June joined the village choir because her friend Rose promised nobody would make her sing alone.
At the first rehearsal, the conductor, Mr. Price, greeted June warmly and pointed her toward the back row.
“That’s where we put new altos,” he said.
“Are you certain I’m an alto?”
“We’ll find out.”
June had spent thirty years singing along to the radio in her car. The radio had never told her she was wrong. Within ten minutes she learned the choir was willing to do so, gently but often.
Mr. Price held a note on the piano. June copied it. He asked for a slightly lower one. June copied Rose instead. Rose whispered that she was singing the wrong part. June asked whether there was a part for people who followed Rose.
“It’s called friendship,” Rose said. “Not music.”
On Tuesday, Mr. Price moved June to the middle row, where she could hear the tenors. On Thursday he moved her near the wall, away from the tenors. At the weekend he put her beside a woman who sang every note with such confidence that June spent the whole rehearsal feeling like an echo.
June was not offended. She was fascinated by how much thought went into where everyone stood. A soprano needed a certain neighbor because she came in early. A bass stood near the piano because he heard better from that side. Rose occupied an aisle seat because she had to leave early to collect her grandson.
June brought a folded map of the choir next week. She had written everyone’s name in pencil so she could remember them. Mr. Price saw it and asked if she could help arrange the chairs for the concert.
“Of course,” June said.
She set out the chairs according to the rehearsal arrangement. Then she discovered the village hall had a radiator behind the tenors. They complained. She shifted them left, which blocked the entrance. She shifted them right, and the bass near the piano could no longer hear it. She solved the problem by putting the piano somewhere else.
The pianist looked at her. “Do you know how much this weighs?”
“Less than fourteen tenors,” June said.
They moved it together. The rehearsal ran smoothly until June took her own seat. Mr. Price waved her back.
“You’re with the altos.”
June looked at the arrangement she’d made. She had accidentally used every alto chair.
Rose offered to squeeze up. The confident woman moved her handbag. June found a folding chair in the cupboard and sat at the end. From there she could hear everybody clearly. She sang better than she ever had in her car.
After the concert, Mr. Price thanked her for rescuing the seating.
“You have a real talent for the choir,” he said.
June beamed. “My singing?”
“The other thing.”
Rose nudged him. June laughed before he could correct himself.
The next season, Mr. Price asked whether June wanted to remain an alto or take responsibility for the hall layout. June thought about the piano, the radiator, and the folding chair.
“I’d like to do both,” she said. “But this time, reserve me a seat before I arrange everyone else’s.”