by Amy Cross
Rachel - Today
“Are you still on the sofa?” Mum calls through from the kitchen, where she's making lunch.
“Yes!” I lie.
“I thought I heard you moving about, that's all.”
“Of course not,” I reply, reaching out and feeling my way along the wall. “I said I'd stay put, didn't I? So -”
Suddenly my hands bump against something that seems to have been left against the wall. I feel the edge, and it quickly becomes apparent that this is more than just another cabinet. Running my hands down the side, I discover that there's some kind of ledge on the front, and then I lift a small lid. Sure enough, my suspicions are confirmed when I feel a keyboard under my fingers.
As soon as I press down, a C# rings out through the house. It's a little out of tune, sure, but it's definitely supposed to be a C#.
“Rachel?”
I hear Mum running through, but I'm already hitting several other keys.
“What are you doing?” she asks, sounding a little worried. “I thought -”
“Since when do we have a piano?”
“Rachel -”
“We have a piano!” I continue, testing the keys as I try to remember Heart and Soul. I can barely believe that this is happening. “Seriously?”
“It was here when we moved in.”
“A piano?”
“It needs tuning.”
“No kidding. But when you said the place was fully furnished, I thought you meant tables and chairs, stuff like that. You never mentioned a piano.”
“I guess it never came up.”
I take a moment to pick out some more notes, and to my surprise I find that I can more or less make the damn thing sound pretty good. Lack of proper tuning notwithstanding, of course.
“Do you have to do that now?” Mum asks.
“It's like the one thing I can do right now,” I point out. “I can't believe you kept this from me. So, like, did it belong to the people who lived here before us?”
“I guess so.”
Reaching down, I find that there's even a stool. I ease myself into place, and then I start playing again.
“I didn't think you'd be interested,” Mum says after a moment. She sounds tense.
“I could practice,” I reply. “I could get good at this.”
“But -”
“Blind people can play the piano,” I continue. “Like, Stevie Wonder's blind, right? Maybe this could be my new calling.”
I play for a moment longer, and although I hit a few wrong notes, I'm surprised to find that I can actually pick out part of a tune. I have vague memories of having played a piano when I was much younger, and I guess the muscle memories are kicking in again.
“This is awesome,” I whisper, feeling a rush of enthusiasm as I realize that I've finally found a way to fill my long, dull days. “I can -”
“Stop!”
Suddenly Mum pulls my hands away, and I hear the lid bumping down.
“Why?” I ask. “Mum -”
“I have a headache,” she continues. “Please, Rachel, it's hopelessly out of tune. It sounds absolutely hideous.”
“So let's get it tuned!”
“Do you have any idea how much that would cost?”
“It's the one thing I want in all the world,” I tell her. “I won't ask for anything more, not ever, but I really want to learn to play the piano!”
I wait for a reply, but silence means she must at least be considering the idea.
“What would you rather I spend my days doing?” I ask. “Most parents would be overjoyed if their kid wanted to get into something like this.”
Again, I wait.
“Or I could just go find a gang,” I continue, “and start drinking on street corners. Then I could spiral into drugs, the soft stuff at first but eventually heroin and stuff like that, and I could go live in a crack house and end up turning tricks for money. It's a slippery slope.”
This time, when she doesn't answer, I open the lid and start gently hitting the keys again.
“What if I promise to only play it when you're at work?” I ask. “That way, it won't even bother you!”
“Rachel, let's just take things one step at a time,” she replies, and once again she sounds exhausted. “We've been here for pretty much exactly twenty-four hours. There's plenty of time to -”
Suddenly there's a loud bump from upstairs, followed by a couple more. I stop playing for a moment and instinctively look up, although obviously I can't see a goddamn thing.
“What was that?” I ask cautiously.
“I'm sure it was -”
“Nothing? As if. I heard the same thing last night, too.”
“Why didn't you -”
“Tell you? It didn't seem relevant. Just like you didn't tell me about the piano.”
I hit another note, and almost immediately there's another bump from above.
“Maybe the ghost doesn't like it when I play,” I suggest with a smile.
“What ghost?” she asks. “Never mind. Rachel, there's no ghost, but could you please knock it off with the piano playing for a moment? My head is splitting and I just need peace and quiet.”
“But I can play it when you're out, can't I?”
She sighs.
“Why do you care?” I ask. “If you're out, you won't even hear it. Therefore, it literally can't bother you, can it?”
I wait for her to reply, but she seems to have finally given up.
“Are you still here?” I say after a moment.
Silence.
“Did you leave the room without telling me?”
Again, silence.
“Huh. How rude.”
Reaching forward, I lift the lid again and place my fingers on the keys, before slowly starting to pick out some notes. It's kind of not that difficult to come up with a basic melody, although the piano is definitely out of tune, and after a few seconds I find myself wondering whether this could actually be something worth pursuing. After all, a blind pianist isn't exactly -
“That's enough!”
Suddenly Mum slams the lid down, hitting my fingers.
“Hey!” I shout. “I was only -”
“Come on, we're done here!”
Grabbing my arm, she forces me up from the stool. I could pull back and try to stay, but I'm a little too shocked. Mum has never been this forceful before.
“What's the big deal?” I ask.
“The big deal is that I told you to stop playing that thing, and you disobeyed me!”
“But I was -”
“And I'm not in the mood for you to start answering back!”
She leads me across the room and then through to the lounge, where she roughly shoves me onto the sofa. Something seems different about her suddenly, as if the piano set off some change in her demeanor.
“I'll make something for us to eat,” she snaps, her voice trembling with anger. Or is it shock? “Just wait here. Don't get up, Rachel. I mean it!”
“What's the problem?” I ask, but she's already heading out of the room. “Why are you getting so weird about a goddamn piano?”
A moment later, I hear her phone buzzing on the table, and I realize I'm probably going to be left alone again in the house tonight.
At least I'll be able to play the piano while she's out. It's not like she can stop me. Although why she'd even want to stop me is anyone's guess. Apparently I just opened up some kind of hornet's nest. Maybe she has some kind of hidden piano-related trauma from her childhood, and that's why she's acting so weird.
Honestly, I feel like I just saw a whole new side of her personality.
I open my mouth to ask her about the piano again, but suddenly I remember the sound I heard last night. Along with the banging, there was a piano, but that has to be a coincidence. A faint shiver runs up my spine, and I have to admit that for a moment I feel a little freaked out, although I quickly remind myself to stay rational. Besides, the piano in the living room is totally out of tune, whereas
the music I heard last night was absolutely beautiful.
So it can't have been the same piano at all.
Chapter Sixteen
Alice - Twenty years ago
Pulling some more of the boxes away, I finally set eyes on the piano in the corner of the room. I have to admit, I feel a faint shudder, since it's been so long since I sat down and played. Maybe I should just forget this whole idea and push the boxes back into place, but I can't help myself.
Taking a seat, I lift the lid and stare down at the keys for a moment.
“You're good at this,” I remember my mother telling me once. “You should keep practicing and see where your talent takes you.”
I play a few notes, although I don't dare make too much noise.
“We could send her to a proper teacher,” I once overheard my mother suggesting to my father, when I was no more than five or six years old. “Give her a chance to really develop her skills.”
“I'm not paying for piano lessons,” he replied, and that was the end of the discussion. He was always in control of the family finances, and I don't think he's ever changed his mind about anything. He's never admitted he's wrong, either. My mother knew better than to argue with him.
Humming to myself, I start playing a short melody that I remember my mother teaching me. Somehow, the simple act of pressing the keys down is enough to make me feel much calmer. For a few seconds, it's almost as if I'm transported away from the house, and all the stress starts lifting from my shoulders. I swear, Father could be screaming his lungs out right now, and I wouldn't hear him at all.
“Are you going to be okay tomorrow?”
“Sorry,” I stammer, pulling my hands away from the piano. “I was just -”
“Relax,” he says with a smile, as I close the lid and get to my feet. “I was wondering where that thing had gotten to. Do you still play to relax? I have a vague memory of you being pretty good when we were kids.”
“I was just being silly,” I tell him, already pushing the boxes back into place. “It's a terrible waste of time, really.”
“So what about tomorrow?”
I flinch. “What about it?”
“The review board delivers its findings into Anthony Harper's death. Depending on how that goes...” He pauses. “I mean, there's a chance that there could be findings, perhaps a lawsuit or -”
“I can't change anything.”
“No, but you've been living with this thing hanging over your head for almost a year. It's been chipping away at you, day by day, and now it's finally here. Anyone would start to crack under all that pressure, but -”
“I've been too busy looking after Father.”
A flicker of a smile crosses his face. “You're doing that thing again.”
“What thing?”
“The squinting thing.”
Realizing that he's right, I force myself to stop blinking so hard and so fast. “What will be, will be,” I tell him. “Whatever happens tomorrow is out of my control now. And if you think that I need a hospital review board to tell me whether I'm guilty of making that mistake, then perhaps you don't know me so very well after all.”
“Do you want me to see if I can get some time off? Maybe I could come with you tomorrow and -”
I shake my head. “No.”
“You want to go alone?”
“Father seems to be doing well, don't you think?” I ask, hoping to change the subject. “Or he's stable, at least.”
“He should be in the hospital. I want to run his blood, I want to do some scans, get a tube down him and -”
I shake my head again. “He doesn't want that.”
“Only because he thinks he can rely on you.”
“He can rely on me.”
“Until you break.”
“Nonsense, I -”
“He won't show you any mercy, you know,” he continues, interrupting me. “He's not gonna look at you one day, see how tired you are, and realize he's being too much of a burden. If he was ever going to do that, it would've already happened by now. He'll just keep demanding more and more, and if you're finding it hard now, wait until he gets sicker.” He pauses, watching me carefully, as if he's waiting for more cracks to show. “You know I'd come more often if I could, right?”
I nod.
“It's just, with Judy and the kids -”
“You don't have to explain yourself.”
“You'll understand when you have a family of your own.”
I shake my head.
“You're gonna make a great mother one day,” he continues. “Alice -”
“Let's not talk about it,” I reply, interrupting him. “I really don't have time to think about such things. I'm sure you'll understand.”
“But Alice...”
He pauses again, and a moment later there's a bump from upstairs.
“Sounds like you're wanted,” he points out. “He was complaining that his bag was full again. I told him I could change it, but he insisted on you doing it instead. Apparently that's a job for a nurse, not a doctor.”
“Then I should go,” I reply, heading to the hallway. “He doesn't like to be kept waiting.”
“I'll be back in two weeks,” Malcolm continues. “Judy and I are taking the kids to a holiday camp next week, just so we can all relax and get away from the stress for a while. I'll have my phone with me, though.”
“I hope you enjoy yourselves,” I tell him, already making my way up the stairs.
“You don't really see the kid, do you?”
I stop and look back at him.
There's a nervous smile on hi face now. “I mean... The old man's kidding, right?”
I open my mouth to reply, but I'm honestly not sure what to say.
“You don't see him...” he continues. “I mean... Do you? 'Cause that'd be...”
He pauses.
“That'd be crazy,” he adds finally.
“You should get home,” I reply, hoping to skirt around the subject. “I'm sure Judy and the children are waiting for you. Please, give them my best.”
He nods. I can tell he's not entirely satisfied, but he probably doesn't want to probe too much.
Forcing I smile, I turn and make my way up the stairs. When I get to the top, I hear the front door opening and then swinging shut, and I spot Malcolm walking away from the house. I know I shouldn't be annoyed that he has a happy family life, but sometimes I think he doesn't understand what it's really like living here with Father.
Heading through to the main bedroom, I find Father already trying to disconnect his own colostomy bag.
“Let me do that,” I tell him, hurrying over only to see that the bag is already partly loose, and that its contents are now leaking onto the bed.
“It's a mess!” he splutters. “You should have come sooner!”
“I was talking to -”
“I don't give a crap! You should have come up to me sooner!”
Taking hold of the bag, I carefully slide it away from the connector. There's fecal matter running down Father's belly and onto the sheets, and the smell is already very strong.
“I'll just -”
Suddenly he grabs my hand and twists my little finger back until it hurts.
“I heard you!” he hisses, leaning toward me. “Do you think I'm deaf? I heard you on that piano downstairs!”
“I was only -”
I let out a sudden cry as he pulls my finger back further. I want to twist free, but his trembling hands are holding me tight.
“Don't let me hear you doing that again!” he says firmly, spitting out the words. “Do you understand? In fact, I want you to call and arrange to have that thing taken away! The last thing I need, sitting up here all alone and ignored, is to hear your shitty attempts to play music. You were no good as a kid, and you're no good now! If I ever hear even one more note...”
He pauses, staring at me with angry, bloodshot yellow eyes.
“If I hear one more note,” he continues, “I'll break your othe
r little finger too.”
I open my mouth to ask what he means.
Suddenly he pulls my finger back further, and I feel a quick, agonizing snapping sensation. Gasping, I pull away and drop down onto the floor, clutching my hand as I feel a throbbing pain starting to pulse through my little finger. I don't think he broke it, but it's certainly fractured and the pain is getting worse with each passing second.
“Are you just going to leave me sitting here like this?” he asks. “It's disgusting! Don't you have any respect, woman?”
Turning, I see the moist, bright red hole in his belly waiting for a new bag to be attached. There are tears in my eyes, but I force myself to stay calm. Ignoring the pain in my finger, I pick up the old bag and carry it around to the bin on the other side of the bed. My hands are shaking, but I don't want to let him see that I'm in pain. For the next few minutes, I work quickly but carefully to clean up the mess and attach a new bag, and I ignore the barbs and insults that he flings my way. He's in pain, I know that, and it's not his fault that he lashes out. I knew he'd be angry if he heard me playing the piano, so why did I do such a thing? I can only think that I had a moment of weakness.
***
Later, once I've finished all my chores for the day and Father is asleep, and once I've examined my little finger and determined that the fracture isn't too bad, I sit at the piano once again.
I don't dare play, of course, but I move my hands across the keys, taking care to ensure that I don't actually hit any notes. I simply imagine the music, until finally I close the lid and sit back.
This is foolish. The piano must never be played again. Even if it's the only thing that helps me ignore the little boy's presence.
Chapter Seventeen
Rachel - Today
Once Mum has headed off for another night shift, it takes ages for me to make my way downstairs, but finally I manage to find the front room and I fumble to the far corner. She'd go absolutely crazy if she knew I was up and about like this, but it's not like she'll ever find out. I'll be tucked up in bed by the time she gets back in the morning, like a good girl.
Taking a seat on the stool, I reach out and place my fingers on the keys of the piano.
