Page 98 of Sing it, Sam

I throw my arms around her and give her a squeeze. “You did this?”

Kathleen holds me at arm’s length. She turns her head to Sam and then back to me. “I’ll let Sam tell you all about it. Paige and I will set up afternoon tea for two o’clock, so you don’t have to do anything else. After that, take the rest of the day off, Jane.”

A loud sigh escapes my mouth and my shoulders drop. “You’re the best.”

I have the most understanding boss in the world. All morning I’d been stewing over how hellish the rest of the day was going to be knowing that Sam was only hours from leaving, and I was going to be stuck at my desk.

Kathleen chuckles and makes her way to the side of the room, where Sally-Anne is waiting. She lifts her chin and smiles at me.

I move over to where Sam entered so I’m not standing in the way of the action. Sam leans over and says something to the guitarist. They nod.

“This is Shaun on guitar, everyone,” Sam says, and motions his open palm towards the man. “Let’s give him a warm Willow Creek Nursing Home welcome.”

I laugh to myself. Sam is in his element. It’s an incredible sight.

As the crowd claps in polite appreciation, Shaun strums a slow tune. It almost sounds like an ambulance the way it alternates between high and low.

The guitar is thrust into song. It’s a fast beat, and I know the tune, but I can’t put my finger on the name of the song.

I place my finger and thumb in front of my lips and let out a piercing wolf whistle. “Sing it, Sam!” I shout and clap with vigour.

Sam smiles as bright as the midday sun and shakes his head as he laughs. His knuckles whiten as he grips the microphone in his right hand, bringing it to rest near his chin. “Right-O, you crazy cats, let’s start with something a little upbeat,” Sam says in a playful tone.

Mrs Cassidy stands up from the end of the front row and places her hands either side of her mouth to make a funnel. “Are you talking about my cat? Have you seen her?” she calls out, then looks around the room as if she’s wondering if anyone else heard him say that.

Oh lord, that woman. Now is not the time to be searching for her ghostly feline friend.

I sneak over to her and lean in until my mouth is within close range of her ear. “He was talking about crazy hats, Mrs Cassidy,” I lie.

She looks amongst the sea of residents. “I have the perfect hat in my room,” she says and power-walks into the hall.

Shaking my head in disbelief, I dump my bag on the floor and take her seat in between Frederick and Bob.

“I think some of you might know this one,” Sam says in a deep voice. “A little something from The Easybeats, nineteen-sixty-six. ‘Friday On My Mind’.”

He closes his eyes. His voice is croaky to start as he sings about everyone nagging him, and feeling better on Tuesday. When he starts singing about going out in the city and his girl being so pretty, his dreamy blue eyes narrow in on me. I swallow, trying to keep myself from turning to fangirl mush at his feet.

Looking around, I see some of the crowd sways in their seats, and some clap in time to the music. I find Frederick staring at me, a sly grin on his face.

I lean in closer to him. “What?” I say quietly.

“That boy is head over heels for you, young lass,” he says. “Can’t say I blame him, either.”

“Aw, you’re too sweet,” I say, and divert my attention back to Sam.

Before too long the song is over and Shaun starts playing another tune.

“This is ‘Love Me Two Times’ by The Doors,” Sam announces. His voice is gravelly when it needs to be, and soft when the lyrics back off. My heart swells to capacity with every line, verse and hum that falls from Sam’s beautiful mouth.

The song ends and everyone applauds. No one in this room is prouder than me. I’m sure of it. Witnessing someone who’s beaten themselves up finally push forward is like watching a dream come to life. Baby steps for Sam will soon become giant leaps. I know it, and by the strength in his voice and the conviction with which he sings each word, I know Sam Marshall believes it too. He can get back to where he was.

Sam takes a long swig from the water bottle on the table beside him and then takes a moment to catch his breath as the clapping continues.

“Don’t think I can call him Mr Trouble anymore, Jane,” Frederick says, and bumps his shoulder against mine.

I bite back tears and sniff. “I think you’re right.”

“The kid’s alright in my book,” Mr Blandford says in a husky voice on my other side.

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