I want to join the choir!

November 4, 1994 – Speech and Communication Training, Mill Grove

POV: Oliver

For a little over three weeks now, Oliver had been attending speech lessons with Beatrice, and during that time, he had come to several conclusions.

First: Sign language was considerably harder to learn than he had initially assumed.

Second: Apparently, there really was some truth to the saying that children learned quickly.

In his previous life, Oliver would never have described himself as particularly talented or exceptionally intelligent. He had certainly been successful both professionally and academically, but that had mostly been the result of hard work and perseverance. Not because things had ever come particularly easily to him.

Yet, for some reason, learning new things seemed considerably easier in this life.

Could it be that he actually did have some kind of magical powers?

Over the past few weeks, he had certainly left no stone unturned. Whenever he had a few minutes alone, he had tried moving random objects with telekinesis. Before going to sleep, he had even tried meditation.

So far, completely unsuccessfully.

Well, except for the fact that his meditation sessions invariably ended with him falling asleep. Which was at least some progress, considering that falling asleep had been one of his biggest problems so far. The moment he lay down at night, the damn conspiracy theories in his head would start all over again.

And finally, there was his third and by far most important realization:

Beatrice wasn't nearly as cute as he had initially thought.

BAM!

A sharp pain shot through his leg as Beatrice kicked him in the shin with all her strength.

"Ow!" Oliver's gaze snapped toward Beatrice, who was sitting across from him, and he looked at her questioningly.

I – GO, she signed.

"What, already?" Oliver stared at her in confusion. Did I miss something? It's only 3:00 p.m.! He pointed at the clock to signal that it was far too early.

Beatrice nodded, and then her hands began moving at a speed that would have made even Kakashi Hatake with his Sharingan stare in amazement.

Oliver just stared at her blankly.

Beatrice visibly huffed in frustration and started again, this time more slowly.

Oliver concentrated. He understood the first few signs. I – DOCTOR – TODAY – Then she sped up again, and he completely lost track.

Beatrice seemed to notice and slowly lowered her hands. She got up from her chair, walked to the door, then turned around to face him one last time. She made a sign Oliver had learned fairly early on.

IDIOT.

"Yeah, definitely not cute," he muttered to himself, hurriedly gathered his things, and followed her outside.

***

POV: Sister Margaret

"Sister Margaret, thank you again for letting Oliver attend the lessons!" Helen said. "Beatrice is doing so much better."

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"Helen, my child, believe me, you don't need to thank me." Margaret paused briefly before adding with emphasis, "If anything, I'm the one who should be thanking you."

I'm grateful for every minute I don't have to keep an eye on that little devil.

And speak of it...

"Mrs. Hartley, hello!" Oliver came running toward them with Beatrice and greeted Helen with a radiant smile. "It's good to see you again!" Then he noticed Margaret standing beside her. "Sister Margaret," he greeted her with considerably less enthusiasm.

Margaret merely raised an eyebrow. "Oliver." She couldn't suppress a slight smile.

In front of Helen, he played the politest little boy in London, yet the moment he looked at Margaret, her mere presence seemed like a personal inconvenience. Margaret didn't hold it against him. Quite the opposite. After the past few weeks, she probably would have been more concerned if he suddenly greeted her with the same radiant smile.

"Is something wrong with Bea?" she heard Oliver ask, concern in his voice.

"No, everything's fine. We just have an appointment today about her implant, which she'll be getting soon," Helen replied, gently stroking Beatrice's head.

"Implant?" Oliver asked, puzzled.

"Hasn't Bea told you about it?" Helen looked at her daughter in surprise. "She's going to get an implant that was tested here in England over the last few years. If everything goes well, she might be able to hear something very soon!" she explained hopefully.

Helen gently stroked Beatrice's hair. "She's especially looking forward to hearing the piano. Her father used to play a lot. He even wrote some pieces of his own."

She smiled down at her daughter. "She's always wanted to know what his music sounds like."

Margaret smiled sadly. "I can understand that."

Oliver, on the other hand, simply stared into space.

***

POV: Oliver

According to Margaret, the church was only about a twenty-minute walk away. Oliver, however, had imagined a leisurely stroll through some sleepy London neighborhood.

Instead, after only a few minutes, their route took them onto a considerably busier street. Red double-decker buses fought their way through the heavy traffic, black cabs squeezed between them, and the pavements were packed with people streaming past one another.

It was loud, hectic, and somehow familiar. South Woodford wasn't the London from the travel guides. No Big Ben, no Tower Bridge, and certainly no Buckingham Palace anywhere in sight. Terraced houses alternated with small shops, pubs, and residential buildings, while the steady background noise of engines, voices, and the occasional honking hung over everything.

Oliver had to admit that the whole thing had its charm.

Another red double-decker drove past them. Oliver watched it for a moment before turning his attention forward again. Then the next bus came around the corner.

It was purple.

Oliver froze and stared after the bus until it disappeared around the next intersection.

The Knight Bus.

"Oliver!"

Margaret grabbed him by the shoulder and promptly pulled him along.

"Come on. We're running late."

Oliver stumbled a step after her and cast one last glance back toward the intersection. The bus was already gone. Before he could think about it any further, Margaret took his hand. Oliver looked down at her hand, then at the street in front of them. "Seriously?"

Margaret met his gaze but said nothing.

Oliver sighed in resignation. "Fine. I suppose I'll help an old lady cross the street."

Margaret stopped and looked down at him. "How thoughtful of you."

Oliver grinned. "Galatians 6:10. Let us do good unto all men."

At least there was one advantage to the old hag making him copy Bible verses every evening since his little excursion.

"We're here," Margaret said at last, ignoring his triumphant look.

A large brick church stood before them, its tower rising high above the surrounding houses. Oliver followed Margaret up the steps and through the heavy wooden doors.

Instead of the silence he had expected, he was greeted by music.

Several people stood at the front of the nave, rehearsing together while a man accompanied them on a black piano. Their voices echoed through the high-ceilinged space, blending with the notes of the instrument.

Oliver slowed his steps and looked toward the front.

Margaret continued forward, and Oliver followed her without taking his eyes off the piano. The man at the keys played a few bars, stopped, then started again while the others waited for their cue.

Oliver watched his hands. Beatrice wanted to hear what her father's pieces sounded like, and he wanted to learn something new. Why not piano?

The thought was more optimistic than he would have liked. In his previous life, Oliver had been about as musical as a brick.

His gaze shifted to Margaret and then to the people gathered around the piano.

The old hag had been trying to get him interested in the church for weeks anyway. Maybe he could simply join the choir and find out whether things were different in this life. And if it made Margaret happy enough to leave him alone for a while, all the better.

"Sister Margaret?"

"Hmm?"

"I want to join the choir."

Margaret stopped dead in her tracks. Slowly, she turned her head toward him. Her eyes grew wider and wider as she stared at Oliver as though he had just turned water into wine right before her eyes.

Oliver raised an eyebrow.

Maybe I should've prepared her for that.