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I placed my hands on the keys, closed my eyes, and took a deep breath.

CHAPTER FIVE

MAC

The first time I saw Frankie, he’d presented as a kid looking after his little brother, a kid still being controlled by his mother, no matter what he liked to think.

But seeing him sitting at the piano, there was a resilience inside him, an energy that thrummed through his body. It trembled, not from the cold, but from the pure excitement of being there.

He might have thought he had nothing else going for him, but I knew before he even played a note that this was where he was meant to be.

I stared at his profile, so perfect in its beauty. The slight scar above his eyebrow, the dappling of freckles on his face, so faint you could barely see them. The puffiness of his lips, so pink, so supple.

And those eyes. They were closed now, dark lashes resting on pale cheeks, but I couldn’t forget the first time I saw them and how they’d dulled when his mother spoke to him in such a hateful way.

Tonight, they shone like glowing emeralds in the night. I shook my head. There was me talking about them like they were jewels to be cherished. And maybe they were. Maybe tonight was the start of a beautiful friendship, and God knows, we needed to be friends.

I watched with rapt attention as he played, his fingers skipping across the keys, his eyes still closed. Exquisite music echoed in the station's quiet. A few late-night revellers stopped, and the cleaner paused his sweeping to listen.

The classical piece was one I recognised but couldn’t name. Doleful and sad, the melody lingered in my mind, bringing forth emotions I’d long forgotten. Emotions I’d tucked away, hoping to never experience again.

Loss, despair, anguish.

But the delicate way he brushed the keys, with sensitivity and reverence, Frankie knew about music. Despite never having a lesson in his life, he understood the soulfulness of the piece he played.

Caught up in the music, his body swaying gently with the rhythm, he hadn’t noticed a small gathering of people, even at this hour.

The last train must have rolled through, depositing travellers from goodness knows where. Music made people stop. Passionate music made people listen.

Finally, he played the last note. You could have heard a pin drop; it was so quiet.

He opened his eyes and gazed at the people around us as they broke into applause. He blushed and lowered his eyes. Who knew the station would be so busy this time of night, but I really think it had to do with Frankie.

Stunned into silence, he stood and took a small bow before grabbing my arm and rushing away.

“Why didn’t you tell me all these people were here?” he asked as we left the station.

“I didn’t want to disturb you. You were in a world of your own. It seemed like sacrilege to take you out of it.” Dare I tell him I couldn’t take my eyes off him?

He was so beautiful, his face serene as he played each note. He’d made love to the piano, eliciting music that reached into your soul with each key he touched.

“What did you think?” Finally, away from the scrutiny, we slowed our pace. A warm breeze blew his hair, and he reached behind him and tied it up.

“I thought it was hypnotic, poignant, expressive. And you’ve never taken a lesson in your life?” I always found it hard to believe that people could play like that, but Frankie was proof it was possible.

“No, never. I barely went to school. Bunked off whenever I could.”

“So… how?”

He shrugged. “I just hear the music in my head. It’s like TV adverts; I can recite them word for word, and as for songs, it doesn’t take me long to learn all the lyrics. Gran says it’s a skill. Mum says it’s a waste of time.”

Of course she would. “I thought you were brilliant.”

“Really? Thank fuck for that. I rarely play for people, just for me.”

“I’m honoured,” I said. “And I’d love to hear you play again.”

“Well, unless we’re going to spend a lot of time at Gran’s or the train station, you’ll have to wait.” His phone buzzed in his pocket, and he heaved a sigh. “That’ll be Mum again. I suppose I should go home.”