Chapter Twenty
The following Friday night, rain streaked hard against the windscreen, blurring the amber glow of the church hall windows into watery smears. William sat in the driver’s seat with the engine idling, the wipers sweeping steadily across the glass. It was just after nine.
He leaned back against the headrest, a travel mug of lukewarm tea resting in the cupholder beside him. The house was secure — the scullery latch checked twice, the younger four tucked into bed under his parents’ watch — yet everything in him remained anchored to this car park.
His gaze kept drifting toward the heavy wooden doors. Each glance carried the same quiet prayer: that Ethan would step out with the bright energy he had carried home from his first night at youth group, that this place would keep giving him room to breathe, to grow, to be fourteen again.
Then the double doors swung open.
Warm light spilled into the rainy dark, catching the sheen of wet tarmac.
A rush of sound followed — the thud of a basketball from somewhere inside, laughter ricocheting off the corridor walls, and the faint scent of toast drifting from the kitchen.
A cluster of teenagers poured into the damp air, shrugging on raincoats and calling goodbyes.
William’s chest tightened with a familiar protectiveness. He leaned forward slightly, scanning the doorway.
Ethan appeared with his hood down, talking easily with Simon.
He gestured animatedly as they crossed the wet tarmac, his long limbs moving with an ease William had seen grow week by week.
Christopher followed them, waving an empty bag of tortilla chips like a flag as he shouted a final instruction to the group.
Before William even reached for the door handle, Ethan broke from the cluster and headed straight for the passenger side. He pulled the door open, a rush of cool, rain-scented air filling the cabin as he slid into the seat and clicked his seatbelt.
“Hey, Dad,” Ethan said.
William took in the brightness in his son’s eyes — sharp, alive, unmistakable.
“Hey, Ethan,” he replied, easing the car into gear and pulling out of the car park. “How was it? Not too loud?”
“It was loud,” Ethan admitted, a faint flush rising in his cheeks, but his voice carried a lively spark William hadn’t heard in months.
“But it was brilliant. When I walked in, Simon was wrestling with a heap of XLR cables behind the sound desk — worse than last week. It looked as though someone had tipped a bowl of spaghetti across the floor after Sunday’s service. I helped him sort the whole lot.”
Relief loosened something deep inside William. “Good man. Glad you could help.”
“It gets better.” Ethan turned sideways in his seat, his usual reserve forgotten.
“Christopher gathered everyone around the sofas because he wants us to put together a proposal for our own youth hub near the harbour stalls. Simon and the church band want to do a live acoustic concert by the water, but Simon can’t set up the stage, manage the sound and perform at the same time. ”
Ethan took a breath, excitement spilling over. “Christopher asked whether anyone knew how to run an audio desk. Simon said I’d picked things up quickly over the last few weeks, and asked if I’d run the laptop links and keep an eye on the input levels during the concert, if the proposal’s approved.”
Emotion rose in William — sharp and warm — tightening his throat. He kept his eyes on the winding dark of Sandy Lane.
“Sounds as though they chose the right person,” he said.
Ethan’s smile flashed in the passenger window, and he launched straight into explaining how he would route the cables. William listened, letting his son’s excitement fill the car. He had waited so long to hear him sound fourteen again.