‘Oh,’ said the Ghost with dread as he realised where – when – they were.
Nora Seed
Wilbur was having a piano lesson, beneath the wedding photo on the alcove shelf.
He and his piano teacher had their backs to them as Wilbur tried to play the first section of ‘Bridge Over Troubled Water’, his stiff fingers loosening a little as they moved along the keys. Even though this was the ‘easy’ version of the song – well, it was in theBeginner’s Piano Simon and Garfunkel Songbook– it didn’t feel easy.
Once he had finished, his piano teacher – Nora – gave a little clap. ‘That was really good,’ she lied, almost convincingly, as she smoothed a stray strand of hair behind her ear.
‘I really don’t think so,’ he said. He was eighty-one years old now, and his voice had a slight croak to it.
‘Ah, come on, Wilbur, it was a lot better than last week. You’ve been practising!’
‘Yes. A little. I have a lot of time. But I am still so clumsy. I struggle to keep pace with all those flats.’
‘I get that. And I saw you had a few … issues there.’
‘I certainly did. With that blasted chord. Reaching that E flat …’
‘But, Wilbur, just remember it isn’t a race. Keep it slow. Get the feel of it gently. Breathe into it. Take your time.’
Wilbur laughed a little at that point. The kind of laugh that lives next to tears. ‘I have always had the same problem. My wife used to say I was scared of stillness. And even now I’m old, even now my brain and fingers work against me, I still have a tendency to gallop.’
Nora looked at him a little tentatively. ‘You said your wife liked this song.’
‘She loved it. It was probably her favourite.’ He felt some more explanation was needed. ‘I’m speaking in the past tense but she’s still alive. It’s just I haven’t seen her since, well, since the last century, actually.’
Nora smiled at him as if she had something to say, something maybe a little intrusive, but she thought better of it. ‘I like it too. I love it, in fact. I was in a band once and we played a lot of covers and that was always my choice.’
‘Oh, really? What were you called?’
‘The Labyrinths.’
‘Good name. Were you a success?’ He regretted saying this. It was silly. If the band had been a success, then why on earth would she be teaching piano to an eighty-one-year-old who was really just lonely? She would have been touring Asia or something.
‘In one lifetime, yes. But not this one.’
‘Ah. Right.’
She played the section for him.
He was, as ever, in awe at the ease with which she played. She sang the first verse while her fingers moved across the keys.
He was thinking of Maggie singing the song, years ago, on their honeymoon in Venice. Then, suddenly, and quietly, and for the first time in decades, he began to cry.
‘I’m sorry,’ he said, dabbing his eyes with his sleeve. He stood up. Walked away, towards the open-plan kitchen at the other side of the room. ‘That was embarrassing.’
Nora stood up too. A bit confused but determined not to make him feel any worse. ‘Don’t be silly, Wilbur. It’s not embarrassing at all. It’s good to cry when we feel it.’
He stared at a bottle of red wine he had put out for this evening. ‘You don’t mind if I have a glass of wine?’
‘Not at all. It’s a Saturday. Totally allowed.’
He struggled with the corkscrew so she went over and helped him as he navigated himself to the cupboard where the wine glasses were kept.
‘Would you like one?’ he asked her.
‘Sure. I’m not driving. My brother, Joe, is picking me up. He’s playing at the Corn Exchange in Cambridge tonight. His band is really good.’
