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Ava shrugged. “It’s absolutely none of my business at all,” she said. She lowered her voice. “But I saw the way you look at her and I know what you’re feeling. I’ve been there. I know what it’s like to look at someone so perfect, so confident, so at home with themselves and to think that you would only make their lives harder. To think that you’re too broken or damaged to be with someone like that.”
Half of Billie wanted to scream that this was none of Ava’s business. The other half, the half that recognized there were children around, the half that had seen Hope, Ava’s wife, and seen them together, was more curious. “So what did you do?”
Ava laughed. “Me? Very little. Fortunately, my wife has a lot more sense than I do and sat me down and told me the truth. All I had to do was listen. But maybe that’s the hardest part, whether you’re listening to yourself or someone else. Just listening.”
Billie blew out a breath. “I don’t know. I feel like there’s nothing I can do here to make myself deserving of her. I feel like her life is better without me. I feel like she could be happier with someone else.”
“And that’s what your internal voice is telling you, is it?” Ava said. She chuckled. “In that case, maybe you should listen to someone else.”
“Maybe,” Billie said.
The bell rang and the kids started to stream back into the building, Billie finished up the rest of her coffee.
“How about we have lunch?” said Ava. “Not today, but in a few days when you’re feeling a bit more sociable. There’s a nice cafe on the high street, just close enough to run to and run back to school in time for afternoon classes.”
Not knowing what else to do, Billie nodded. Things were changing. Things had to change. She couldn’t be a broken person forever. If she wanted to deserve someone like Jules, not Jules herself but someone like her, then she had work to do, didn’t she? Maybe Ava could be the start of that. Her first friend in Whitebridge.
THE KNOCKING WAS impatient and hurried and continued for far longer than any sensible human should knock on a door for.
“I’m here, I’m here!” caroled Ag as Billie opened the door to her. She slipped by Billie’s legs and ran into the living room.
“God, I’m so sorry,” Mila said, puffing up the path pushing Dash’s pushchair. “She let go of my hand and ran off, I tried to call her back, but she’s just so eager.”
“It’s alright,” Billie replied, waving at Dash who toothily grinned and waved back.
“And sorry about the other day, I mean ringing like that. She just wouldn’t shut up about it, she wants to play so much, and we don’t have a piano at home yet.” Mila smiled. “We’re working on it though. In the meantime, I’ve signed her up for gymnastics, which she’s also wild about.”
“It’s good for her to have other things to do,” Billie said. From behind she could hear Ag already on the piano, practicing the exercises she had from her last class. “I’d better go in.”
Mila waved goodbye, as did Dash, and Billie watched them for a moment wondering how the lottery worked that won you a mum like Mila, someone so obviously caring and fit for the job.
“Ms. Brooke, Ms. Brooke, did you hear that?” Ag called from the living room.
With a sigh, Billie closed the door and walked back to the piano. “I did and it was very good, if a little fast. Try it again but a touch more slowly.”
Ag did as she was told while Billie pulled up a chair to sit next to her. How come children like Ag got mothers like Mila and children like Jules and Billie got mothers like the ones they had? Not that her own mother had walked out, but sometimes Billie wondered what life would have been like without her mother constantly pushing her, banning her from doing anything other than playing the violin and piano.
“Why do you look so sad?” Agatha asked, big blue eyes looking up at her.
Billie caught herself. “No reason. That was very nice, Ag.”
“Will you show me how you play now?” Ag said, sitting back on the stool. “Mum said that you play the violin and I’ve never heard it and even you don’t play it at school so you should play it for me and then I’ll know if I want to play it too and—”
“And if I play for one minute you’ll be quiet and concentrate on the rest of your lesson?” Billie broke in.
Ag pushed her lips closed and nodded furiously.
Billie sighed, but got up and pulled her violin out of its case. Anything to shut the girl up and keep her focused. But when the instrument was in her hands she lost herself a little, playing a sweet little prelude that once upon a time she’d played as an audition piece. When she was done, she lowered the violin to see Ag with tears on her cheeks.
“What?” she said, hastily returning the violin to its case.
“It was so pretty,” Ag said, sniffing. “Thank you.”
“You don’t have to thank me.”
“When someone gives you something you have to say thank you,” Ag said, more forcefully and less tearfully.
“Right,” said Billie, thinking that Jules had given her this. Jules had given her the confidence to play again, the confidence to do something that was so much a part of her that she had felt empty and lonely without it.
