“You haven’t seen a jigsaw piece, have you? Check your shoes,” her mother instructed, waiting as she and her dad both showed her their soles. Satisfied, she asked, “What have you been rummaging around in the attic for?”
“Just sorting out the past,” Chloe replied, settling into a chair. “Having a clear-out.”
“Good, it’s a mess up there. Now, when are we going to meet this chap you’ve been seeing? The runner.”
“Don’t pry, Lilith,” her father chided.
“I’m not seeing him anymore,” Chloe said, pouring herself a glass of wine, twisting her Artemis ring, the familiar feel of it grounding her.
“I’m sorry to hear that. It sounded like you liked this one,” her mother said gently, reaching across to squeeze her hand.
“I did,” Chloe admitted, tapping the ring. “But we weren’t compatible.”
“Cut from different cloth?” her father suggested.
“Extremelydifferent cloth,” she said, smiling across the table at him. Then she pulled the binder onto the table and slid it toward him. “Dad, do you think you’d be able to play this?” she asked. “Could you rope in the musicians from your church band?”
“If we grease the wheels with some of my famous apple turnovers, they’ll agree to anything,” he said, winking. “Why? What is it?” He flipped over the cover.
“Something that’s sat in a dusty box too long. Something that deserves to be heard.”
Her mother clapped, and Chloe was surprised by her enthusiasm.
“My jigsaw piece!” she said, reaching out to pull a jagged cardboard square from Chloe’s jumper.
—
The Richmond church amateur playersturned out to be a talented bunch. They picked up the music in no time, and when Chloe heard it played, her heart ached a little, it sounded that good. How had she failed to hear this back then, how special it was? She’d been so wrapped up in the words, in her performance,in herself, she hadn’t truly been listening. She could hear John in the music and it made her ache for him anew.
She found out from Sean the name of the recording studio where John worked and, using the alias Helena Green, booked a slot. It was expensive, but that’s what credit cards were for. She had formulated a plan that was either wildly romantic or mildly stalkerish, depending on John’s reaction.
Her dad’s band had been rehearsing all week, and Chloe dropped into the church hall after work to hear them. She was surprised by how good they sounded. Her dad sat at the upright piano, glasses perched halfway down his nose, fingers moving with careful precision, leading the others in with a “One, and a two, and a one two three…” Neville, the church warden, was on guitar. He was in his sixties and had a halo of blond hair that stuck out in tufts around his head. He wore mustard-yellow corduroy trousers with a faded Metallica T-shirt and played with his eyes closed, his hand strumming dramatically, as though hewere Jimmy Page on the mainstage at Glastonbury with Led Zeppelin.
“Let’s bring it down a notch, Neville,” her father suggested, “a little less fortissimo perhaps?”
“Sure thing,” Neville said, patting his guitar, as though it were the guitar itself who’d got a little overexcited.
Hamish was on drums. He was a friend of her father’s from bridge club. He had long gray hair, tied back in a ponytail, and wore thick varifocal glasses. His cheeks were flushed, his sleeves rolled, and he was sweating through his linen shirt despite the cold. He grinned at Chloe.
“What do you reckon, Chloe?” he asked. “Does it sound like you remember?”
“It’s sounding great,” Chloe said, giving them all a thumbs-up. “So what are you calling yourself these days?”
“The Bay City Bowlers,” Neville told her proudly, “because we’re on a bowling team too.”
“No, no, I thought we decided on the Granny Smiths?” Hamish said with a frown. “I got T-shirts made.”
“But we’re not grannies,” Chloe’s father pointed out.
“That’s why it’s funny,” Hamish insisted. “We’re hardly the Smiths either, are we?”
“What do you think, Chloe?” Neville asked, putting her on the spot.
“I like it,” she said, and that seemed to settle it.
The morning of the recording, Chloe rang the studio to check John would definitely be working that day. He was.
Since she didn’t play an instrument, Chloe planned on playing the triangle. For her scheme to come off, she would also need a disguise. Rummaging through the church costume box,she found an old fake beard from a production ofSeven Brides for Seven Brothers. She tucked her hair into a beanie, threw on a loose plaid shirt and a pair of her dad’s jeans. It wasn’t the most flattering outfit to make a grand romantic gesture in, but she needed to go incognito.
