Page 80 of The Key to My Heart

‘I think it would be so useful,’ he says, ‘for people to be able to construct a song, words, music, everything they’re thinking or feeling … and record it. Have it as a memento. A physical milestone to hold in their hand. You know? Something they’ve achieved, despite whatever they’re going through.’

I smile. Beautiful. Devaj and James’s idea is beautiful, and I feel – fired up. I want to help them. And the thought of helping others to write, makes something ignite inside of me. When I stood at that gig with Joe, I knew I missed it. The rawness of live instruments, the loud and quiet beauty of a song, those minor notes that feel as though they’re speaking right to your poor, bruised heart. But I knew I didn’t want to go back, to stages and sweaty gig circuits, to trying to impress smarmy A and R reps, the second I walked through the door. Though, this –this.Helping others through music. And writing. I do want that. And I haven’t been more sure of anything in a long time.

‘I think it’s an amazing idea, Devaj,’ I say. ‘Truly. And I know enough about song structure and melody to help. And I’d really love to be a part of it. If you need me.’

‘Really?’ Devaj beams, his dark eyes shining. ‘Ah, Natalie, that’d be fantastic. Of course we’d welcome you in with open arms. Can we shake on it? Let’s shake on it.’

‘Of course!’

Devaj grins and takes my hand tightly in his, and we shake, across the gap between our chairs. James from the other side of the room, hunched over a box of cables he’s slowly been entwining into neat rings, smiles over at us.

‘Joe says Dev and I should put a shout-out on Twitter, too,’ he calls over. ‘For people who might be able to help, or even contribute towards the studio time? I mean, we’re no good at social media, are we, mate? But we need to get our arses into gear with it.’

‘Totally,’ I say. ‘That’s a really good idea. Plus, it’s good PR for them. Giving away freebies for the greater good. And when they see one studio’s doing it, the rest follow, can’t help themselves …’

‘True, true,’ grins Devaj. ‘Joe said you’re a smart cookie.’

‘Did he?’ I laugh.

‘Oh, yeah. He’s quite taken with you I think.’ Devaj gives a school-boy smile. ‘What,James? I’m allowed to say that, aren’t I?’

James holds up his hands, two palms in the air like he’s pushing an invisible box. ‘I didn’t say a word …’

‘It’s just, he was so pleased when you turned up here,’ says Devaj. ‘The famous station pianist.Course, he tried to hide it behind all his grump.’ Devaj laughs, as James nods, but rolls his eyes, as if despairing of Devaj and his indiscretion. ‘He’s just been helping here for a while now, Joe. You get to know people.’

‘Joe has?’

‘Yeah, he’s one of our best really,’ says Devaj with a shrug. ‘He’s been through a lot, so people relate to him. And that’s good for them, good for us. Builds trust and that’s what we need. People like you coming here for the help, getting stronger, helping others. It’s like a – lovely food chain, if you will.’ He gives a warm smile, but I freeze, like the air just turned arctic.

‘I – I didn’t realise Joe volunteered. I thought he came here. Like me.Fortherapy.’

‘Oh, he used to,’ says Devaj, casually. ‘And I suppose still does, technically, we all do. But he mostly just enjoys helping us out. You know Joe. Likes to fix people, instead of himself.’

‘I mean … I know he does volunteering at a hospital.’

‘Yeah, that’s right. The place over in North, where his brother was? Yeah, he’s a good guy, is Joe. I just kind of wish he gave himself the same amount of attention as he gives to others. But we all have our own stuff to overcome, I suppose.’ Devaj smiles, then pats two hands on his trousered thighs. ‘Right, then. Shall I print you off a copy of my plan for the workshop? So you can take it home, make some notes of your own …’

I nod rigidly, as Devaj bounces off out of the main room to the little office next to the kitchen. And I feel – sick all of a sudden. Like my stomach is on a spin cycle. Joe never told mehe volunteeredat NMT. He never once saidhe didn’t,but he talked about how he was a ‘therapy over-achiever’, that he’d tried everything, and all those in between too. Why wouldn’t he have said hehelps here, even just once, in all the conversations we’ve had? And what Devaj said –‘He tries to fix other people.’Does he? Is that all he was doing with me? Trying tofix me?The festival. The gig. The bloody record shopping.

Rain buckets down outside, the noise drumming louder and louder on the glass, like thousands of tiny fists trying to break through. James twists another cable, slowly and silently behind me, into a large ‘o’.

Blood whooshes in my ears, my heart thumps.

There’s something else niggling at me too, teasing apart a tangle in my brain.‘The place over in North.’That’s what Devaj said. Melrose. Melrose hospital was where Russ was. And Melrose hospital is in North London. But surely—

‘Bloody printer.’ Devaj appears then, a piece of paper in his hands. ‘Got there eventually, though.’

‘Is it Melrose?’ I blurt.

‘S-sorry?’

‘Where Joe volunteers?’ My mouth is so dry, I feel like my throat is coated in tacky glue.

‘Oh. Yeah, that’s right, yes.’

My heart stops in my chest then. I can’t speak. Russ was at Melrose.Tannerwas at Melrose. And Joe never told me – not once.Imentioned Melrose, I know I did. So, why wouldn’t he tell me? Surely it would be easier to share it, than not? And if he hasn’t – why hasn’t he? My hands start to shake in my lap, cold and clammy. God, what is happening?Why would he not say?Because if Tanner died not long after Russ, then – they could have very easily been in the hospital together. At the same time.

‘Natalie?’ Devaj crosses the floor towards me, in two strides, and bends slightly, to catch my eye, here on the chair. ‘Natalie, are you all right?’

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