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“Not exactly,” said Jules.
“But they made you this color?”
“It’ll come off in a few days,” Jules said defensively. “And it’s not that bad. It’s just in the sunlight where it looks a bit… off.”
“In the sunlight,” repeated Billie. “As in, for most of your waking hours.”
“There’s no sunlight in the pub.”
“Which is where you spend most of your time?” asked Billie, thinking that she should have known better. What kind of sober adult suddenly decides to learn the piano?
“Only because I work there,” Jules said stiffly. She put her glass down and stood up. “Shall we get on with this? Because someone told me that sitting at the actual keyboard is how one is supposed to start one’s lessons.”
Billie gritted her teeth but nodded. “After you,” she said.
“Bloody jaundice,” muttered Jules as she went to the piano.
“Or carrots,” added Billie.
“Carrots? What do carrots have to do with anything?”
Billie shrugged. “I saw it on television once. Someone ate too many carrots and turned orange. It was on one of those old series, like All Creatures Great and Small but for people, not animals. I don’t remember where.”
“Eating carrots can’t make you orange.”
“It can.”
“No, that was just a TV show.”
Irritated, Billie pulled her phone out of her pocket and searched. A few seconds later she thrust the screen into Jules’s face. “Can so. Betamax poisoning.”
“Beta-carotene,” said Jules, scanning the screen. “Betamax is a kind of old video recorder, I think.”
“Fine. Whatever. You can turn orange from too many carrots.” Billie looked her up and down. “You should probably stay away from carrots for the foreseeable future.” She sniffed and opened the book on the music stand. “Now, to work.”
Ten minutes later, she was shaking her head.
“What?” Jules asked, spinning around on the piano bench. “What now?”
“Did you practice at all?” Billie asked. “Or did you just go to the pub?”
“I work at the pub,” Jules said. “I told you that. And practice on what? You think I’ve got a piano lurking around my house?”
“You’re the one that wants to play,” Billie put in. “And this is rhythm stuff, you can practice this by banging it on your desk. If you’re not going to practice you’re not going to get anywhere.”
“Well maybe if you taught me something worth practicing then I’d practice!”
“Something worth practicing? Like what?”
“Like a song or something,” said Jules.
Billie rolled her eyes. “You’re a long way from playing songs. If you don’t learn the basics, you won’t be playing anything.”
“I’m not five,” said Jules, practically yelling. “Don’t treat me like a little kid. I’m an intelligent adult.”
“Then be intelligent enough to know that you don’t learn to play the piano overnight.”
Jules gritted her teeth and Billie could see that she wanted to walk out. She held her breath, waiting for Jules to stand up. But she didn’t. Jules took a deep breath and turned back around to the keys.
