Too Late to Paint the Roses

by Jeanne Whitmee

  ‘Not your band?’ Mary looked a bit nonplussed. ‘But you’d have no objection to us recommending you?’

  He smiled. ‘Absolutely not, Mrs Sullivan. And if the delicious plate of food I enjoyed after we’d finished playing is anything to go by I’ll certainly recommend you.’ He paused and looked slightly apologetically at me. ‘Not that I meet that many people who are looking for caterers.’

  Mary looked disappointed. ‘Oh – well, if you’ll excuse me I’d better go and make sure the waitresses know what they’re doing this evening.’

  When she’d gone I glanced at Ian who was looking uncomfortable and slightly bewildered. ‘Would you like a cup of tea?’ I offered. He accepted eagerly and seemed to relax.

  ‘Thanks, I’d love one.’ He sat down at the table.

  ‘Don’t take too much notice of Mary,’ I told him. ‘She’s very ambitious for our business and wants to make as many contacts as she can.’

  ‘She seems nice,’ he said sipping his tea.

  ‘She is,’ I told him. ‘She’s one of the best.’ I looked at him. ‘We were very busy during the reception, of course, but from what I heard your – band…?’ I looked at him hesitantly.

  ‘Quintet,’ he supplied.

  ‘Your quintet was very good. You’re a freelance musician, I think you said.’

  He nodded. ‘I used to play with the Greencliffe Symphony Orchestra; in the first violin section, but I’ve always been more interested in teaching really.’

  ‘You’re not with the orchestra now then?’

  ‘No. I decided to take the plunge and give in my notice. I’ve got quite a lot of pupils and I augment my income by doing this kind of thing.’

  ‘I see. That was a brave decision.’

  ‘Not really,’ he said. ‘I have no commitments you see, no wife or family, just a little cottage out in the sticks.’ He smiled. ‘Teaching is what I like to do.’

  I caught my breath as an idea occurred to me. ‘How old are your pupils?’

  He shrugged. ‘All ages. Why do you ask?’

  ‘I have a small son. He’s desperately keen to learn to play the piano.’

  ‘How old is he?’

  ‘Five and a half.’ I waited for him to laugh away the idea but he didn’t.

  ‘The perfect age to begin,’ he said. ‘No inhibitions, no problems with self confidence.’

  I took my courage in both hands. ‘Would you come to the house and meet him?’ I asked. ‘See if you think he’s ready to start – if he has any – any aptitude?’

  ‘Of course I will.’

  When I told Jamie that a music teacher was coming to see him he was over the moon.

  ‘How soon will I be able to play? When is he coming?’

  I laughed. ‘He’s only coming to meet you to start with,’ I explained. ‘We’ll have to see how you get along and what he thinks. He might think you should wait a little while.’

  His face crumpled. ‘But I don’t want to wait!’

  ‘Well, just let’s see what he says, shall we?’

  Ian joined us for tea the following Sunday afternoon. He’d suggested we make it all as informal as possible so we sat in the small living room where we spent most of our free time. Jamie stared up at Ian as though he was some kind of god, solemnly shaking the hand he offered and once tea was over Ian took both of Jamie’s hands in his, examining them, both palms and backs, and taking special note of the fingers.

  ‘So you’d like to learn to play the piano, Jamie?’

  Jamie nodded. ‘I can play already,’ he said proudly. ‘A little bit.’

  ‘Can you really? I’d like to hear that.’

  Jamie took his hand, pulling him in the direction of the front room. ‘Come on. I’ll show you.’

  In Mary’s front room Jamie sat on the piano stool, his little legs dangling, too short to reach the pedals. He ran through his repertoire of one-fingered tunes and looked up into Ian’s face, eager for his approval.

  ‘That’s very good.’

  Jamie beamed with delight. ‘It’d be better with two hands though, wouldn’t it?’

  ‘It certainly would. Would you like to learn to play with all of your fingers and both hands, Jamie?’

  ‘Oh, yes please!’

  ‘And read music just like you read a story book?’

  ‘Ooh, can I? How long will it take?’

  ‘Quite a long time,’ Ian warned. ‘And you’d need to practice very hard – every day.’

  ‘I already do,’ Jamie assured him.

  Ian smiled at me. ‘Well, I don’t think there’s any more to be said, do you? Now, if you’d like me to come here to the house I suggest you get the piano tuned,’ he said.

  Mary, who had been hovering in the doorway, stepped forward. ‘I’ll see to that,’ she said.

  Ian reached into an inside pocket and took a card from his wallet, passing it to her. ‘I can recommend this chap. He’s very good, and quite reasonable.’

  Mary took the card and held out her hand to Jamie. ‘You come with me, young man, and let Mummy make all the arrangements for you.’

  When Jamie had trotted off with Mary Ian smiled at me. ‘He’s clearly very keen,’ he said. ‘And he has very good hands, long fingers and strong wrists for his age.’

  ‘He’s been playing the piano in his own way for ages,’ I told him. ‘He loves it more than any of his favourite toys. It’s all he wants to do when he gets home from school.’

  We discussed fees and then Ian said,‘I should warn you they do often reach an age when they lose interest,’ he said. ‘Even the very keen ones. Lessons suddenly become boring and practising is a time-wasting chore, especially when they discover things like football and later …’ he grinned, ‘girls.’

  ‘I know, but somehow I can’t see that happening with Jamie.’

  ‘Well, forewarned is forearmed. All we can do for now is to give him what he wants, which is to learn.’

  ‘And you’re happy to take him on?’

  He nodded. ‘More than happy. Kids that keen are a delight to teach. Shall we say Monday afternoons – after school, about 4.30? Give him time to eat.’

  I laughed. ‘If I know Jamie he’ll be far too excited to eat.’ I held out my hand. ‘Thank you so much, Mr Morton.’

  He frowned. ‘Ian, please.’

  Three

  Jamie loved his music lessons. He could hardly wait for Monday afternoons to come round and getting him to practice was never a problem. He progressed quickly and by the time he’d been taking lessons with Ian for a year he’d already passed his grade one exam.

  Life was busy and eventful. Mary-Mary went from strength to strength. Mary achieved her ambition of creating a syndicate of tradespeople and we all met for informal meetings once a month to plan future strategies. The meetings usually took place at Mary’s house because it was more convenient and as well as useful work contacts our new colleagues soon became a circle of friends. Collectively we now had in our circle a florist, a photographer, a young man who had recently put all his redundancy money into a marquee hire business, a taxi firm that specialized in wedding cars and last but not least, Ian and his freelance musician friends.

  We had all been working together for about eighteen months when Brian Maxey, the photographer, came up with the suggestion that we combine to form one firm. The suggestion certainly gave us food for thought and we all decided to go away and think about the idea.

  At first Mary was doubtful. ‘Mary-Mary is our baby,’ she said. ‘We created it, you and I. I don’t want to see it swallowed up.’

  ‘I don’t see why we should be swallowed up,’ I pointed out. ‘Brian’s plan would surely only apply to weddings. We’d still be free to work independently on other kinds of function.’

  She brightened up. ‘I suppose that’s right. And the same principal would apply to the others as well. We could form a separate company; one in which we’d all participate. We could even call it something different.’

  After Jamie�
��s lesson the following Monday afternoon I put the idea to Ian.

  ‘I like it,’ he said. ‘Not that it’ll make any difference to me, of course. I’d only ever play at weddings and anyway, most people nowadays prefer a disco for the evening do.’ He glanced at me. ‘Which brings me to what I’ve been meaning to ask you.’

  I looked at him. ‘Yes?’

  ‘A friend of mine is getting engaged and he and his fiancée are having a small party to celebrate. It’s on Friday evening. If you’re not working I wondered if you’d like to come with me.’

  I was slightly taken aback. Ian had been part of our every day lives for over a year now and he’d never asked me out before. He looked at me, clearly troubled by my hesitation.

  ‘Just say no if you’d rather not,’ he said quickly. ‘It was only an idea.’

  ‘I’d love to go with you, Ian,’ I told him.

  ‘You would?’ The look on his face made me laugh.

  ‘Of course I would. Thank you for asking me. Luckily we don’t have anything booked for Friday evening.’

  He beamed. ‘Great! It’s Harry Spencer, you might remember him. You’ve met him once or twice. He and I used to play in the orchestra together. I’ll pick you up about eight o’clock then, if that’s all right.’

  When I told Mary she pulled a face. ‘Well, not before time. I thought he’d never ask you. To tell you the truth I’d begun to wonder if he might be gay,’ she said.

  I was shocked. ‘Mary! Didn’t it ever occur to you that he might not find me attractive?’

  Her eyebrows shot up. ‘All I can say is that if he didn’t find you attractive he had to be gay!’

  ‘Not all men are keen to rush into dating a single mother with a growing son,’ I said.

  Mary snorted. ‘Ian is devoted to Jamie, you know that.’

  ‘As a music pupil, yes.’

  When I came downstairs on Friday evening, dressed for the party, Jamie, now a precocious 7-year-old, whistled.

  ‘Wow, Mum, you look really cool.’

  ‘Thank you.’

  ‘Are you and Ian going out together now then?’

  ‘Of course not. It’s just a party.’

  He looked disappointed. A ring at the doorbell sent him scurrying towards the front door. ‘Oh! That’ll be him. I’ll get it.’

  ‘Don’t you dare say anything to Ian about it,’ I called after him. To my relief he didn’t.

  It was a warm evening and as we drove to Harry’s house Ian put me in the picture.

  ‘Harry is first clarinet in the Greencliffe Symphony Orchestra,’ he told me. ‘He’s been married before but his wife left him a couple of years ago – ran off with an old flame who turned up out of the blue. They live in Australia now. I thought Harry would never get over it at the time but now he’s met Celia and they seem to be made for each other.’

  ‘It’s nice to hear of a happy ending,’ I remarked. ‘Marriage nowadays seems a dicey business.’

  ‘Yes.’ He glanced at me. ‘I’ve often wondered – you and – Jamie’s father….’

  ‘We were never married,’ I finished for him. ‘In fact he doesn’t even know Jamie exists.’

  Ian looked shocked. ‘You never told him?’

  ‘He was fiercely ambitious,’ I explained. ‘We were at college together. He was studying accountancy but longed to be a writer. His grandmother died suddenly and left him all she had including a cottage down in Cornwall. He decided to gamble everything on trying for a writing career. He opted out of college and made it clear that he needed to do it alone – with “no encumbrances” as he put it. I only discovered that Jamie was on the way after we’d parted. I knew it would mean the end of all his dreams, so I decided not to tell him.’

  He frowned. ‘Don’t you think you should have at least given him the choice?’

  ‘What choice?’ I asked. ‘He was risking all he had on making a success as a writer. Babies take a lot of money and a lot of time and attention.’ I looked at him. ‘It would have ruined everything for him. I just couldn’t do it to him, Ian.’

  ‘It was a big sacrifice on your part.’

  ‘Not really. As I saw it our relationship would have been doomed from the start. He’d have ended up resenting me – possibly Jamie too.’

  He was silent for a moment. ‘You must have loved him very much,’ he said at last.

  I shrugged. ‘I thought I did. I know now though that it was just a girlish infatuation. I’ve never regretted having Jamie though.’

  ‘It couldn’t have been easy.’

  ‘It wasn’t, but it could have been a lot harder. I owe everything to Mary, and to my father for lending us the cash to start Mary-Mary.’ He was silent and after a moment I looked at him. ‘You still disapprove?’

  He shook his head. ‘Not at all. I only wish my own mother could have been as unselfish as you.’

  I would have liked to ask him more but we had arrived at Harry’s house so the conversation came to an end.

  I enjoyed the party very much, realizing suddenly that it was years since I’d had any kind of social life. Harry’s fiancée, Celia, was an attractive girl of about my own age. She was very interested in the catering business and asked me if she could get in touch about her own wedding to Harry, which was planned for later in the year.

  Once everyone had arrived Celia produced an appetizing buffet supper. Many of Harry’s musician friends were there and it didn’t take long for them to begin ‘jamming’. Ian was on the piano, while Harry got out his clarinet and two other guests who had brought their own instruments joined in. They played everything from pop tunes to snatches of opera and classics and the evening ended with everyone joining in, some more tunefully than others. As the evening wore on everyone became quite high spirited and I realized that for the first time in years I was actually having fun.

  Later, as we drove home I asked Ian if he missed his friends and being in the orchestra.

  ‘No,’ he said firmly. ‘I love what I do now. And I still keep in touch with the friends I made while I was there.’

  I glanced at him thoughtfully, wondering whether I should ask what was on my mind. ‘Ian – you mentioned your mother earlier. You said you wished she’d been less selfish.’

  He sighed. ‘And more of a mother. In fact she never was a mother to me. I was brought up by her sister, my Aunt Janet.’

  ‘Why was that?’

  ‘As far as she was concerned I was a horrible mistake,’ he said unable to hide the hint of bitterness in his voice. ‘My mother was an actress. She was very ambitious, determined to make the big time. Having me was a disaster. I never even knew my father. Amanda decided to keep his identity to herself, which was why I spoke as I did earlier about Jamie’s father. I’m sorry about that.’

  ‘Don’t be.’

  ‘It’s true though,’ he went on. ‘I got in the way of her career and she would be the first to admit it. But she was lucky. Her sister, Janet had always wanted children and was unable to have any. As it happened, Amanda – my mother – only had to take a few months off, hand the unwanted bundle over to her sister and carry on working. Problem solved.’

  ‘Your aunt and uncle adopted you?’

  He shook his head. ‘It was what Aunt Janet wanted, naturally, but Amanda held out. She wanted the best of both worlds.’

  ‘Oh, Ian, I’m so sorry.’

  He shook his head. ‘Oh, no. I still think of Aunt Janet and Uncle George as my parents. No kid could have had better. They gave me a wonderful childhood.’

  ‘And your mother?’

  ‘Oh, she’d appear from time to time, in between jobs, descending like some exotic perfumed angel with gifts and kisses, only to disappear just as fast the moment the phone rang with a better offer. It was very confusing for a small child. It would have been less disrupting if she’d kept away.’

  I made no comment. It was obvious that Ian still resented his mother and her abandonment and I suffered a sudden pang, thinking of Jamie.

&nbs
p; ‘Is she still…?’

  ‘Oh, very much so; living on her state pension in a smart apartment building and still waiting for the phone to ring. She never made the big time but she still gets the occasional bit part on TV.’

  ‘She never married?’

  ‘Good heavens, no! Husbands were no more on the agenda than children, not that there weren’t plenty of lovers.’

  ‘But you and she still keep in touch?’

  ‘Oh yes, a couple of years ago when she decided to retire and live in Greencliffe it suddenly suited her to acknowledge that she had a son.’ He gave a cynical little laugh. ‘She only gets in contact when she wants something, though.’

  ‘And your aunt and uncle?’

  ‘Uncle George died a couple of years ago but Aunt Janet’s still fine, bless her.’ He looked at me. ‘What about your parents. You mentioned your father.’

  I nodded. ‘Dad’s great. I only wish I could see more of him but Yorkshire is so far away and life is so busy here with Mary-Mary. Dad can’t get down to visit us very often. My mother’s health isn’t good and he doesn’t like to leave her.’

  ‘You’re obviously close to him. What about your mother…?’

  I sighed. ‘Mother is something else. I’ve never really hit it off with her. She always wanted a son and I’ve always been a disappointment to her – never managed to do anything right.’

  ‘So … when you had Jamie…?’

  ‘It was no more than she expected of me,’ I told him. ‘She wasn’t interested in the circumstances. I’ve only been home twice since Jamie was born; both on flying visits.’

  ‘Did Jamie melt her heart?’

  I shook my head. ‘The first time he was quite a small baby. I think she found him noisy and disruptive. The second time was after he’d begun to show an interest in music and she found that slightly more agreeable. She felt he’d inherited it from her.’

  ‘She was musical?’

  I smiled. ‘I remember her knocking out the odd tune on the piano. I’d hardly call it musical.’ Eager to change the subject I asked, ‘Tell me more about your aunt.’