The volume in the stadium was overwhelming and indescribable. If this was a work site, Pete would be mandating protective ear defenders for everyone, but looking around him, he could see that this was not a concern for the twenty thousand people who were currently singing Take That’s ‘Could It Be Magic’ at the top of their voices.
He had agreed to come reluctantly, but even despite the inevitable hearing loss that he anticipated tomorrow, he was glad that he had conceded. He knew all of the songs, at any rate; more than thirty years of life with Patience had seen to that, and the sheer joy on the faces of those around him was infectious. And while he wasn’t exactly dancing, his feet were tapping, unseen by anyone except Louise to his left, who leaned in just then and planted a kiss on his cheek.
They were here to celebrate the end of a landmark year. It was one he wouldn’t like to live through again, that was certain, but it had brought unexpected blessings, too. One of those, little Orla, now two months, was at home in Kidlington with a trusted babysitter. She was tiny, blonde and fierce, a whirlwind of mess and laughter.
Eliza seemed to have taken to motherhood with ease, and he hoped that from now on she would signal to them if she was unhappy. But he instinctively felt that things were different now. She seemed more honest; there was less front – and her confidence, which had been at an all-time low several months ago, seemed to be building. She had been talking about setting herself up as a freelance PR consultant, and his brother Steve was keen to get her to work her magic on his business. He hoped she would be OK.
And there was another reason for her improved state of mind, of course. Pete could see that Eliza’s hand was currently resting in Jimmy’s back pocket. That partnership had been a surprise for all of them – Eliza included, he thought – but it was having an extraordinary effect on her. His eldest daughter, previously so reserved, so independent, so closed-off, was now an emotional open house, loving wildly, fiercely and without fear. The relief he felt about this was palpable.
Sitting on the other side of Jimmy, was Patience. She had asked for a good seat this year (apparently the disabled ones she’d been allocated for the previous show had not been up to her expected standards) and he was gratified to see that she had a broad smile on her face. The counselling she was now having, combined with antidepressants, was bringing her out of the darkness. These seats were close to the front and they had a price tag to match, but Pete simply didn’t care. She had been so recently plagued by nightmares he was only just beginning to understand, and he was so grateful to be able to give her something that brought her this much joy.
It had been an incredible shock to discover that she had been so aware for all of those years. He had experienced a cocktail of emotions when they’d discovered the truth. Mostly, he had felt ashamed. How could he call himself her father and not really know his daughter, at all? He struggled to even imagine what she had gone through in three decades of silence and the things she had witnessed, had heard. He thought of the many occasions when he and Louise had argued in front of her, about her. He was astonished that she still wanted anything to do with any of them.
And yet she did. In fact, she insisted that she had been quite content for all of those years. ‘I really was happy, Daddy,’ she had said to him recently, via the machine she now used. ‘And now – this is a new beginning. For all of us.’ She had smiled at him then. It had been a knowing smile.
He could see that Patience was experiencing this concert on a different level to the rest of them, soaring high above the crowds on a high-octane thrill ride, ducking and diving with the rhythm, revelling with the angels. And he suspected she’d be even more joyous when she discovered the surprise Eliza had managed to arrange for afterwards – a long-awaited, much-postponed meet-and-greet between three of the most famous pop stars in the world and their most fabulous fan. He couldn’t wait to tell her. It would make her year. Or her life, perhaps.
The band were now playing their reunion single, ‘Patience’. How kind of them to name one of their songs after his youngest, he thought. But it was fitting. The crowd at the O2 was now on its feet, swaying gently, mobile-phone torches raised up high. Patience’s face was shining. Music had always transformed her absolutely. And despite all of the changes in her this year, it had continued to do so. And thank goodness for that, for she was the music in all of their lives.
She was now revealing herself to have a wicked sense of humour, and a mind thoroughly her own. She had issued them a wish list recently. She had told them that she wanted, in no particular order: a new haircut; Netflix; laser treatment on her facial hair; perfume; nicer drinks (including the occasional gin and tonic); prettier pants; a back catalogue of Robbie Williams’ albums; and a ban on daytime TV programmes in the bungalow. He suspected the carers might fight her over that last one.
She had also told them that she wanted to leave home, permanently. ‘I want my own life,’ she had said, her eyes mirroring the defiance of the words she had chosen. ‘And I want you to have yours.’
Louise had shed tears afterwards, but of course, they had complied. They could never refuse her wishes now. Patience had been offered a permanent place at the care home where she had always had respite, and they had taken it immediately, knowing that she felt safe and happy there.
He had been astonished by the effect the move had had on Louise. Instead of feeling bereft, as he had anticipated, she had become energised, seeking out new challenges. And, slowly, they were learning to live together again, beginning to put the house into order at last – not to live in, but to sell. With Louise’s job and his consulting work for Steve, they had enough to get by, with a little to put away for a rainy day.
Patience was still very much a part of their lives, despite her move. They visited her several times a week and she often came home for weekends, although she now engaged with them in banter at the dinner table, and commented all-too-honestly on their apparently poor choices of TV shows, music and decor. There was a lot of laughter.
A speech therapist was now starting to work with Patience on what he suspected would be a very long project – teaching her to form her noises into words. Whether she would ever actually speak using her own voice was still an unknown, but what was certain was that she had regained at least some control of her muscles, and with it, some independence. She could now use her hands to steer an electric wheelchair, making her the menace of shoppers, walkers and joggers across Oxfordshire. She was also able to hold little Orla on her lap – with a little help – and watching the pair of them eyeing each other like this was a joy. She could also chew and swallow normally, and had recently begun to be able to pick up large food items by herself. Meals with her would never again involve a liquidiser, and he was glad of that.
The gene therapy trial she’d taken part in had been judged to have been a success. All of the trial participants had gained something from it, although none had so far experienced the Lazarus-style resurrection that some of the families had hoped for. Phase two of the trial was being rolled out across the world, and experts reckoned that eventually, even more targeted therapies could be introduced, with the potential of even more incredible results.
But for now, this was enough for her, he thought. Patience was content. She had found her startling, sparkling voice.
And William. She had found William.