It’s working. Last week, she moved her chair closer to the window. And when she caught sight of me, she didn’t look away. I decided to push things a little further. So, when he stopped to change music, and while he was shuffling pages, I asked, “How can the ordinary person tell the difference between different instruments that look similar, like the oboe and flute for example?”
“The same way you can tell the difference between a chair and a table.” He suppressed a laugh. “The oboe looks nothing like a flute.”
“How?” I asked, hoping Doris will be intrigued.
He caught on quickly and gave me a simple non-technical answer. “For a start the oboe is always black wood. The flute is often made of silver, sometimes gold.”
Exactly the kind of detail that’s easy to understand and should kindle her interest.
Today, I asked him why he seems to have crossed every musical note on his sheet.
“Not crossed out, these two lines tell me to play it faster. Listen. You know this Christmas carol?” He plays the first few notes of Silent night.
Doris is now right outside the window, and she can definitely see him. She seems to sway her head to the tune, so I sing it with her.
“Okay, now I’m going to play it faster.”
We both listen, and we’re both surprised. Because what Brandon plays sounds like a dance.
“And now faster.”
He says playing what sounds like a cartoonish tune, I can just imagine Micky Mouse chased by a cat.
Doris laughs. She actually laughs.
I take a chance and offer to top up her tea cup. She agrees and stands there just outside the window dunking biscuits into her tea and watching Brandon.
“Can you play it next week?” she asks when it’s over.
“Of course.” And this time he smiles for her. His beautiful dazzling smile and she smiles back.
Long after Doris is gone and I’m lying in bed under the covers, my head on the pillow, I can still see the two of them smiling.
What was that condition on Liam’s will?Do something to help someone in trouble by giving your time, a little part of your life.
I think he’s done it. Given a part of himself, his heart, to help Doris laugh.
Chapter Thirty
Brandon
I’m going to Amsterdam.
My tickets are booked. Ferry from La Canette on Saturday and connecting flight to Schiphol airport. How has this come so fast? Life moves slowly on La Canette, so it’s easy to forget the outside world, then it all crashes back in. My audition is next week. If it’s successful, I’ll start my new job in two or three months.
Lessa comes to stand in the door to my room watching me folding socks and rifling through my wardrobe.
“I’d have thought with the amount of traveling you do, you’d have perfected the art of packing fast.”
“I have.” I tell her. “I can have all my life folded and zipped up in twenty minutes, usually.”
“Then why are you doing it now, two days before you actually need to travel?”
“Because after half a year in the cupboard, I have no idea if moths have eaten holes in my city clothes. It wouldn’t do to audition for my dream job looking scruffy.”
She folds her arms and leans the side of her head on the doorframe. “So, what’s the schedule?”
“Ferry on Saturday morning to Jersey, plane to Amsterdam via Paris. Check into the hotel. Sunday practice and warm up. Monday first audition. Wednesday second audition and, if I’m shortlisted, final audition the following week, then I’m back here.”
