted to do it again, but Martin—’

      ‘As I thought,’ James muttered. ‘So she told Martin to leave you alone?’

      Hero nodded.

      ‘And that made him even more angry?’

      He nodded again.

      ‘You’re growing up real fast, bruv. Girls will be the end of us all, you know.’ James paused for a moment, tapping his finger against his lips. ‘Look, from now on, I’ll be watching over you. I’ll always be there to protect you. But just in case I’m a bit late, remember these rules: Sometimes you stand and fight. Sometimes you do nothing. And sometimes you run, brother.’

      Hero dabbed at his lip dubiously. ‘I’ve never seen you run from a fight.’

      ‘I never run from a fight if I know I can win. But trust me, if I was up against four guys who were bigger, stronger, and faster than me, I’d be out of there so fast my knees’d be up by my ears.’

      Hero laughed, and his lip burned. ‘Ahhh, don’t make me laugh. It hurts.’ Sick from the warm taste of blood, he began applying antiseptic cream to his cuts.

      James pointed to more blood at the edge of one nostril. ‘You’re lucky they didn’t break your nose. You’ve still got your looks, at least. Are your hands hurt?’

      Hero held up his hands and wiggled his fingers. ‘All fine.’

      ‘I know what’ll make you feel better. Come on.’ He motioned Hero to follow him.

      They went downstairs to the sitting room, where James sat down at the piano and started playing ‘The Entertainer’. Every so often, he deliberately played out of key and looked at Hero quizzically.

      Hero burst into laughter.

      ‘Come on, bruv, sit down. Join me.’ James scooted to the left side of the piano bench, still playing. Hero took the upper notes, leaving the lower ones to James. They continued playing the song out of key, a task made more difficult by their hilarity.

      ‘You see, bruv? Everything will be okay because we can always laugh together. Let’s try something else.’

      James began the next song. Hero recognised ‘Nuvole Bianche’ and joined in. The notes travelled between them like a wind, an energy moving backward and forward, binding them together. Hero felt as if their combined souls were riding on the ebb and flow of the music.

      As they finished, James slipped an arm around Hero. He responded in kind.

      ‘I’ll always be there for you, bruv,’ James said solemnly, ‘and you’ll always be there for me.’

      The pain and terror of the day ground inside Hero like gears forced to shift without a clutch. Tears welled like oil, a beautiful, warm fluidity that slid up into his throat. The dam inside him broke, and the water tore through the valley of his soul and rushed out though his eyes, burning his face, dripping onto the piano keys. The sheer force of it caused him to shake uncontrollably.

      James wrapped his other arm around Hero to complete the embrace. ‘It’s okay, bruv. Everything’s going to be okay.’

      Finally, the waters subsided. The birds in the valley were still silent with shock, but Hero knew that they would sing again. Soon.

      ‘Go upstairs and lie down. I’ll deal with Dad, okay?’

      Hero nodded in gratitude and headed for the stairs. What would he do without his brother?

      Later that evening there was a knock at the front door. Hero sat down at the top of the stairs, out of sight, as Dad opened it. There was Martin with his father, a man about Dad’s age.

      ‘I’m sorry to bother you,’ said the man, ‘but I believe your son and mine had a fight earlier this evening, and I wondered if we could talk about it.’

      ‘Come in,’ Dad replied.

      How was he always so calm? James too, for that matter.

      Dad led Martin and his father through to the front room. ‘Please, sit down.’

      Martin and his father sat, with Dad following suit in the armchair to their left.

      ‘I prefer Love Island myself.’ Martin’s father grinned as he nodded towards the TV news programme that was summarising