How To Choose a Sweetheart

by Nigel Bird

  “Don’t worry,” Max shouts back. “We’re in good hands.”

  To warm up, Alice plays the scale of C major with her right hand. It’s slick and smooth and better than Max ever managed to achieve.

  The men on the sofa clap, but she’s keen to carry on.

  “This one’s called Merrily,” she announces.

  She opens the book and plays the tune through twice. When she’s done, she steps down and smiles to her applause.

  “Bravo,” Mr Evans says. “Take a bow young lady. After a performance, one should always take a bow.”

  Alice bows as instructed and with some style.

  Max looks over at Mr Evans. “Do you think you can teach her?”

  “Of course I can. A talented girl like Alice. She must have had a good teacher already by the looks of it.”

  “And then I can teach Max how to play,” Alice says. “So he can write Mummy a song.”

  The doorbell rings and he hopes that nobody notices his ears as they’ve just heated up at the mention of composition.

  Cath runs out of the room and over to the intercom. She presses the button. “Hi. It’s Rebecca,” a voice gurgles.

  “Come right up,” Cath tells her. When she goes over to join the others, it’s like she’s flowing rather than walking. She’s wearing makeup for the first time since Max has known her. It’s subtle, but it emphasises the structure of her cheek bones, makes her eyes brighter than ever and gives her lips the shine that needs to be kissed.

  “You’ll be good for Mr Evans and Rebecca won’t you?”

  “I always try.”

  “And I shall try too,” Mr Evans says.

  Cath gives Alice a big hug and then its Max’s turn.

  Mr Evans steps over to the piano and introduces his work. “My composition for Max to give to a beautiful lady. It’s called Ice Lolly Drip Blues.”

  The gang gathers round.

  His tune begins. The quality of the piano is evident with the hums and subtleties of the notes as Mr Evans touches the pedals with his feet. If he didn’t know better, Max would think this was the music played to dead souls as they made their way to heaven. On a stairway, perhaps. It’s moving and profound.

  When Rebecca enters the room, she goes straight over to the piano. She’s a teenager with her hair tied back in a ponytail, who’s still dressed in a blue school uniform. On her back is a rucksack full of something that Max imagines to be homework.

  The tune comes to an end and Mr Evans goes straight into some jolly number that takes the mood back a couple of decades.

  “Sorry I’m late,” Rebecca says.

  “I didn’t know you were. This is Mr Evans. He’ll be teaching Alice to play the piano.”

  “Nice to meet you Mr Evans.”

  Without breaking from the piece, he tells her it’s his pleasure.

  “Everything else is as normal,” Cath says. “I left extra food to allow for the increased numbers.”

  “I wouldn’t want to impose,” Mr Evans says.

  “Wait till you see what she’s left,” Rebecca says, “then you can make a decision on that.”

  Max and Cath come together, picking up the bits and pieces they’ll need for their evening.

  “We’d better get off.”

  Cath gives Alice a final kiss and they set to leave.

  As they open the door, Alice takes over from Mr Evans on the piano stool.

  “Now Alice,” Mr Evans says in a loud, clear voice. “I’d like to start by introducing you to my way of remembering the way the notes are written on the page.”

  FORTY FIVE

  Their cafe has been decorated so that it looks like the Golden Jubilee all over again. There’s bunting outside and in. Balloons of all colours strain at their leashes in a bid to escape. Miles Davis is blowing his lungs out through the speakers and the conversation from the party is lively and loud. The tables are full of bottles of wine, glasses and beer bottles.

  Jazz and Alan have been cornered by the young waitress and a young guy who looks like a baby Elvis Costello.

  “You’ll be the first married couple I really know,” the waitress says. “As friends I mean.”

  “Growing up has to start somewhere,” says Jazz.

  “They’ll be falling like nine-pins now, you just watch.”

  The Elvis Costello guy screws up his face and you can practically see his brain moving inside his head. “Is there any chance you’ll be next?”

  The waitress casually drops her arm onto the young guy’s shoulder. “Hey honey, don’t you think we should get to know each other a little better first?” She directs him to the wall and pins him to it. “What’s your name, age and shoe size?”

  Jazz and Alan set off to mingle. It’s their day and they intend to make the most of it.

  They skim past Jenny, who still hasn’t recovered from finding out her big love was married and a criminal. It’s the first time she’s been out since the disaster became clear to her and to the world. “He was a real pig,” she tells a girl in a long, red, summer frock.

  “Are you still selling off your stuff?”

  “Don’t worry, I’ll let you know.”

  Chris walks over to them with Angela. When they join the group, his nose snuffles into Angela’s neck and his hand rises to cup her left breast which is moulded within a tight, gold top.

  “Talking of pigs,” Jenny says.

  “Pigs are mighty fine animals, I’ll have you know.”

  “And how’s their libido?”

  “How long’s a piece of string?” Chris asks.

  The girl in the red dress turns to Angela. “Well? How long is a piece of string?”

  Angela peels her boyfriend off and steps aside. “Now that would be telling.”

  Chris holds up his hand as if surrendering and backs away. Angela turns and kisses him as he leaves. Chris goes up the counter and picks up another bottle of beer. He looks around for a bottle opener and finds it hanging from a purple Furby. He opens his bottle and stands behind Max and Cath who are sitting close together at one of the round tables outside so that he can smoke and eavesdrop at the same time.

  They’re talking about Mr Evans, Max being happy to chat given that he’s been given the job of making the speech at the event and he practically has a thrombosis every time he remembers the fact.

  “He’s a nice old man underneath that hard shell. I think he’s one of the real good guys.”

  “He seems like a sweetie to me.”

  “His face is full of stories don’t you think.”

  “We all have our stories, Max.”

  “And do you know?” Max says, leaning in to kiss her on the nose and therefore avoiding her carefully applied lipstick, “this is my favourite story of all.”

  They kiss again and Max stands up. “Another?” he asks.

  “Same again.” White wine. “And if there are any of those cheese sticks left, that would be great.”

  On his way into the counter, Chris intercepts him and hugs him in a way that lifts him a couple of inches from the floor. Max feels his ribs click and as soon as he’s down, checks out the damage to his jacket to find there is none. As he heads inside, Chris swiftly takes his seat.

  “Thank God you’re back,” he tells Cath. “I love him and everything, but he can be a bit of a grouch sometimes. I like him most when he’s happy and you make him happy. Please don’t hurt him.”

  She seems to take it in good spirits. “I don’t intend to.”

  “Good, because I think you’ve cast a spell on him that isn’t going to be easily broken.”

  “It does feel like magic, but I really didn’t cast any spells.”

  “Maybe it was our boss. She’s a bit of a witch. Not that I can see her being so benevolent.”

  Max returns to the table with beer, wine and cheese. The cheese is cubed and stuck onto the end of cocktail sticks which have been jabbed into half a grapefruit to create a model of a hippy hedgehog.

  “Great nibbles,
” Chris says, diving in to get at the food. “Isn’t it about speech time?”

  Max turns away, a sick feeling in his stomach, but Chris grabs his leg and shouts inside. “Speech. Speech everyone.” The word spreads through the crowd like broadband cables, hitting on the ears of everyone in the room.

  There’s no avoiding it. The time has come. He walks into the main cafe, his friends in tow. Soon as he’s inside, he waves to get the attention of the girl doing the music and draws a finger across his throat. He wishes, for a moment, that his finger was a sharp as a knife.

  The music stops and there’s a rumble of assorted noise that includes banging of tables and stamping of feet.

  Eventually all goes quiet and things can begin.

  First things first, a swig from his bottle.

  “Ladies and gentlemen. Oh, and our host...” there’s muted laughter around the room and Max feels himself settle. “The guys at the shop thought we should make a little speech on this fine evening. I drew the short straw, but I’m glad I did.” It’s true. In spite of the shaking he’s doing on the inside, it’s important to him that he was chosen. He looks over at Jazz, her happiness seeming to warm the room and Max draws the courage to go on. “I felt it might be best if I put together a little composition. I tried to memorise it, but I’ve got it here just in case.”

  He fumbles in his pocket and pulls out a crumpled piece of paper.

  “This way, maybe we can all share the responsibility. Here goes.

  We met Jazz in our bookshop,

  She hated it and had to stop.

  We miss her lots, she is the best,

  But she deserved her well-earned rest.

  So off she went and met Al-an

  We didn’t know him, but now we’re fans.

  We know that she’s not coming back,

  She can’t anyway, she got the sack,

  And secretly we’re all quite glad,

  That now she’ll never, ever be sad.

  Amelie says she’ll be your driver,

  Chris wants you to know you owe him a fiver.”

  Jazz takes the red rose from a vase in the centre of her table and throws it. It hits Max in the face and everyone cheers. He picks it up and gives it to Cath, who gives it a sniff and holds it closely to her chest.

  “Don’t shoot me, folks, I’m only the messenger,” Max says. He realises that his poem’s not going down so very well, screws up the paper and lobs it over to the back of the room. Evlis Costello’s nephew catches it.

  “But, well, what we’d really like to say is that we love you both and we hope you’ll be really happy, and thanks for the party.” It sounds better, even if there are no jokes. “Let’s give a toast.”

  Everyone stands and Max raises his bottle. “Jazz and Alan.”

  The room joins together in their wishes and the happy couple look deeply into each other’s eyes.

  “Now for heaven’s sake and mine,” Max says. “Let’s get that music back on.”

  A snare drum beats out the intro to ‘My Baby Left Me’ by the King himself. The young waitress grabs Mr Costello Jr and yanks him into the middle of the room where they kick out their legs and dance.

  FORTY SIX

  The light’s fading as Cath and Max walk home. The streets are quiet and the air is full of the smell of summer flowers lightly mixing with the after-shocks of a burst of rain on the tarmac.

  “Two poems in a fortnight,” Cath says. “Do you think you’ve found a new career?”

  “I’ve just doubled my output, so I doubt it. My previous effort was in primary school about a girl who thought she was a cat.”

  “Can you remember how it went?”

  “You can ask my mum when you meet. It’s probably in a box of treasures somewhere.”

  “That’s something I’ve never thought about. Max, aged six.” There’s a teasing undercurrent in her voice, as if she’s looking forward to exposing him layer by layer.

  “I wouldn’t gloat if I were you. There are still plenty of stones for me to look under.”

  They reach a side road and check that the way’s clear.

  Max points at a puddle on the floor. In it is the reflection of the moon.

  “It’s a sign,” he says. “It means that I’ll only ever get to love you more as long as the moon keeps shining.”

  “Then I hope it never stops.” She kisses him with a pressure that Max feels in his toes.

  “Maybe we should go there sometime.”

  They cross the road.

  Max’s thoughts turn to Alice and Mr Evans. “I hope everything’s been all right at the ranch.”

  “Alice will be tucked in and sleeping.”

  “I wonder how the lesson went.”

  “I’m sure it was fine.”

  They get to Cath’s road and she starts running. “Race you back,” she calls.

  “But I’ve hurt my ankle.” Max jogs after her, determined not to win, but to make it seem close.

  The happy couple disappear quickly around the bend.

  Where they were standing only moments earlier, a pair of heavy boots stomp. They wander over to the next road and the left boot lands in the puddle where the moon was reflected and break it up into little, shiny ripples.

  Inside the boots is Sci-fi man. His shoulders are hunched, he has binoculars hanging from his neck and he’s carrying a strange electrical device. A dribble of snot hangs from his nose as he talks into the machine, quietly so only the aliens will be able to hear.

  end

  With warm and sincere thanks to Karen Watkins, Kath Middleton and Ken Hare for their kindness, keen sight and understanding of the English language.

  xxx