How To Choose a Sweetheart

by Nigel Bird

  “You’re awful,” Angela says.

  “Is the boss really that bad?” Cath wants to know.

  Chris looks around the room before speaking. “She doesn’t need a match to light a cigarette, if that’s what you mean.”

  “Is that why you’re trying to make a go of piano teaching?” Cath asks. There’s some logic to that, Max supposes. Still, the question catches him off guard and he just shrugs his shoulders before looking over to Chris for assistance.

  “There aren’t many around here who can play Chopsticks like our Max,” Chris says.

  “You must play it for me sometime.”

  “I didn’t think you were a Chopsticks kind of lady.”

  “You’re right. I’d expect a little more than that if you were trying to woo me.”

  Chris jumps in. “You mean you haven’t played for her yet? Boy you’re in for a treat, Cath.”

  “Maybe you could play when we get back,” Cath suggests.

  It’s all happening too fast. The moment of control has gone. Even Max’s fingertips feel sick at the turn of conversation. The beer’s slowed down his thinking and he only has one excuse up his sleeve. “God no. We’d wake Alice for nothing.”

  “You wouldn’t want to do that, would you Max.” Chris seems to be enjoying the turning of the screw, like a good friend should, but then jumps a little in the air as if he’s been pinched under the table. A stern look and a hard stare from Angela might explain his sudden movement.

  “Didn’t you say you wouldn’t play to Cath until you’ve finished writing that piece you’re working on for her.”

  Max’s throat feels like it’s been guillotined, only without the swift ending to the pain. She means well, he knows, and it was Chris who threw them in at the deep end, but composition? Is she crazy?

  Cath, on the other hand, looks like she’s just been granted three wishes by her fairy godmother. “You’re writing something for me? How amazingly sweet. Nobody’s ever done anything like that for me.”

  Maybe Angela needs to be forgiven. Her idea was clearly great, it’s just the execution of it that’s going to get him killed. “It’s still in its early stages,” he says. “So my first performance won’t be for a little while yet.” Who knows? If he can stall for a month or so, he might actually be able to learn something in time. “And I wanted it to be a surprise.”

  He must have sounded romantic or something. Cath reaches over, squeezes Max’s arm and kisses him warmly. He feels the softness waving away all his troubles for a moment. He keeps his wits about him, though, and gives his friends the ‘cut’ direction for the evening in as far as he is able with his eyes.

  “These lovebirds look like they’re ready for some time alone,” Chris says. There’s a worried look to him that Max hasn’t seen too often. And he’s right to be worried. “Let’s leave them to it.”

  “You really don’t have to,” Cath says, but it doesn’t sound sincere in the slightest.

  “It’s late.” Angela picks up the message loud and clear. “Besides, we might have a few things of our own to get around to.”

  Chris’s worried look vanishes. It’s replaced by one of utter surprise and then one of complete joy. “I’ll get the tab,” he says. “And thanks for letting us tag along.”

  “You’re on,” Cath says.

  “Couldn’t you even put up a token struggle?”

  Max stares at him and Chris pulls out his wallet. “I’ll be ordering a cab,” he says. “Would you care to partake?”

  Cath shakes her beautiful head. “It’s a lovely offer, but I’ve been looking forward to the walk.” Max hopes that she’s talking in some kind of code. He kisses her and pulls her gently towards the door, his head already trying to string notes into a tune that might sound good to a human being.

  TWENTY SIX

  Neither Chris nor Angela wants to talk about it. They leave the bar and stand on the street when they get there, not quite able to get themselves into gear. The minicab firm told them it would be five minutes and it’s going to feel like a very long time.

  “Do you think we dropped him in it?” Angela’s worried. The idea of hurting any animal from plankton to whale fills her with dread.

  “Hey, we did our best.” In spite of his attempt at humour, he looks glum.

  “Composing a piece. What was I thinking?”

  “That part wasn’t so clever.”

  “It just popped out.”

  “You were only trying to help. And you might have bought some time for him – he may even thank you in the long run.”

  His silver lining seems to get a negative response from the gods when it starts to rain. They retreat to the wall and shelter as best as they can under the guttering.

  “She really likes him, doesn’t she?”

  “He’s a lucky boy.” Chris can see what all Max’s fuss has been about. He’s pleased that she feels the same way. If it wasn’t for the simple matter of deceit, he might feel happy for them.

  The cab pulls over in front of them. Chris opens the door and leans on it, barring Angela’s entrance. “Want to be dropped off first or second?”

  “How about we both go to my place?”

  The evening has just taken a massive upturn.

  “Sure,” he says. “Why not?” and lets her slide onto the back seat.

  TWENTY SEVEN

  Max and Cath are blissfully unaware of the romance that’s igniting where they left their friends. They’re walking home at the slow pace of the contented.

  Max is hoping that managing to keep the subjects moving along will keep him out of harm’s reach. “Perhaps the three of us could go out for the day.” Max is thinking about Monday, this week’s day off and Alice’s half-term holidays.

  “Sounds great. Anywhere in particular?”

  They’re holding hands and turning into Cath’s street. It feels nice. Comfortable. Destined. A little too good to be true. “Can’t say I’m used to planning family days out, I’m afraid.”

  “I haven’t been out much with Alice since my father passed away.”

  They can talk pretty openly about her dad now, as if he’s just popped off for his holidays and will return soon. “Well, it’s about time we changed that. What kind of things did you do together?”

  “Father was the brains behind the expeditions.” Her voice is its velvety self, giving Max’s senses the satisfaction he usually only gets from melted cheese. “Zoos, galleries, museums. The usual kinds of things.” If you’re super posh. “Our favourite would be a picnic in the park and a wander round looking for fairies.” Searching for fairies is something Max has no experience of, but he’s spent plenty of time hoping for miracles, so it shouldn’t be too difficult.

  “Did they ever find them?”

  “Alice always saw one. Still does. They’ve always run away by the time I get there, though.”

  “Shy creatures by reputation. I don’t know if I can match that, but I’ll come up with something.”

  Cath stops. Pulls Max towards her by the collar. “You’re a really sweet guy.”

  Ordinarily he’d agree, but he can’t get the idea of composing a piece and being found out from his mind. “Maybe you should wait and see.”

  “I’ll take my chances,” she says and kisses him for a long time. When she pulls back, she looks longingly into Max’s eyes. “I don’t want to be a killjoy or anything, but I said we’d be back before twelve.”

  Max sighs. “I know.”

  “I wish you could stay, I really do.” Max does a quick translation and realises he’s going home again. This hard-to-get thing may have its up sides, but it has a hell of a lot of down slopes as well.

  He feels his ardour and then feels his ardour deflating.

  “Me too,” he says. “But I can wait a little longer.” This lying thing is becoming a little too much like second nature and can’t be good for either of them.

  Max smiles. Cath kisses him like he’s her nephew and then leads him through the gate and towa
rds her front door.

  TWENTY EIGHT

  The office is untidy, mainly because the remains of Max’s lunch are strewn across the table.

  Chris bursts in and disrupts the peace. He wanders over to the kettle and flicks the switch on, then throws Max a chocolate bar. Max fumbles the catch and picks the chocolate from his lap. “Christmas already?” he asks.

  “For me Maxy boy, every day’s Christmas day.”

  “I noticed you had company when you came in this morning.”

  “And what company.” The grin on his face tells a story in itself.

  “Pray tell.”

  “She invited me to hers. Can you believe it? Course, I had to think about it from a professional point of view, but I didn’t want her to feel bad, so I went in.” All the way, no doubt.

  “How noble.”

  “We opened a bottle of wine and stayed up talking.”

  It’s that Stepford bachelor back again. “There was talking?”

  “It’s her hobby.”

  “And when the wine ran out?”

  “Use your imagination.”

  That’s the last thing Max feels like doing. He screws up his face to save him from answering.

  “Suit yourself. And you?”

  “Everything’s great.”

  “Any developments?” Meaning has he got past first base?

  “Nothing much. I’ve got to compose some romantic music on the piano and then learn to play it. Nothing out of the ordinary.”

  Chris makes himself a coffee and Max slides his chocolate from its foil wrapper. “Yeah, sorry about that. We were only trying to help.”

  Max’s thumb nail neatly cuts away the shiny foil and be breaks off a chunk. “I know that. It’s not your fault. It’s what comes from making up a life to get to know someone.”

  “Think you can get away with it?”

  The chocolate melts on Max’s tongue. Its sweetness should kick some optimism off in his brain, but there’s nothing. “I don’t want to get away with it. That’s the whole point.”

  The pair are in uncharted territory. Maybe this is the onset of middle-age.

  “You could come clean,” Chris suggests.

  “I’m not sure it’s that simple.”

  “Might not be as bad as you think.”

  “Which doesn’t give me much hope.”

  “Eat your chocolate. That always helps.” Only nearly always it would seem.

  Max stands, pops another couple of chunks into his mouth and sets about throwing his lunch-wrappings into the bin. When he’s done, he puts the remainder of the chocolate into his pigeon hole. “I’ll save it for later. How is it out there?”

  “Busy as hell.” Chris opens up a bag with a pie inside.

  “At least it’ll keep my mind occupied.”

  “See you later.”

  Max puts on his jacket, straightens it up and goes out onto the shop floor.

  He takes his position at the till and relieves Amelie, who’s already been held up for ten minutes by Max’s hangover. He serves a few customers, trying as hard as he can not to breathe on any of them and then Chris walks back into the shop.

  The Trunchball’s all over him like measles. Angela’s in tow. Trunchball thrusts a piece of paper in his direction. “Remember anything about this order?”

  Chris takes it and stares at it for a moment.

  “Well?”

  “It’s in. Under the back till upstairs.”

  “Next time, do you think you could write it in the book? It’s what systems are for you realise, to make the service efficient.” She rips the paper back from Chris and hands it over to Angela, who takes it and rushes off up the stairs.

  Chris’s face reddens. It seems that his Christmas day is over and someone forgot to pass around the presents.

  Max worries that Chris will explode. Tell Trunchball all the things he’s been talking about in the staffroom. Maybe even going as far as handing in his notice in the way he keeps threatening.

  When Angela gets to the top of the stairs, she turns back and gives Chris a wink. It’s enough to cool his cheeks and he breaks into a smile.

  One day, Trunchball will push him too far. He’ll walk out on the spot and do something with that Oxford education of his just like he keeps threatening. If he were to do that and Cath were to kick Max out of her life for his disgusting fraudulence, he might as well jump off the biggest bridge he can find.

  Max’s heart flutters like a kite in the wind. He thinks he may just have discovered palpitations.

  TWENTY NINE

  Max is in Evans’s favourite chair. It looks shabby, but it’s comfortable as hell. Evans comes in from the kitchen and sits down at the piano.

  “Then I apologise,” he says.

  “It’s OK.” It’s a relief to Max to hear that not everything is going against him.

  “I thought you’d given up on me. My pupils usually do, you know.”

  “That’s why I’m still smoking I guess. I’m no quitter.”

  “A quality I admire in you, sir.”

  Max is reminded of his habit. He takes out a smoke and throws one over to the old man. “You ever given anything up?”

  “Only the important things. I’ve never said no to a smoke, a drink, a fight or a lady mind.”

  “And what’ve you quit?”

  Evans stares at the ceiling as if the answers written there. “Dreaming. Hoping. Creating. And loving. The very stuff of life itself.”

  “But you did love once,” Max reminds him.

  “I still love now. Loving, though, loving’s a verb.”

  “So what advice would you have for a young man like me?”

  “Never give up and never let the fates get a whiff of what keeps you going. The bigger the dream and the deeper the feeling, the harder they’ll try to get in the way. Never whisper to the stars unless it’s to put them off the scent.”

  “If that’s the way it is, I should probably start doing some covering up straight away.”

  “The sooner the better.”

  “Evans? Because we missed our lesson last week, I feel like I’m falling behind. It’s really important that I keep going otherwise I’ll never confuse Fate’s little helpers.”

  “If there’s a chance of giving them one final kick, I’ll sign up to the cause, no questions asked.”

  Evans leans over and offers his hand.

  They shake vigorously as if ready to take on the world.

  “Should we get to work partner,” Evans says.

  Max stands while Evans lifts the lid of the piano. They link arms and Evans cracks his knuckles.

  THIRTY

  They’ve had to change their plans for the day. A dreadful weather forecast, followed by heavy showers of rain have forced their picnic to be an indoor affair. Alice, Cath and Max are all slumped across the sofa in Cath’s living room, legs tangled in a simple knot. They’re eating ice lollies, cheap versions of a Zoom, rocket shaped in three flavours with the tip covered in hundreds of hundreds and thousands.

  Alice is concentrating hard and licking off all the drips on hers.

  “How’s the lolly?” her mum asks.

  “Cold.”

  “But delicious,” Max says.

  “Why do they always drip all over the place?” It’s a question Max has never considered before, but he knows the answer.

  “To make them more interesting, of course.”

  “I wish they’d drip upwards,” Alice says. This stops him from launching into his spiel on freezing and melting, gravity being a step too far for his unscientific brain. “If they did, you wouldn’t have to get told off.” She’s got a point there.

  Cath smiles at her and ruffles her hair. “Maybe someone will invent them.”

  Max likes the idea, but sees a flaw in the logic. “It would be much harder to clean the ceiling. What we need is no drips.”

  “Then there wouldn’t be any more fun.”

  “So let’s keep them exactly as they are,” Ca
th says and they all carry on eating.

  “Talking of ice,” Max says, “I was thinking that maybe we could go out on my next Sunday off.”

  “What’s that got to do with ice?”

  “I was thinking we could go skating.”

  Alice bolts upright. Her eyes have opened wide and the drips from the lolly fall onto the front of her pink dress. “Wow. Yeah, Mum. Can we go? Can we?”

  “I don’t know darling,” Cath answers. “I’ve never been skating before.”

  “It’s easy,” Max tells her. “You just put your knees together and go.”

  Alice has untangled the knot of legs and is standing on the cushions, bouncing. “I can do it Mum. I’ve seen it on the telly.”

  That could be useful. Max has never skated either. “You can help us old ones out then.”

  “Come on, can we go?” She’s bouncing and excited and there’s no way Max can resist. He holds his breath while he waits for the decision.

  “All right.” Cath doesn’t sound enthusiastic with her verdict, but Max can win her round. “I don’t see why not.”

  There are hugs for everyone and this time the knot is made of arms. “Thanks Mum and Max.”

  He remembers the way she was when they first met, that timid little thing with the damaged wings. It seems the piano lessons are working. Maybe it’ll be enough to make up for the deception if it’s ever revealed. Only he realises it doesn’t matter how that plays out. What matters is that the broken child is mending. His eyes moisten and his throat tightens.

  When the hugs break, Cath breaks a little surprise of her own. “Maybe you could thank Max by playing him the tune you wrote for him. Can you remember?”

  “It was only yesterday, Mum. I think so.”

  “Go and wipe your hands first.”

  Alice runs to the kitchen. The moisture in Max’s eyes gathers in the corners and, on the left hand side, decide to overflow down his cheek. He wipes the tear away on the back of the sofa as quickly as he can, hoping Cath hasn’t seen. She’s sitting up getting ready for the performance, so he thinks he’s in the clear.

  Then Alice runs in and takes her seat on the stool. As she plays her notes, her tongue sticks out between her teeth. Her fingers move from one key to the next like frozen fish fingers. The tune’s plunky and simple, but she knows it well enough to repeat it without any problems.