‘No,youplaymesomething. I’m the one who needs cheering up.’
His eyes widen and his dimples appear. ‘Emotional blackmail!’
I laugh and pull out the stool, perching at one end and patting the space beside me.
‘Do you want to hear something I’ve been working on?’ he asks a little hesitantly, sliding onto the stool beside me and passing me his coffee cup to hold.
‘A song?’ I ask excitedly. ‘For your band?’
‘No, for me.’
‘I didn’t realise you wrote.’
‘Of course I write. I write for the band first and foremost, but I also write for myself, the sort of stuff we wouldn’t play.’
‘Like what?’
He places his long, slender fingers on the keys and after a moment’s pause begins to play a lilting, melancholy tune. I can barely breathe as I sit there soaking it up. He stops playing abruptly just as my nose begins to prickle.
‘Why did you stop?’ I ask.
‘That’s as far as I’ve got.’
‘It’s beautiful.’
His eyes are cast downwards, and I’m mesmerised by the glint of turquoise beneath his dark lashes.
‘Does it have lyrics?’ I ask.
‘A few. But I’m not going to sing them.’ He casts me a bashful grin. ‘Come on, show me upstairs.’ He nudges my leg and stands up.
We head up the stairs to Michael’s old bedroom, which faces onto the street; it’s neat and tidy, with twin beds for holiday rentals. Opposite, on the other side of the corridor, is a large family bathroom, and then I’m opening my bedroom door.
‘Still looks pretty much the same,’ he notes and suddenly the space feels very small.
I close the door and move on to the last room at the end of the corridor, which used to belong to my parents. It has the best light of the upstairs rooms, with windows facing out to the garden on three sides.
‘It must have been so hard, clearing everything away for rentals,’ Finn murmurs, looking around.
‘You have no idea.’ I pause. ‘Or maybe you do.’
We’ve never really talked about what it was like to lose his mother at the age of fifteen.
He sighs and nods. ‘I probably have a better idea thanmost, but we didn’t own our place. And I had some help clearing out Mum’s things.’
‘Your grandparents?’
‘Yeah. Did anyone help you?’
‘My uncle offered when he came from Spain for the funeral, but I wasn’t ready to do it then.’
‘Of course you weren’t.’
‘And Michael came over a few times, but I don’t think either of us is very good at handling the other’s grief. If I got upset about something, it would set him off and vice versa. In the end, I figured it would be easier if I just cracked on by myself. He didn’t seem to mind.’ I tilt my head to one side. ‘You said you didn’t want to go to the beach at Perranporth yesterday. That’s where you used to live, right?’
‘Yep,’ he replies tersely, walking over to the window and staring down at my converted studio. ‘I keep trying to psyche myself up.’
‘Do you want someone to go with you?’ I ask.
