by Liz Fenwick
The painting was obviously Jaunty’s work, but while the subject was right, the colours were wrong. Gabe touched the heavy brushwork on the canvas. It was hard, which meant it was at least six months old, and grey muddied the deep purple. Gabe fought the sadness welling up inside as she studied it. Jaunty’s paintings always stimulated deep emotions in her, but this one spoke of despair, of loss. Shivering, Gabe turned away.
The studio was dry with only a hint of moisture around the skylights in the ceiling. Dampness was always an issue beside the river, and even in high summer the night storage heaters were supposed to kick in, but sometimes didn’t. This year they had obviously been doing their work well.
Gabe sat on the single divan bed in the far corner and looked out through the ceiling-to-floor windows that faced north on to the river. She had spent so many hours curled up here while Jaunty painted, totally absorbed in the work, oblivious to Gabe’s presence. Gabe stroked the needlepoint cushion that lay on the bed. She had made it at school and had given it to Jaunty the first Christmas they had been alone. Gabe swallowed. Christmas was a few months off. Would Jaunty make it?
These thoughts weren’t helpful. Gabe rose. The studio was fine and she could set up her keyboard and piano in here so as not to disturb Jaunty. She glanced at her watch. The delivery van was due any time now. Once her things were here she could begin to re-establish normal life with its rigid practice routines. But as she stepped out of the studio and pulled the door closed behind her, she wondered why she bothered any more.
The crocosmia Gabe placed in a black plastic vase brightened the slate gravestone. This place featured in so many of her thoughts. When she was little, she and her father would visit regularly and talk to her mother, but for too many years she had been coming here on her own. Gabe looked at the sunlight falling through the trees. It was so quiet here. She squatted down and ran her fingers over the letters. Jaunty had never visited the grave with her; she lived by putting the past firmly away. Gabe frowned. Maybe she should try and adopt that way of living too. The past was written and couldn’t be altered, so she must let it go, yet it had changed her. She sighed. What would she have been like if her mother had lived? If her father had been on leave when the rig went up? She shook her head. Leave it. Wasted thoughts.
‘Hello, both.’ She glanced around to make sure she was alone. No one, just a robin jumping about then fluttering on to the headstone. She touched the stone again. ‘I’m worried about Jaunty.’
The bird tilted its head as if it was listening, even understanding. It flew from the stone and landed by the flowers, even closer to her. ‘Is there anything beyond death?’ She laughed. ‘I must think there is because here I am talking to a robin and a gravestone.’ Jaunty wouldn’t talk about God – or death, for that matter. She had said there couldn’t be a God, but she never said why. Gabe knew there had to be a reason Jaunty felt this way. Whether there was a God or not, Gabe was grateful to all the musicians who had composed glorious works evoking the power, the glory, and the love of God. Without the composers’ genius the world would be less beautiful. Their music, their words, made her life worth living. Gabe watched the robin fly off.
One last glance at the grave and she closed the gate behind her, intent on booking lessons at the sailing club after she stopped in the village shop. She pulled the shopping list out of her pocket as she walked down the lane to the store. A multi-coloured butterfly landed in the hedge and Gabe stopped and tried to remember the name for it. It flew away and she set off again, wishing her memory were better for things like this.
‘Gabriella, how wonderful to see you!’ Mrs Bates was puffing her way up the hill. ‘In fact, it couldn’t be better timing.’
Gabe frowned, but before she could ask why the older woman had taken her by the arm and was leading her down the hill. ‘This couldn’t be more fortunate.’ She turned to Gabe just before they crossed the square. They seemed to heading for the village hall. ‘It’s so wonderful that you’re back. Jaunty will perk up no end now that you’re here.’
‘Thank you, but why are we going to the hall?’
‘You still play the piano?’
Gabe nodded.
‘Well, Max’s car broke down near Goonhilly and he has just rung to say he won’t be back in time to hold the rehearsal.’
‘I’m not sure I’m following you. Max who?’ Gabe tilted her head, studying Mrs Bates and hoping for some clue as to what was happening.
‘Max Opie. There’s a rehearsal for the fund-raising concert for cancer research that’s going on next week. We’re all so excited about it and it’s for such a good cause. Of course, you’ll have heard about poor little Jeremy Smith and how he was rushed to London for treatment?’
Gabe stopped just inside the outer door to the hall. The last time she’d been in here was for the summer jumble sale a few years ago. Inside she saw a group of teenagers and some younger children. One of them was playing scales on an old upright piano. A tall boy covered in spots was on his phone and another one was staring at the ceiling. One blonde girl was shuffling through music and glancing through the French windows towards the square while a small girl stuck close by her. In all there were twenty that Gabe counted.
‘No, I hadn’t heard, Mrs Bates, and I’m not sure how I can help.’
‘But of course you can help. They need someone to play while they sing. I remember your singing so well, my dear. It’s a shame that the programme is all sorted otherwise it would have been wonderful to have you join them.’
Gabe sent up a silent prayer for the small miracle of a pre-printed programme. The last thing she wanted to do was to try and tell Mrs Bates that she wouldn’t sing.
‘Hannah, can you show Gabriella what needs playing and she’ll be able to help.’
The blonde girl turned from the window.
‘Gabriella’s very clever and composes music for a living.’ Mrs Bates gave Gabe’s arm a little squeeze and disappeared.
Hannah came forward with a big smile. ‘Hi, sorry about Mrs Bates, but we really would be grateful if you could accompany us while we practise.’
Gabe looked at all their faces and their eyes were intent on her. Phones were shoved in pockets and headphones removed. They were keener than she would have initially guessed. She looked at her watch. The sailing club would have to wait for another day. ‘OK,’ she said, ‘show me what you were working on.’ Gabe followed Hannah to the piano and they all gathered round. Gabe sifted through the sheets; Faure’s Requiem, beautiful. She wondered who would be singing the solo, ‘Pie Jesu’.
She looked up. ‘I don’t know who is doing what so I will have to rely on you all.’ They nodded and were soon assembled on to the stage. The youngest child stayed by her side.
‘Before we begin, can you tell me where the concert will be held?’ Gabe ran her fingers over the keys while she studied the faces on the stage.
‘Manaccan church,’ the young girl said.
‘Will you have any other instruments accompanying you besides the organ?’
The girl shook her head back and forth energetically, sending her plaits flying. ‘No.’
Gabe smiled at her. ‘Thanks. Will you tell me your name?’
‘Emily.’
‘OK, Emily, you know what’s happening but why aren’t you up on the stage?’
‘I don’t sing but I can read music and I know when to turn the pages.’
‘You don’t sing?’ Gabe looked into the serious brown eyes.
‘Well, I can sing but it’s awful.’
Gabe shrugged. ‘I doubt that’s true but we had better get started – at the beginning.’
The girl nodded and straightened the score.
Gabe flexed her fingers. She remembered singing this in school herself. ‘Do you need any direction or should I just accompany?’
Emily turned to her. ‘They can do it.’
/> ‘I’m sure you’re right.’
The group arranged themselves and the sounds of sheet music being shuffled filled the hall. She waited a moment then played the opening bars, but almost stopped when they began, they sounded so lovely. Whoever had been working with them was doing an excellent job.
‘How was that, miss?’ Emily asked after the second run-through.
‘Excellent. Is there anything you want to go over again?’ Gabe asked them, amazed at how quickly the time had gone.
‘Um, no,’ said Hannah, who had turned out to be the soloist singing ‘Pie Jesu’. Gabe smiled at her. She had sung well but Gabe felt she could do with some more practice. Most of the kids took Hannah’s words as a cue to leave and were grabbing the bags. One by one they headed out the door, waving thanks. Emily straightened all the music and left ‘Pie Jesu’ on the top before scooting out of the door.
Hannah walked slowly to the piano. ‘I just wanted to say thanks again for stepping in.’
‘I enjoyed it and you all sang so well. Who knew there was so much talent locally?’
Hannah looked up from under her fringe, which had fallen across her eyes.
‘Shall we go through this?’ Gabe ran her finger across the ‘Pie Jesu’ sheet.
Everything that had been relaxed about Hannah disappeared.
‘No, it’s fine. I’ll manage without running through it again.’
‘It’s always been one of my favourite pieces.’ Gabe smiled at Hannah. She could see her nerves. ‘We could just do a quick run through. Wouldn’t take a moment.’
Hannah bit her lower lip.
‘Why don’t you try an ascending arpeggio to loosen up a bit?’ Gabe hit the F above middle C and gave Hannah an encouraging glance. But Hannah stood straight as an arrow by the piano, not opening her mouth. Gabe swallowed as Hannah’s fear infected her. But she wasn’t performing. No. This wasn’t the same. Images of standing by a piano, voiceless, circled in Gabe’s mind. No. This wasn’t performing, this was teaching. Gabe coughed, then hit the note again, and when Hannah didn’t begin, Gabe sang. Her voice faltered, but by the time she followed with a descending scale, her tone rounded and began to open.
‘Wow!’ Hannah’s eyes were wide.
‘Well, yes. Now let’s see you try it.’ Gabe hit the note and Hannah wriggled her arms before she began. Gabe waved her hand for Hannah to continue while she played the accompanying chords and Hannah’s shoulders opened. Gabe stilled her hands but Hannah continued to go one tone higher.
‘Now it’s my turn to say wow.’
Hannah grinned.
‘Good, now shall we run through “Pie Jesu”?’
‘Sure.’
Gabe glanced at Hannah, who began. When the short piece finished, Hannah kicked her toes against the piano. ‘I fu— messed up.’
Gabe’s mouth twitched. ‘Only here.’ She played the section and Hannah nodded. ‘Try it again and this time relax more when you sing Pie, pie Jesu.’
‘Relax?’
‘Yes, like this.’ Gabe played the notes then sang part of the closing segment. ‘Did you notice what I did?’
‘Yes.’ Hannah frowned. ‘You finished the previous note a little early, then you took in all the air you needed.’
‘Now it’s your turn to try it – and remember, cheat the breath.’
Hannah smiled and this time she sang it fluently.
‘That’s much better, and I bet it was easier to sing when you weren’t worrying about having enough breath.’
Hannah nodded.
‘OK, let’s run through the whole piece again.’ Gabe played and Hannah sang the motet without fault.
‘Wonderful.’
‘Thank you so much.’ Hannah looked down and then to Gabe. ‘Would you sing it for me so I can hear how it really should sound?’
‘You already sing it how it should sound.’ Gabe glanced out of the window. Afternoon sunlight caught the dust motes, bringing back memories. Like Hannah, she had been a student once, wanting to learn, and she had been helped by so many people. How unfair of her not to help this talented girl. She could do this. Gabe’s glance darted to the door. ‘OK.’
Gabe closed her eyes for a moment then straightened her back. She played the opening note on the piano and began to sing, forcing everything, including where she was, out of her head and thinking only of music. As the last note ended she heard a slow clapping coming from behind her. Her throat closed.
‘Hello.’ A man’s voice said.
‘Max.’ Hannah beamed.
‘Sorry, I couldn’t make it earlier but it was worth it to hear you sing.’ He walked up to the piano and extended his hand. ‘Mrs Bates tells me that you are Gabriella Blythe. It was a real pleasure to hear you.’
‘She’s amazing, isn’t she?’ Hannah said.
‘Yes.’ Max nodded. ‘We don’t often hear sopranos of your calibre here.’ He paused. ‘Actually, not just here.’
‘Um, well . . .’ Gabe stood up from the piano and tidied the music. ‘I’m off.’
‘Thank you so much for taking the rehearsal – I really appreciate it.’ The overhead light made his auburn hair seem brighter and it picked out the jewel colours in his brocade waistcoat. His dress sense was . . . unique. Gabe smiled as she looked down at his jeans and Converse high tops.
‘They all sang well. You should be fine for the concert next week.’ Gabe picked up her bag.
‘Will you be coming?’ Hannah hovered by the door watching the two of them.
‘I don’t know.’ Gabe turned to Hannah. The air of fear around her had disappeared. She now leaned against the piano, projecting confidence.
‘Does that mean you live around here?’ Max asked.
Gabe nodded. ‘I’ve just moved in with my grandmother.’
‘Wonderful news.’
Gabe walked towards the door.
‘Hannah, shall we buy Miss Blythe a drink at the pub to say thanks?’ Max stood a few steps behind.
‘Brilliant idea.’ Hannah grinned and, linking her arm through Gabe’s, led her out of the door and down the hill towards the pub.
A lone yacht with a French ensign motored out of the river, the tide helping it on its way. Jaunty recalled those precious summer days mucking about in a boat before everything changed. The task of fighting – no, working with the wind and tide filled her. The feel of the sea spray and the pounding of the blood in her veins were distant but pleasant memories and she missed the thrill. Now a snail could overtake her as she hobbled back inside the cabin. Gabriella had gone out so Jaunty had space to write. She needed space.
Removing the notebook from under the mattress, Jaunty picked up the pen.
My thoughts are rambling, but I don’t think it matters in what order I tell the story, just that it is told. Today, France.
Jaunty sat back. She could see the flat she shared with Jean but it was hard to remember how they had met. She rubbed her temples. It had to be there in her mind. These things didn’t go away, they were just pushed to the back.
Paris 1938.
Jaunty took her pen from the page. She closed her eyes, running through things she did remember about 1938. Her mind strayed to Alex but she opened her eyes again, erasing him with the view of the river in front of her. Of course! It had been Pierre who had introduced them. It had been the first day of her training.
I walk into the big studio and immediately feel at home with the smell of paint and dust. A woman, nude, sits in the centre of the room on a stool. Light falls on her from the window in the ceiling, creating marvellous shadows. My fingers twitch. I want to paint immediately but Pierre comes to greet me and kisses me three times. He smells of tobacco and wine although it is only ten in the morning. When he releases me I see this elegant woman dressed like a man sitting quietly in the corner. I wonder who she is and if she is painting
the nude. I am jealous for so many reasons, but mostly it is her confidence. I love her hair. It is cut in a short bob and is sleek, black and glossy. I touch my own and feel out of date, although I know it suits me.
Pierre takes my hand. ‘Come and meet Jean. I know you will love her. She is English, like you.’
Jean looks up from her work and smiles. Her face is alight with mischief and instantly I am happy. I know we will be friends.
Jaunty touched the pen to the paper again, everything now clear in her mind. She only needed to write what Gabriella needed to know.
I moved to Paris in September. I was there to study art with Pierre François. A month after I arrived I moved in with my fellow student, Jean. We were already good friends, seeing each other every day, but living in a small flat bonded us closer than I could ever have imagined. We were so different but shared the same passion – art.
Jaunty smiled, remembering. She rubbed her knuckles to ease the stiffness. She needed some coffee so she walked to the kitchen and boiled the kettle. Opening the coffee canister, the scent filled her nostrils. It was almost better than the drink itself.
‘You will learn to like coffee.’ I sip mine.
‘Never. Give me decent strong tea with milk and sugar.’ Jean frowns at the tea in her cup. ‘Not this stuff.’
‘It’s good tea.’
‘Never! When we are back in England I will treat you to a decent cup. It’s your foreign roots that have ruined your taste buds.’
I laugh and flick my newly cut hair. It is not as short as Jean’s – I didn’t let her take that much off. But I feel freer and lighter and slightly mad.
Jaunty touched her hair. No longer black but white, it was now very short and much coarser than those days. So much had changed.
The pub was busy and Gabe wasn’t sure about this, but she hadn’t been able to think of a way of refusing without being rude. Still, she would make it quick because she needed to get back to Jaunty.
